Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 03 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana

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Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 03 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana 

Gnanaweera Thero:

Very well. For our meditation retreat today, we have decided to discuss the topic of non-manifest consciousness (anidassana viññāṇa). This is quite a profound topic in the Dhamma. For this discussion, we will be using the book Magic of the Mind, written by the Venerable Katukurunde Nanananda Thero. He later translated this book, which he originally wrote in English, into Sinhala under the title Manase Māyāva. It is in the tenth chapter of this book that non-manifest consciousness (anidassana viññāṇa) is explained. To do so, he has drawn upon supporting Suttas from the Tipiṭaka.

In our session yesterday, we took up the Kalahavivāda Sutta. We went through three of its verses, explaining one of them at some length. Today, we will continue in the same manner. We will read a little from the section on non-manifest consciousness (anidassana viññāṇa), and when we reach the relevant part, we will also read and explain the corresponding section from the Sutta.

So today, we will begin from page 74, with the last paragraph. That is, the last paragraph on page 74 is where we will continue from where we stopped yesterday.




Venerable Nun:

With the Sangha's permission.

Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā sambuddhassa

Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā sambuddhassa

Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā sambuddhassa

From the last paragraph on page 74: “However, this is only one strand of the saṃsāric knot, which has both internal (antojāta) and external (bahijāta) aspects. There is yet another strand. That is, the resistance (paṭigha) which is the opposite of the state associated with the perception of form (rūpa saññā). It is embedded within the dhammas that represent the ‘name’ (nāma) portion of name-and-form (nāmarūpa)—namely, feeling (vedanā), perception (saññā), volition (cetanā), contact (phassa), and attention (manasikāra)—that the unique event called contact (phassa) arises. It is when name and form come together. Contact arises because of name and form. ‘Nāmañca rūpañca paṭicca phasso’ (Sutta Nipāta 874). Therefore, when form is absent, contacts are inactive: ‘Rūpe vibhūte na phusanti phassā’. Accordingly, the problem now aligns with this final question: When form has ceased, for what kind of person, possessing what state of mind, does it cease? ‘Kathaṃ sametassa vibhoti rūpaṃ?’”


Gnanaweera Thero:

Right. So, the question for us leads up to that point. That is, if we can get to the point where this form (rūpa) is exhausted, then all our quarrels, conflicts, and clashes will end.

At this point, it occurred to me that if we try to explain each and every verse (gāthā) of the Sutta one by one, it will take a very long time. Besides, the focus of this workshop is not to analyze the Kalahavivāda Sutta in its entirety. For that reason, let’s go to the specific verse relevant to our topic and explain that part in more detail. Otherwise, we will spend too much time if we try to explain every single verse of the Kalahavivāda Sutta.

Let us ask the Venerable Nun to read. Please briefly recall what was said yesterday, from the beginning up to the point we discussed, and then continue until we reach the verse that is relevant today—that would be verse 874, wouldn't it? Yes, the text presents verse 874. It is this point that shows how one can be liberated from what is called the fading away of form (rūpa vibhava). This is where it leads into the subject of contact (phassa). Please read the Sutta up to that point today. Please listen carefully, because I will not be explaining every single verse. This is because we need to allocate our time to the topic at hand. Yes, please briefly recap yesterday’s discussion and then, for the subsequent verses leading up to verse 874, just state the meaning. That will give us a clear idea of the context. Can you see the board? Is it visible? Yes, it is. Very well. Please read from verse 862 up to 872.


Venerable Nun:

That was what was mentioned. It is in the form of questions and answers. The first question is presented as a verse: "From what do quarrels, disputes, laments, and sorrows, together with selfishness, pride, and arrogance, and also slander arise? May you please explain this."

The answer to that is: "Quarrels, disputes, laments, and sorrows, together with selfishness—selfishness (macchariya) means miserliness—pride and arrogance, and also slander, arise from what is held dear. Quarrels..."


Gnanaweera Thero:

This means that every dispute exists because of attachment. 'Dear' means that if I hold something dear, if I seek happiness from that person or that object, that is where all the problems begin. Alright.


Venerable Nun:

"Are tied up with miserliness along with quarrels and disputes. Slander occurs among those who have entered into a dispute."

The next question is: "What is the cause for things being held dear in the world? And what is the cause for the greed that pervades the world? What is the cause for the desire and its fulfillment that a person takes as their refuge?"


Gnanaweera Thero:

So, the next question asks, why does this attachment happen? What is the cause? Why does the mind become attached to objects? It is because of this that all the quarrels, conflicts, arguments, and slanders occur—because of this attachment. So, the question is, why does one get attached?


Venerable Nun:

"What is held dear in the world has intention (chanda) as its cause. The greed that pervades the world also has that intention as its cause. The desire and its fulfillment that a person takes as their refuge also have intention (chanda) as their cause."


Gnanaweera Thero:

That means wish or desire. This chanda is my intention. However, there is also skillful intention (kusala chanda). If that intention is directed towards the skillful path, towards liberation, then one can even attain Nibbāna. But if that intention is turned outwards, towards the cycle of existence (saṃsāra), towards sensual objects, then that is the intention being discussed. Intention (chanda) is a mental factor common to all states of consciousness (sabbacittasādhāraṇa cetasika); it can lead to the skillful or the unskillful.


Venerable Nun:

The next question: "What is the cause for intention (chanda) in the world? From what do judgments arise? From what do anger, falsehood, and doubt arise? And if there are other dhammas proclaimed by the ascetic, from what do they arise?"

The answer: "What is called ‘pleasant’ and ‘unpleasant’ in the world—it is from this that intention arises. A person makes judgments in the world after seeing the arising and passing away of forms."


Gnanaweera Thero:

This means that intention—liking—arises because of one’s own preferences and dislikes. Alright, and after that?


Venerable Nun:

After that, Venerable Sir, is the verse…


Gnanaweera Thero:

Yes, please continue reading the verses. The verse we are focusing on today, the one that Venerable Kaṭukurunde Ñāṇananda Thero has taken for explaining non-manifest consciousness (anidassana viññāṇa), is verse 874. Let us continue briefly in this way until we reach it, and then we will explain that particular verse in more detail as it is relevant to today's topic.


Venerable Nun:

Then, the verse asks: "Anger, falsehood, and doubt—these states exist (the text in parenthesis says: as long as duality exists) only when the pleasant and the unpleasant are present. One who is in doubt should train in the path of knowledge. Having known, the ascetic has proclaimed the Dhamma."


Gnanaweera Thero:

So, liking and disliking, these preferences and aversions, exist within oneself. As for doubt, if one doubts the cycle of existence (saṃsāra), that is when one begins to search for liberation. So, in one sense, the arising of doubt is a good thing. It is because of doubt that we do not see the truth of this world and become attached to it, believing it to be real. However, it is also because of doubt that one can question this world and turn towards the truth. I will not elaborate further, as that is not our main topic for today. Alright.


Venerable Nun:

Verse 873, the next question: "From what do the pleasant and the unpleasant arise? In the absence of what do they not exist? This matter of being and non-being (vibhava and bhava)—what is its cause? Please declare this to me."

The next verse is the answer: "The pleasant and the unpleasant have contact (phassa) as their cause. In the absence of contact, they do not exist. This matter of being and non-being, I declare, has this as its cause."


Gnanaweera Thero:

There. Now the Sutta is reaching a profound point. Now the Buddha is showing us the very root of all this. He is bringing us to the source. All these things we have been discussing arise with contact (phassa) as their condition. It is with contact as the condition that this being (bhava) and non-being (vibhava) arise. And it is because of this being and non-being that all this attachment occurs. Now, little by little, in the Kalahavivāda Sutta, the Blessed One is showing that the root of all these problems is contact (phassa). Alright.


Venerable Nun:

The next question verse: "Indeed, what is the cause of contact in the world? From what does grasping in every way arise? In the absence of what does the sense of ‘mine’ not exist? When what has faded away do contacts cease to make contact?"

Next is the verse mentioned in today's reading:

"Nāmañca rūpañca paṭicca phasso,

Āsaṃ nidāne pariggahāni;

Āsāya santāya mamattam n’atthi,

Rūpe vibhūte na phusanti phassā."

[Sinhala translation from the text]: “It is because of name and form that these objects come together. Because desire persists, one is bound to them. When desire has ceased, the sense of ‘mine’ also ceases. When this form has vanished, there is no more contact with objects.”

[English translation]: "Dependent on name and form, contact arises. Grasping in every way has its source in desire. When desire is absent, possessiveness is not. When form has vanished, contacts make no contact."

*Text might be missing from the transcript


Gnanaweera Thero:

Right. So, this is the section that Venerable Katukurunde Nanananda Thero has taken for the part explaining non-manifest consciousness (anidassana viññāṇa). He writes: “However, this is only one strand of the saṃsāric knot, which has both internal and external aspects. There is yet another strand. That is, the resistance (paṭigha) which is the opposite of the state associated with the perception of form (rūpa saññā).” These words are a little difficult for us. “It is embedded within the dhammas that represent the ‘name’ (nāma) portion of name-and-form (nāmarūpa)—namely, feeling (vedanā), perception (saññā), volition (cetanā), contact (phassa), and attention (manasikāra)—that the unique event called contact (phassa) arises. It is when name and form come together. Contact arises because of name and form.” Right.

So, if this contact (phassa) were to cease, then... The Brahmajāla Sutta also states that it is because of contact that all those various views arise. There is another beautiful passage about contact in the Majjhe Sutta where this matter of contact is explained. This is in the sermon the Buddha delivered to the Brahmin Tissa Metteyya: “Yo ubhante viditvāna, majjhe mantā na lippati, taṃ brūmi mahāpuriso, so'dha sibbanimaccagā.” “Yo ubhante viditvāna” means, ‘he who, having understood the two extremes.’ “Majjhe mantā na lippati” means, ‘is not smeared by the middle.’ Such a one is the great being. He is the one who has escaped the seamstress that is craving (taṇhā).

Regarding this verse, a group of six monks, after their alms-round meal, were having a discussion. They felt that the Buddha had delivered an unusual sermon to the Brahmin Tissa Metteyya: "He who, having understood the two extremes, is not smeared by the middle—he is the great being. He is the one who is freed from craving." This seamstress that is craving stitches everything together. At that point, a question arose among these monks: what did the Buddha mean by the ‘two extremes’ and ‘not being smeared by the middle’?

One monk said, "The way I see it, what the Blessed One must have taught is about contact (phassa). This topic of contact is a very profound point in the Buddha's teaching. One extreme is contact. The arising of contact (phassa-samudaya) is the middle. The cessation of contact (phassa-nirodha) is the other extreme." Another monk said, "No, I don't think so. I think the Buddha was teaching that one extreme is the past, and the other extreme is the future. The middle is the present. If one can remain unsmeared by the present, that person is freed from craving." Another monk said, "As I see it, the Buddha was referring to pleasant feeling (sukha vedanā) and painful feeling (dukkha vedanā) as the two extremes. Pleasant feeling is one extreme, painful feeling is the other. The middle is neither-painful-nor-pleasant feeling (adukkhamasukha vedanā)."

Another monk taught, "I think name (nāma) is one extreme, and form (rūpa) is the other. Consciousness (viññāṇa) is the middle. Having understood the two extremes of name and form, one can remain unsmeared by the middle, which is consciousness." Yet another monk said, "I think the external sense bases are one extreme, and the internal sense bases (ajjhatta) are the other. Consciousness is the middle." And another monk—I’ll say this quickly as I need to get to the relevant point, otherwise there’s no use in quoting a lot of Pali—said, "Personality (sakkāya) is one extreme. The arising of personality is another extreme. The cessation of personality is the middle."

So, these six monks had six different ideas about this single verse spoken by the Buddha. They probably understood it based on their own practice. They were expressing it according to how they had trained. A doubt arose among them: which of these is correct? Who has correctly understood the meaning of the words the Buddha taught to Tissa Metteyya: “Yo ubhante viditvāna... majjhe mantā na lippati”—he who, knowing the two extremes, is not smeared by the middle, is the one who realizes the truth, is freed from craving, freed from the sense of selfhood. So they wondered, "Which of the six of us has understood this correctly?"

After their meal, they went to see the Blessed One. They approached him and asked, "Venerable Sir, you delivered a sermon like this to the Brahmin Tissa Metteyya. We six were discussing it, and we understood it in six different ways. Each of us felt it according to our practice. If there is one single truth to this, what is the correct one?" And they presented their six answers to the Buddha.

The Buddha declared, "Monks, all six of you have understood the two extremes and the middle correctly. However, on that day when I taught that verse to the Brahmin Tissa Metteyya, I taught it to show that contact (phassa) is one extreme, the arising of contact (phassa-samudaya) is the other extreme, and the cessation of contact (phassa-nirodha) is the middle (majjhe)."

Look at that. Whether you take the Brahmajāla Sutta or this Kalahavivāda Sutta, when you get to the final sections, the Buddha brings the discussion to this point of contact (phassa). Now, the way I understand contact—let me try to explain. Please listen with careful attention. To understand what contact is, I will give you a small analogy. This is because contact cannot be known in an ordinary way. If contact is correctly understood, the cessation of contact occurs. Because this contact is not like data. It is not something you learn in school. That is why I will use an analogy. See if you can generate the wisdom to understand contact through this analogy, because contact is not something that can be known so easily. It is precisely because of our lack of understanding regarding contact that we live this life in the way we do, experiencing it as ‘life’.

For example, let me take an analogy from the Nandakovāda Sutta. In the Nandakovāda Sutta, the analogy of a lamp is used. Let’s consider a lamp. A lamp has the nature of burning. That is, a lamp has this quality of burning. But is the burning nature of the lamp the flame itself? No, it isn't. Is it the oil? That's not it either. The burning nature is not the oil, nor is it the wick, nor is it the lamp’s flame. Yet, the one thing we can never see in this process is the burning itself. The entire event of a lamp being lit is the event of burning. However, the one thing we cannot see is the burning itself. Think about this analogy for a moment. The one thing that cannot be seen is the burning itself, the nature of burning. But without this nature of burning, there is no such thing as a flame. The wick and the oil are what we point to as the causes for this burning nature; we say the wick and the oil are burning. But you cannot point to the burning itself.

Now, apply this to contact. Don't worry if you think, "What is he talking about? I don't understand." For now, just keep the analogy in your mind. Then, bit by bit, we will see what this 'contact' is, which Venerable Kaṭukurunde Thero is trying to bring to light today, and which the Buddha pointed to as the root of all quarrels and disputes. What is this level of contact that he points to in the middle of this causal chain? Contact is like the burning nature of the lamp. It is the quality of burning. But it cannot be seen. What we see is the flame, the wick, the oil. That’s all we see. However, ‘burning’ is not the oil. It is not the wick. It is not the flame. But then, I ask another question from the opposite side: without oil, without a wick, and without a flame, can the event of burning happen? It cannot. Yet, the nature of burning is not those three things. But without those three causes, the concept of ‘burning’ is also not applicable. So, can we separate those three causes and show something else called ‘burning’? Can you remove those three causes and point to a separate effect called ‘burning’? You cannot do that either. There is no way to show the event of burning. It is not those three things, yet it is not apart from those three things. And it is not the case that those three things themselves are ‘burning’.

This is the topic of contact. It is a topic that is rarely discussed because it is quite difficult to talk about. The subject of phassa, contact, is very hard for us to discuss. Nevertheless, this point must be made very clear. Because if this is not clear, we will have to discuss the Buddha's teaching in the same way we talk about Jesus or Krishna from the Bhagavad Gita. Those are easier to talk about. But when we discuss the Buddha’s teaching, we must do so through Dependent Origination (paṭiccasamuppāda). That is quite difficult, because it brings up the matter from a very deep place. It’s so profound that there is no ground to stand on. It becomes non-manifest (anidassana), unestablished (appatiṭṭhita).

Now, don't think that you need to understand the topic of contact and then understand all the other topics. If you understand this one, you have understood them all. If one link of Dependent Origination is correctly understood, all the other knots come undone. They are all linked like a chain. Even if one verse is correctly understood, the rest falls into place. The section we have for today is about contact. If this is understood, it is enough. There is no need to think that you must learn all the other parts first. What exactly is this part about contact?

Let's return to the analogy we took. Now we understand, from the lamp analogy, that what we call a lamp refers to its burning nature. However, the one thing we cannot see is the burning itself. When we talk about a lamp, we are talking about its burning nature, a state that is rapidly changing, changing without stopping even for a moment. It is burning. But the one thing that is not seen is the burning itself. The one thing that cannot be grasped is the burning itself. Right. For now, just keep in mind that there is a complex situation like this here. When the Buddha brings up the topic of contact for us to learn, we have to use analogies from this kind of perspective. That is, for now, take contact to be like ‘burning’. And ‘burning’ is not something that exists independently, apart from the oil, the wick, and the flame. But it is not those three things either.

So now, a question arises for us about this idea of ‘burning’, this idea of contact. How are we to comprehend this? This is a practical question for us. How do we see this? How do we understand this? To answer that, I will give you another analogy, one applied to our own lives. Okay? Keep the lamp analogy in your mind, but set it aside for a moment. Now I will give you an analogy related to our lives, and then the line of thought might start to become clearer for you.

Think about it like this. There is always this quality we feel as ‘I’, isn’t there? That feeling exists only in conjunction with an action. Always. A person... if they become inactive, the nature of ‘I’ does not arise for them. I am speaking a bit slowly today because the topic is profound and needs to be discussed slowly. But if I speak too slowly, you might fall asleep, so stay awake.

What I mean is, the idea of ‘I’ always requires an action. Something must always be happening. It is only with an action, a process, that the nature of ‘I’ is felt here. The Pali names for these actions are diṭṭha, suta, muta, viññāta: the seen, the heard, the sensed, the cognized. That is, ‘seeing’—that is an action, isn't it? ‘Seeing’ is diṭṭha. I saw you, Venerable Sir, giving the sermon, I was looking at you. The moment you perform the action of ‘looking,’ isn't a ‘looker’ present? Observe this carefully. In the act of seeing (diṭṭha), there is 'seeing'. Wherever the action of ‘seeing’ is applied, in that very place, “Aha! Who is seeing? What is being seen?” arises. The ‘seer’ is constructed right there. Just look. If you had not come to listen to this sermon today, would there be an ‘I’ there for you? No. So where is the ‘I’? Right now, at this moment, I am listening to the sermon. In the hearing (sute)... I hear your sermon. It is because of the action of ‘hearing’ that the sense ‘I am hearing’ arises, and the sense that ‘you are speaking’ is heard. Do you see now? It is only with an action. Imagine there was no such thing as listening to a sermon here. Or suppose you actually fell asleep. Then where is the ‘I’? It's gone. If everyone falls asleep, the job is done. There is no ‘I’. The ‘I’ is only there as long as one is listening. The action of ‘listening to the sermon’ at this moment—that is contact (phassa). Only where there is an action of ‘listening’ does it occur: “Ah, I came to the sermon. I was listening to you, Venerable Sir. I can tell you what you said.” See? It is then. It is only where there is hearing that the idea of a hearer arises. ‘Hearing’ is an action. ‘Seeing’ is an action. If there is hearing, then it automatically arises in that very place: "Who is hearing?" It is together with the action of ‘hearing’ that this view of ‘I’ springs up.

This means that a personality (sakkāya) has existence only in conjunction with an action. Sakkāya means ‘I’. Because of that action... that is why we are always doing something, like we are mad. We feel it when we are not doing anything. Why? Because the ‘I’ disappears. Always, always with an action. I think it’s somewhat better in a country like Sri Lanka. If you go to Western countries, these people don't even know how not to do something. It's very difficult for them. Why? Because it is only with an action that you feel yourself. You either have to be looking (diṭṭha), or hearing (suta). That is why we are looking at something all day, even if it's just our phone. Why? Because there is an action there. Then, ‘I’ exist. All day, if I don't have those objects, I need to look at another object. If not that one, I have to look at another. Why? Even if I keep changing the objects I look at, the action of ‘looking’ is still there. Even by changing the signs (nimitta), I remain engaged in the action of looking. Observe this point I am making carefully. Either diṭṭha (seeing) or suta (hearing). It's not that there's a story of 'I am hearing'. The moment the action of 'hearing' takes place, the sakkāya has already been constructed there. That is, when I give my attention to hear…When I give my attention to hear… look. At the very point of seeing and hearing, it has arisen. Contact has occurred. Then, after that, there is the sensed (muta). This refers to feeling things. "I smell a fragrance." "This food is delicious to me." "I felt the cold on my body." Do you see? That is in the act of 'feeling'. Ah, that is another action. Seeing, hearing, experiencing. ‘Sensed’ (muta) means feeling, experiencing. "The food is incredibly tasty." "That flower has such a beautiful scent." Ah, in that way, do you see? There is experiencing. With that action of experiencing, that experience, again the ‘I’ arises: "I ate a delicious meal today." "I had a great feeling today." "I smelled a wonderful fragrance." Do you see? The 'I' springs up again through the act of 'experiencing'. It is not that an 'I' existed somewhere independently before this. No, nothing of the sort exists independently.

(Someone asks something) [Inaudible]

Let’s come to that. As I said, I am going slowly today. We will get there step by step. This matter of contact… we must unravel this tangle slowly and carefully, without getting confused. First, let's get in line with this idea of 'I'. Let's come to that point. Because if something like that existed independently, then contact would be happening to it. Without our knowing it, we are constantly engaged in contact. That is what ordinary human life is. That is why I said we cannot ‘know’ it. Our life is engaged in contact. “With contact as condition…” (phassa paccayā). That’s why the Buddha always points to contact… contact, contact, contact. This 'contact' is not about you thinking of something or touching something. It is not like that at all. That is why this topic of contact is so difficult. I am explaining step-by-step how this level of contact, this event of contact, occurs.

Otherwise, there is diṭṭha, suta, muta, or viññāta—that is, thinking. We think in our minds. We don't just think; we say, "It occurred to me like this." "Oh dear, I thought like this." Do you see? Along with the very action of 'thinking', it is applied: "I thought," "It occurred to me." Do you see? Instantly.

So, understand this well. There is no 'I' here as a narrative. What is here is a view. There is an action in life. Seeing, hearing, experiencing, thinking. That's all. What other actions are there? There is nothing else. We are nothing else. This is all there is. Apart from this, there is nothing else strange in life. Only these four. We only perform these four actions. It is because of abiding in the acceptance that these four exist that this "I am" is formed. A continuous sense of an 'I' who has persisted, a feeling about a self that has endured—"I saw, I heard, I experienced, I thought"—is felt here. A nature, a process, that seems to have continued from the day one was born, on and on, from one existence to the next, begins to be felt.

Right. After that… that is what we are saying. So, understand well: our personality (sakkāya) exists because of these activities. Because of these activities. However, here is the next point: it is precisely these activities that we can never know. That is, it is because of these activities that there is a personality (sakkāya), that there is contact. But if you really look… now go back to the lamp analogy. It is because of the burning that the flame and everything else exist. But what is the one thing that can never be known? The quality of burning.

In the same way, what is the only way you can truly say that you exist? "I saw, I heard, I felt, I thought." That's all there is. Apart from that, what evidence do you have that you exist? Just try being still. Apart from those four, there is no evidence whatsoever for your existence. You either talk about something you saw, something you heard, or something you felt. "I felt this way, I thought this way, I saw this, I heard this." So apart from these four, look and see where else you exist. Put aside these four—things thought, things heard, things seen, things felt—and look to see "Who am I?" Then you will realize that without those four, beyond those four, you cannot formulate a story about yourself. You cannot establish an existence.

Right. Now, that is not the real problem here. The truth is, these four are the very four things that one never encounters. The very four that one can never experience are these same four. However, it is the illusion, the magic, born from the view that one has experienced these four, that we call "I am."

Right. I will give you a small analogy for that too, to explain in what sense I mean that this cannot be experienced. Because it is contact itself that cannot be understood. But it is because we think we understand it that contact becomes an extreme. It is because the view "I have understood the very thing that cannot be understood" is applied. That is why the Buddha calls contact (phassa) an extreme.

I will show you how the incomprehensible is comprehended. This verse says that contact happens because of name-and-form (nāmarūpa), right? If we understand how name-and-form come to be, we will naturally gain an understanding of contact. Understand it in this way. Think about this example. If you didn't understand the part up to now, tell me, "Venerable Sir, I didn't understand what you said so far"? If you understood, you understood. If not, then not. Then we can try to grasp it from there. Because what I have said so far is that this nature of 'I' is not something that exists independently. The nature of 'I' arises because of activities. And what are these activities? The four: diṭṭha, suta, muta, viññāta. These four are what we label with hundreds of names like bathing, eating, drinking. All those activities are either a state of seeing, a state of hearing, a state of feeling, or a state of thinking. That's all. If that part is not clear, please say, "I don't understand up to this point." Because that part, I believe, is not too difficult for us to understand—how this nature of 'I' is constructed. Why do we feel as if there is a person called 'I'? Very well. Since no one has a question, and no one is asking or saying anything, I will go a little further.

Think about it like this. Now, let's take another analogy. Through this analogy too, try to see why I am saying that this cannot be seen or heard, why this action of seeing, this action of hearing, this action of experiencing, this action of thinking, is never met with. I will tell you the reason.

Look at it this way. Let's say you came from your meditation hut (kuti) to this hall. Or let’s say you came from Colombo to Nihaňda Araṇa. Now, this is an action. Your coming from Colombo to Nihaňda Araṇa, or from the hut to the Dhamma hall—your coming is an activity, isn't it? Now, if I told you to describe that action, if I asked you to describe the 'coming' from Colombo to Nihaňda Araṇa, or to describe the action of 'coming' from the hut to this shrine room... You can't say the action didn't happen, can you? You have arrived. You can't say there was no action. But now, try to see if you can. Try to analyze that action. Describe it.

You would start describing it by saying, "Venerable Sir, to say I came to the shrine room... in that action of 'coming', I saw the Buddha statue, I saw the reliquary. When I was coming from the hut, while I was in the hut, I saw... I saw the bed, the table. On the way, I saw bamboo trees." Now look. What you are describing is not the action of 'coming'. It is something seen. You saw the hut. The beds, the chairs. Then what else did you see? You saw bamboo trees. Then you saw the Buddha statue. So, you saw... isn't that a strange thing? The Buddha statue is not an action. The bamboo tree is just a picture you saw. The bed in the hut is a picture, a form, isn't it? To describe the action of 'coming', there is no evidence. Yet, isn't it by the action of 'coming' that you assert that you, the person called 'I', exist? Isn't it the very act of 'coming' that has no evidence?

Look at that point. The evidence is lacking for the 'coming' itself. However, it is by this very "I came" that you say "I came." The 'I' is constructed from the very action of 'coming'. Look closely. But it is the action of 'coming' itself that is never encountered. So, without targeting that action, what 'I' is there? Then one might ask, "Venerable Sir, then did a ghost come to the hall?" Fine. What is 'coming'? There is no evidence. If you contemplate that point a little, you will understand. That is why if contact (phassa) is properly analyzed and understood, contact itself is not there. Yes. It is precisely because of the ignorance of contact that contact seems to have happened. "I came from the hut to here." An 'I' who performed an action has encountered an action. But it is that very action that can never be known. When I say it cannot be known, the problem is you can't say it didn't happen either. So what happened from the hut to here? You can't say some action didn't happen. But if you say it did, you can't show it. What you show is the unrelated Buddha statue, the bed, and the bamboo trees. 'Coming' is not the things you saw, is it? Do you see? Consciousness gets tangled up in something unrelated. That is how name-and-form get entangled. Then a contact, that someone 'came', is constructed. However, the very thing that is constructed is itself the cessation of contact. Contact itself is just an empty shell. It’s like a mere perception, a product of attention.

Look carefully. Through that analogy—I am saying this slowly so you can look inside a little—perhaps through that analogy you will see the emptiness in this. In this way, no action can ever be known. It's as if we are always in Nibbāna. We are always in Nibbāna, where there is no 'I' to know and nothing to be known. This life is situated in the very cessation of contact. This life is in a place that can never be contacted. It is in Nibbāna itself. But we are very afraid of that. We show great fear. "So, did no one come from the hut to here? Then what will become of these two things?" Because I feel myself as existing within the hut, myself, and the action of coming in between. The one called 'I' is posited right there. That is when you get goosebumps. Life is just like... look and see if it's not like a teledrama. In a teledrama, someone goes from here to there. It's not a story of someone actually going. They just change the frames of images, and we say they went from here to there. In a film, to show someone going from Sri Lanka to America, they just change the frames. In between, we imagine that person went from here to there. But the 'going' cannot be shown. The action of 'going' anywhere cannot be shown. They just change the frames. And isn't this what is happening to us? This is all that is happening here. There is no story of coming from anywhere or going anywhere. To show that one has 'come', for instance to the hall, you cannot show the action of 'coming'; you show the Buddha statue. The floor tiles. That's why you can't say you 'went' out of the hut. Since you can't show the 'going', you talk about the bed. You talk about the doorway. You mention a door. Goodness me, I am asking about the action of 'going', and you are talking about closing a door. Do you see the gap? Do you understand that there is a story here that cannot be grasped? It cannot be contacted. Our entire life is in a place that cannot be contacted. But we try to make contact. It is only if we make contact that the 'I' is created. That is, trying to find evidence for an action that never happened.

That's what we think. Look, how do we find evidence to say, "I slept last night and woke up this morning"? How do you prove that the action of sleeping for eight hours occurred? That "I slept"? There is no evidence. "Ah, the walls that were there yesterday are still here today. So I must have slept and woken up." That's how you deduce it. You talk about an eight-hour sleep based on something completely unrelated, like the position of the clock hands. No one has ever experienced the action of an 'eight-hour sleep'. There was nothing there to experience it for eight hours. From where do you get an eight-hour sleep? By looking at the clock hands. You take something completely unrelated—"Ah, the same things are here as yesterday. Ten hours have passed." Instantly, you construct the action of an 'eight-hour sleep' from this unrelated data. Then you think, "The one who went to sleep at 10 PM is the one who woke up at 6 AM." What an incredible lie this is.

See how an 'I' who existed for eight hours, who could never be experienced, is constructed? That is, "sabbe dhammā manasikāra sambhavā." All phenomena are born of attention. All states are generated by attention. That is the next point. Look, that’s the point we are coming to. Where did we create an un-experienceable eight hours? There was no one there to experience it. And no one knows of an experienced 'sleep'. But from where was such an experience constructed? Think about it. Then you will understand. It is to that point that the Blessed One explains. "Sabbe dhammā manasikāra sambhavā." All phenomena originate, are rooted in, attention (manasikāra). They are just attention. Just analyses, that's all. ‘Born of attention’ means they are all just analyses. No one has ever experienced sleeping for eight hours. The analysis becomes real. That's the trick. The analysis has a quality of making itself seem alive. So, every damn thing we know is just a collection of analyses. We don't know anything else. Everything we know in life is only a product of attention (manasikāra sambhavā). There is no past we know, no future we know, no present we know, no action we know, apart from it being a product of attention.

Then, from that attention, it is quickly constructed. A feeling arises of having been in a state, like an un-experienced period of time, where 'I' was not felt. That's how it proceeds. At that time itself, there was nothing. So, it is all born of attention. It is a complete construction of attention, an analysis. One creates an analysis. And in that analysis, there is no action. In the act of analyzing, there is no real being.

Now look. Then you will understand. For example, look now. If I tell you at this moment, "Bring your attention to your breath." After I say, "Bring your attention to your breath," you instantly bring your attention to your breath. "Ah, yes Venerable Sir, now I have brought my mind to the body. I feel the breath at the tip of my nose; I feel its warmth," you say. Right. So you think… Then I ask, "Before I told you that, you didn't have that attention, did you? It was only when you, Venerable Sir, said it that I paid attention to it, that it came to my mind." Then consciousness plays a trick. It concludes, "I was breathing for the other 23 hours too, but I only became aware of it now." Look, that is the deception, the lie, that attention creates. There was no such experience at all. Moreover, even at this moment, this knowing of the in-breath and out-breath is also an act of attention. Yes. So then one says, "Ah, I know it now, but for 23 hours I was unknowing." And with that, an 'I' who was breathing for a full 24 hours is constructed. "Now there is the 'I' who knew, and the 'I' who was unknowing. I didn't know for the other 23 hours." By grasping onto that, and relative to it, for so many hours, so many days...

It's like when we remember our mother, we say, "Oh, I had forgotten my mother for so many days." This means our attention makes us think, "Mother existed, I had forgotten her, and I just remembered her now." Grasping that very moment of remembering, one thinks, "I had forgotten her for so long." That very moment of remembering is what suggests that mother exists over there—it's a product of attention. It doesn't show it directly. From that very attention, the 'I' who thinks about the mother arises: "Oh, I had forgotten my mother for a long time. I haven't had a single thought about her."

Right, let me ask a question. At the time you had forgotten, was there a person who was 'forgetting'? No. If you have truly forgotten your mother, at the time you have forgotten, when there is no memory of her, is there an 'I' who is there, having forgotten? You can't even look for such a thing. It is only at the moment of remembering that you know you had forgotten, isn't it? Can you see 'forgetting' at the time of forgetting? At the time you had forgotten, was there an 'I' who had forgotten? No. That is when you see: "Sabbe dhammā manasikāra sambhavā." All phenomena are born of attention. The things that were 'forgotten' and the things that were 'not'… now really… Some people, like the elderly, they always say, "I am becoming forgetful." I think they are close to Nibbāna. We have this crazy obsession with remembering and recollecting. At the time you have forgotten, you are surely in Nibbāna. You are not there. When you have forgotten, you are not there, that person is not there, that suffering is not there. There is no contact there.

Now, don't think that Nibbāna means becoming completely forgetful. That's not it either. This has to be realized through wisdom. The other is a condition like dementia. That is due to an illness. That is not what I am trying to say. I just brought it up as an analogy. Truly, at that time, we don't know, do we? There is nothing that has been contacted. At that time, there is no suffering, no 'I', and no saṃsāra. However, it is now, after attention has arisen, that you say it was not there at that time. It is now that you say, "At that time, there was no 'I', no world, no suffering." This attention says that all those events cannot be contacted.

So, look. Even though we take these analogies, try to see the point I am attempting to make. We took the analogy of the lamp flame. Then the incident of coming from the hut to the hall. Then the other analogy we just took. Through these analogies, you might get a hint. That is why I said I cannot teach it… I cannot grasp 'contact' and hand it to you saying, "This is it." When you realize contact, you will directly experience that contact is something that does not truly exist. It is through ignorance regarding contact that contact seems to have occurred.

So, look closely. The times we say, "I forgot," or "I didn't see," or "I didn't hear"—at what point do we say all this? When we have come back to a state of attention, thinking, "I heard." But at the time you didn't hear, there was no experience of 'not hearing'. However, that attention presents it as, "I was there at that time, but I didn't hear." "Oh, I was there, but I didn't see." Do you see? Attention tells us, "I was there at that time too, I just didn't see." "I was there at that time, I just didn't hear." Do you see how it ties these two together? It combines the experience and the non-experience, the seeing and the not-seeing, and constructs a continuously existing nature of 'I'—as a person who existed during the non-experiencing and a person who exists during the experiencing.

So, look carefully at that action. The example of 'coming' is a good one, that we have not actually experienced it. If you look closely, it’s not just the action of 'coming'; I feel that we have never experienced the action of 'seeing' either. The act of hearing, seeing, feeling—the trick is that attention comes in and does something very clever. Attention just ties things together.

Let me give you another example to understand this 'tying together'. Even though we think we are 'seeing' at this moment, you cannot describe the action of 'seeing' using 'seeing' itself. "I am looking at you now." Try to describe that action of 'looking at you' using only the action of 'looking', just like with the action of 'coming'. But don't bring 'you' into it. Without taking an object that is seen, describe the action of 'seeing' using only 'seeing'. See what happens. When you try to describe the action with the action itself, it becomes void (suñña). Seeing, by seeing itself… but you are already caught. That is, a seeing has not arisen at all. That is what is meant by "seeing is void of seeing." It's not that there is a seeing that is void. It's that a seeing has never been constructed at all. There is no contact. No action. Think about this point I am making.

Then you will understand that this 'seeing'... now, you can't say 'seeing' doesn't exist either. That is the problem. There is no way to say that 'seeing' does not exist. But you cannot give an analysis for 'seeing'. Because any analysis you give has no connection whatsoever to the story of seeing. Because for 'seeing', I might say, "I see you." A mother might say, "I see my son." Someone else will say something else. So different people give different analyses for 'seeing'.

"Oh, so seeing doesn't exist. I will not grasp at seeing." If you try to see that, you are still holding onto the idea of 'seeing' to see that 'seeing' is not there. Then you fall into nothingness. Then again, "I understood that there is no seeing here." That is another analysis. It's another analysis again. "Seeing is not there, that other thing is not there either." Then, instantly, from that very nothingness of the analysis, a person who knew that analysis, that cognized object (viññāta), arises: "Ah, I understood that seeing is not here." One gets caught by the cognized object based on the cognized object. "I understood that there is nothing here." The moment that analysis becomes real, a new 'I' who knows that analysis, who knows that cognized object, arises again. "Today I properly realized that there is no 'I' of mine here." So the analysis… "there is no seeing"... becomes another analysis. If you grasp at 'seeing', you can get lost in all sorts of analyses. But if you were to see seeing with seeing, what analysis could there be? The characteristic of this cognized object (viññāta) is that attention (manasikāra) always entangles it with an analysis. It always creates a tangle. That is, it connects the analysis to this 'seeing'. Then someone says, "How can you say there is no seeing? I can see you right now!" Do you see that? Do you see? The moment it gets entangled in that analysis, 'seeing' becomes a real thing. Then, for the one looking at the seeing, "Who is seeing this? It must be me." Right? And after that...

I remember when I was a layman at home, my uncle used to argue with me a lot. "How can you say there is no 'I'? If there's no 'I', then who is it that feels this? Who is it that sees this?" What can you do? Once you grasp at that point... I didn't understand it back then. I didn't know how to explain it. This is something that you can't just explain to someone. It's only after a long time of giving Dhamma talks like this and discussing it that it updates itself from within, little by little, day by day. Back then, I didn't understand how to explain it to him.

Yes, this very matter that we first heard about updates itself every single day. That is why we engage in Dhamma discussions every day. We are not in a place where we can say, "I have fully understood." We are always in the process of understanding. If we conduct an exploration (gavesanā), it has an end. But an investigation (pariyesanā) has no end. An exploration means you are trying to get from here to there. But in an investigation, we don't know the end. We are always inquiring. That is why we undertake a Noble Investigation (Ariya Pariyesanā), not a Noble Exploration (Ariya Gavesanā). We don’t have a peak or a final destination to get to. We are always engaged in this Noble Investigation, just as the Buddha taught. One does not embark on a Noble Investigation with a pre-determined end. One is not looking for a destination.

That is why this monastic life never becomes wearisome for us. We are not heading towards an end. It has no finality. So, every day, we investigate. The understanding gets updated. It updates day by day because we do not know the end. The Buddha told us to conduct a Noble Investigation. One does not go into an investigation with a conclusion already in mind. There is no conclusion. If there were a conclusion, it would mean there is a path, a destination, and someone to walk it. This is not like that. It is moment to moment to moment. That is why the ordained life never becomes tiresome or stale. Why? Because we are not trying to get to a single point and stay there. If there were some fixed end, once you got there, wouldn't life become boring? "Right, I've arrived. Now what?" It would be like getting married. "Okay, I'm married now. What do I do now?" This isn't like that. We are in a state of inquiry. So even in another ten years, we will still be in this inquiry. We investigate day after day. And in the course of that investigation, if one becomes a stream-enterer (sotāpanna), one becomes a stream-enterer. We don’t know. We don’t know the end. We are conducting a Noble Investigation. We, as disciples, are investigators, conducting a Noble Investigation. That is why we never become stale. We never arrive at a point of "I know." We are always inquiring, never finding a place to establish ourselves. An investigator has no place to land, no place to rest, no place to take a stand. They just investigate.

Right, so I will return to our analogy. In our discussion of contact (phassa), the nature of the mind is such that it is this very 'knowing' that cannot be known. It is this very 'seeing' that cannot be known. But one must be very careful, because I have to use the word 'seeing', and in the very act of using that word, you are already caught. When I say, "It is the seeing itself that cannot be known," your consciousness has already jumped ahead, thinking, "Ah, so there is seeing, but it just can't be known." Please don't take it like that. There is no other way, no other language. I have to point out the truth using the error of language itself. I have to use the erroneous words.

For example, when the Buddha says, "Cakkhuñca paṭicca rūpe ca... tiṇṇaṃ saṅgati phasso" (Dependent on the eye and forms... the meeting of the three is contact), he is showing that contact arises because of the three: the eye, the form, and eye-consciousness. Many people hear this and think… the problem is the very positing of these three as separate things. Many think that contact arises because of the eye, the form, and eye-consciousness. Consciousness gets entangled there. So, when learning this Dhamma, when the error is being pointed out, the words of the error itself have to be used. So one shouldn't grasp them. When the arising (samudaya) is being shown, wisdom regarding the cessation (nirodha) should arise. There is a paradox in this. That is, the truth is pointed out using the error. Don't grasp the error as the truth. Don't think, "Ah, so contact exists because of the eye and form." The eye, form, and eye-consciousness are un-arisen things. The understanding that should arise there is one of ignorance (avijjā). To say that contact arises from the eye, form, and eye-consciousness—contact is not the "coming together" of these three. The acceptance of them as three distinct things is what is called contact.

For the person in whom that wisdom arises, the understanding of the other side arises in that very seeing. The arising of one side is explained using arisen phenomena in order to point to their un-arisen nature. I don't know... this is the paradox of realization. One thing is said, but what needs to be realized is its opposite. But this 'opposite' cannot be analyzed. The 'opposite' has no signs (nimitta), no features, no marks; it is non-manifest (anidassana). Yes, there is no place to land there. It is not a 'place'. When we say 'the other side', one's attention might again think, "Ah, so there must be something, some other side," and grasp it with that same attention. That's the problem. "Right, so there must be something else beyond these three." And that too is constructed by attention.

So how? It is all born of attention. Even the statement "all is born of attention" (sabbe dhammā manasikāra sambhavā) is said using attention. The lie is pointed out using the words of the lie itself. So when you take those words to analyze the lie, you should not struggle to make them into another truth. That is where wisdom is needed. That is why we always say that the truth is not another analysis; it is wisdom, it is knowledge (ñāṇa). When that wisdom arises, the things taken up to analyze the Dhamma must be dropped. Because to analyze the truth, you have to use the lie again, the non-existent. Otherwise, one ends up getting entangled in Dhamma analyses, and consciousness, instead of becoming non-manifest, becomes established in those Dhamma analyses, thinking they are correct. It clings to them.

Now, someone might say, "So, Venerable Sir, are you saying that all of this is a lie?" When they say, "Is all of this a lie?"—"Ah, so is the statement 'all of this is a lie' the truth?" If you find a truth called 'lie', then do you understand? "Are you saying all this is a lie?" If the analysis "all this is a lie" becomes a truth, then you have taken a stand again in something born of attention. So how can this be explained?

So, look at this matter carefully. As we begin to understand contact, we will understand very clearly that this event of 'seeing' in our lives is not something that can be known in any way. It is not a place where mindfulness can be established. This event of 'hearing' is not a place where mindfulness can be established. It cannot be known. Consciousness cannot go to it as a 'knowing'. The same applies to 'feeling'. For example, we feel something when we touch this. This experience of 'feeling' has no analysis. It doesn't even have the analysis 'feeling'. Instantly, the analysis jumps in: "This is wood. My hand went and hit the wood." The moment an analysis is given, a 'hand' is created, a 'piece of wood' is created, and an action of 'the hand hitting the wood' is created. That hand becomes 'my' hand. "It was my hand that got hit." The feeling of "I am the one who is hurt" is created. Look how many things are created. But if you focus only on the feeling itself, no such story can be applied. That feeling is void of feeling. A story called 'feeling' cannot even be applied. Do you see how the analysis quickly entangles it? "Ah, my hand hit it. Oh dear, I'm sorry." The analysis always shows that an action occurred—"the hand was hit." But when you go to the event itself, within that feeling, there is only the cessation of contact. It's not that there is no feeling, but that feeling is void of feeling. Contact is the cessation of contact.

If that realization dawns, you will only encounter the cessation of contact. The moment that realization is lost, an existence called 'contact' is created. "My hand hit his body." "Oh, I touched him." "Lust arose in me." "I had feelings." And then what other story? The analysis, the attention, then goes on a whole other trip. "Saṅkapparāgo purisassa kāmo..." (A man's sensual pleasure is his thought-intentions...). So, if one applies wisdom correctly to this contact, one will not even find anything to think about. There is nothing to apply attention to, nothing to analyze. What is there to analyze? We analyze things seen, heard, and felt. That is what attention does. So if 'seeing' itself cannot be analyzed, if 'hearing' itself cannot be analyzed, if 'feeling' itself cannot be analyzed, then where is there an existence for the cognized object (viññāta)?

It is from the view that "I can understand" the things seen, heard, and felt that every analysis arises. Everything we know is our foolishness. If we say we know anything in life, it is utter foolishness. There is no one more foolish than someone who says, "I know something." He is a fool of the highest order. He is completely mad. What is there to know in this? In this voidness? The Prajñāpāramitā says form is voidness; voidness itself is form. That's all. So what is there to analyze? What is there to know? What is there to say "I know"? What is there to say "I don't know"? There is nothing. In that place of 'knowing', through the analysis of attention, a pundit is created. "I know this, I know that, I understand that, I know this." He is just a heap of words.

So, understand contact in this sense. This event—seeing, hearing, feeling, thinking—is something that can never be known. It is something on which mindfulness can never be established. If we say, "I am mindful, I am aware," that is unmindfulness itself. That is what is called contact.

Right. Having known that, there is another part we have to deal with. Even though we know this, we have the practice of the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta. When we practice, we must keep this wisdom about contact in mind. Now we know about Right View (sammā diṭṭhi). We have just talked about what the arising of contact is and what the cessation of contact is. Knowing this, when we go to the training, to the practice, we give a Satipaṭṭhāna meditation subject. A meditation subject (kammaṭṭhāna) is given to a person who has this wisdom, who has some wisdom about contact. Then we say, "Alright, as a practice, if you have strong addictions to certain things, strong defilements (āsava), you should use the body knowingly." That is what is in the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta. It does not mean that one thinks with wisdom, "There is a body." One takes up the perception "there is a body" in order to establish mindfulness. But why is mindfulness established? In order to let go of mindfulness, to make it fall away. Understand this well. Mindfulness is established in order to let it go. Because as long as you are trying to let go of mindfulness, as long as mindfulness is there, you have contacted some object. You cannot make mindfulness fall away. Mindfulness must fall away on its own. It cannot be done deliberately.

So, we tell the person to develop mindfulness. But keep the wisdom in mind that mindfulness is not developed to be grasped. It is not to be clung to. The problem lies in mindfulness itself. However, to do this work, you have to choose mindfulness itself. And it is this very mindfulness that has to be let go of. But it's no use thinking conceptually, "I must let go of mindfulness." "Mindfulness is not me, not mine, not my self." Thinking like that just makes another analysis true. An analysis known by another 'I' becomes a fact. So, that's not it. It cannot be done like that.

Keeping this wisdom in mind, we then understand that no matter how much Dhamma we hear like this, inside us there is a "Maname princess." The Maname princess signifies a fickle mind (chapala hitha). You know the song, right? "She felt desire for his strong, sturdy body. She felt she should give the sword to his hand..." She was carried on the shoulders of her loving prince. But what happens when she sees the Vedda (woodsman)? "She felt desire for his strong, sturdy body." Just like that, because of that desire for the Vedda's strong form, she abandons the prince she loved so dearly. That is the fickle mind. It does not stay with one object. It dances from one object to another. Whichever object has stronger defilements... she forgets the man who was about to die for her, just for a new object. This is the great fickleness in our hearts. A moment ago, she couldn't live without the prince. The moment she sees the Vedda, it's all over.

Then, after the fight, when the prince asks for his sword, she gives the sheath to the prince and the sword to the Vedda. The Vedda kills the prince. Now she thinks, "I will be the queen." But the Vedda understands, "If I go with a woman like you, I will be ruined too. You stay here by yourself." That drama shows it so well. They used to show it at the Bandaranaike school in our area every year. It’s based on a Jātaka story, I think. So, we must understand that, just like that, no matter how much Dhamma we hear, no matter how much we discuss contact, on the practical level, we are cunning. At that moment, whichever object brings stronger defilements, we abandon everything else and go for it, due to that fickle nature.

So, we cannot do this work with such a fickle mind. Therefore, to a certain extent, we have to tame this fickle mind. We know the view. We have Right View (sammā diṭṭhi). We know that the cessation of contact is what must happen. We know that the cessation of contact is the end of the path to liberation. However, even knowing this, on a practical level—I'm not saying everyone needs this—if we have this fickle nature, we have to knowingly grasp a meditation subject. But having a meditation subject is not the cessation of contact. Being with a meditation subject means you are still with mindfulness, with a meditation sign (nimitta). Mindfulness is still there. As long as mindfulness is there, the sign is there. But a teacher gives an object that produces fewer defilements, a neutral sign for consciousness to contact. For example, take mindfulness of breathing (ānāpāna-sati). Lust doesn't arise from it. The awareness of the posture of sitting. All these meditation subjects do not generate strong defilements. Compared to associating with men, women, houses, children, the Dhamma here is less, the feeling is less, the burning is less, the fear is less. That is why a teacher gives a meditation subject that has less burning, less lust, less bondage, to a student who comes to a meditation center. Then the teacher says, "Grasp this firmly. All day long." But what is given is a neutral object.

When a neutral object is given and you are told to hold onto it, the teacher's intention is for you to get bored with it quickly. The teacher wants the student to get fed up with it. Getting fed up is when the goods are delivered! If someone says they are getting fed up with their meditation, they are close. They are about to enter the stream. So, the teacher gives the student a neutral object that doesn't produce much lust and quickly becomes monotonous and boring, as a meditation subject. That is the Satipaṭṭhāna meditation. After the student is given that neutral meditation subject, they should develop it with this understanding. Now that the subject has been given, you tell the mind, "Don't pay attention to the fickle mind." The fickle mind will say this and that is good, get attached to this person. We know about female fickleness… "Don't get upset when I say this, but..." you tell your fickle mind all sorts of things. You don't pay attention to what the fickle mind says. You know that's just how it is. Today it will grasp this with all its life, and tomorrow it will get tired of it and grasp some other nonsense. So you tell your mind, "I know you, my mind. Don't get upset, but you are a cunning one." Then we say, "I'm not going to do what you say." We put our attention on that neutral sign, that neutral object.

Then, little by little, as one holds onto this, one begins to forget about their home, children, boyfriend, girlfriend. The burning that came from them, the fire that came from them, the madness that came from them, now subsides, because one is holding onto one thing. In this saṃsāra, we need something to hold onto, something to contact. After being given this one little object, like giving a toy to a baby, after some time, the burning that came from the world of strong contact relatively decreases. It is relatively less. But now, suffering arises from the thing one is holding onto. If you are holding onto Nihaňda Araṇa, then relative pains will arise concerning the people at Nihaňda Araṇa. "Why can't these people behave properly? What is this they are doing?" That will come. Whatever you contact, you will suffer accordingly. You have to generate suffering relative to what you have grasped. You do not suffer from something you have not grasped. That is, you don't suffer from something you have not contacted. We don't suffer because of the neighbor's wife. We haven't contacted her. We don't care who she goes with. There is no feeling for us from something we have not contacted, something we have not paid attention to. We don't have problems from some far-off country. Our problems are all from here, from what we have grasped. The feeling arises relative to that.

Then, little by little, you let go of Nihaňda Araṇa too. You let that mindfulness fall away, let that awareness fall away. Little by little, it becomes smaller. You make the world as small as possible. From house and home, it became small at Nihaňda Araṇa. From Nihaňda Araṇa, it became small with the body. Then the body also becomes small. In this way, little by little, you make the contacted world tiny. You are still contacting, but it's a small thing. Just a tiny thing now. There's nothing big. Now, all you are holding onto is the breath. Now you know that suffering comes when you can't maintain it. When you are watching this breath, loneliness, aversion, and anger arise. You get furious because you can't maintain it continuously. Now all lust, aversion, and delusion arise in relation to this object. But the lust, aversion, and delusion that arise for this object are not as dangerous as the others. They don't harm the world. And they don't cause me great harm either. They arise, but now, what you are holding onto is the need to attain Nibbāna or that concentration, to maintain that wave of breath. That is what you are dancing to now. You are struggling with that. That's fine. You need to have that struggle. It is in relation to that struggle that the other struggles are exhausted. The other signs are exhausted. Because the other signs are much more troublesome. If you go after the other signs, the thorns you receive are much sharper. Here, you are fighting and dancing with a breath. Whatever arrears you have inside, you need to let them out.

Little by little, holding onto that, as you stay with a single object for a long, long time, that perception also falls away. That mind state is over. Now, the last thing you contacted… your home is gone, your child is gone, your husband is gone, your boyfriend is gone. The last thing was the breath. That's gone too. Whatever was contacted fades away. When this contacted thing fades away, the action ceases. Now there is nothing to do. In this place where there is nothing to do, the personality (sakkāya) cannot stand. At the beginning of the talk, we said that the nature of 'I' has its existence only in conjunction with an action, with contact. Its existence is with an action. Now, as this person continues to meditate, there is less and less to do. When there is nothing to do, then, like they are going mad, they ask, "Venerable Sir, what's next? What do I do now? What should I contemplate next?" All these questions mean, "Venerable Sir, please give me a way to create an 'I'!" "My 'I' is fading away. Give me a bit of... I can't smell myself anymore. My own scent is gone." It’s like saying, "I feel so uneasy. I can't feel my own scent. To feel that I exist, there has to be a scent. To feel that I exist, there must be some action for me to do here. I need some action, something to do, so I can feel my own scent." So it begs for a scent, "Isn't there even a little bit of filth (kakka) I can rub on myself? Just give me something to do." Then this mind... this mind starts searching for actions. At that time, we tell them… after the action has ceased, in that experience of having nothing to do, a certain state arises. I mentioned it in yesterday's morning and evening talks—a kind of laziness comes over you. You see, the sleepiness one gets at a meditation center… you can't get that kind of blissful sleep anywhere else. That sleepiness, the sleep that comes in a meditation hall at a meditation center… it's like falling in love during one's youth. How can one be so in love with a Dhamma talk that one falls into such a blissful sleep? The moment it comes, that sleep is unlike any other.

The nature of the mind is such that when it goes to a state where there is no action, where the 'I' is absent, the 'I' falls away. Contact falls away. Mindfulness falls away. Now there is no object to be awake with. Mindfulness is there, but there is no object. When there is no object, there is nothing inside to contact. When there is nothing to contact, that sleepiness… You must have experienced this. Sometimes during a talk, we can't believe how sleepy we get. In walking meditation, you start walking in a zigzag. You walk as if you are intoxicated. Are you walking? You don't even know. Are you walking? But that is actually good. When you have done a bit of walking meditation, a level comes where you don't really know if you are walking. At that point, there is no contact. Some people say, "I sat for meditation and when I got up, I didn't feel the time in between." But then they construct with their attention that there was a period when they did not feel time.

The truth is, as you meditate more and more, the entire domain of what can be contacted falls away. We don't feel time, place… you can't grasp anything. But then, we apply attention to that too and create a personality view (sakkāya diṭṭhi): "I was there for an hour without feeling anything." That is the problem. A personality view is created again for that hour. "Oh, I was there without feeling anything"—an analysis is applied. By applying an analysis, an unnecessary contact is created again. Another personality view is created. You are feeding another 'I'. At the time you were there without feeling, was there anyone there? Did you have an experience of "being there without feeling"? No. But one analyzes it into a personality: "Oh, I was there for an hour without feeling anything."

And with walking meditation… look, you don't need 'you' for walking meditation to happen. You don't need contact. Haven't you seen it? We are just lost in thought, and the walking happens beautifully, turning perfectly. Where is the attention? There is no attention at all. But you don't even know that you walked beautifully. After the walking is done, your attention is somewhere else. But look at how beautifully the walking happens at that time. An 'I' is not needed for walking to happen. Breathing happens beautifully without an 'I'. Now, "breathing happens without an 'I'" is another analysis. Don't get caught by that either. Otherwise, with every analysis I give, you might think, "Ah, right. Breathing happens without an 'I'. Walking happens without an 'I'." Don't get caught in yet another analysis. You cannot even speak like that when you get to that state through meditation, through mindfulness.

So understand this. As we develop this mindfulness and stay with the object, slowly, slowly, slowly, like climbing a vine and then gently letting go, you let the meditation sign (nimitta) that was held with mindfulness gently release. As it is gently released, there are three important points I will mention. The first is, the meditation sign taken up for meditation is released, isn't it? The object taken for mindfulness falls away. Contact moves towards cessation. The meditation sign to be contacted disappears. When the sign disappears, there is that state where the sign has vanished. The first thing to do with that state where the sign has been released is to not label it in any way. If you apply a name, a personal nature of "I was like this, feeling nothing" will inevitably be created. So, stay as much as possible without putting any labels. Stay mindful, stay awake. Now, there is no object. The wakefulness is there, the mindfulness is there, you know you are not asleep. But what is that experience? What is it like? Never apply a name to it. The moment you apply a name, it becomes an action. Then a personality arises: "I was like this, feeling nothing," or "I was in this emptiness." Don't insert a personality there. Don't insert an analysis. Don't try to analyze it. Don't apply names. In meditation, when you reach that state of wakefulness, don't analyze it as Nibbāna or anything else. Just stay in that signless mindfulness. And don't label it "signless mindfulness" either. Because that gives it another analysis, doesn't it? "I am in signless mindfulness." "I am the one who was in signless mindfulness." Another self is constructed. So if labels are being applied, they are being applied to thoughts that arise and pass away. Just let them come and go, as they are accustomed to doing, without even labeling that process. As much as possible, without trying to understand, just remain in that wakefulness, that mindfulness.

This is not Nibbāna. As contact keeps falling away, that level of 'I' who knew, who was with a certain sign, is being shed, shed, shed. The first point there is, don't apply analyses or names. This is what is meant in the Kaccānagotta Sutta when it says to be like one born blind even though you have eyes, and like one born deaf even though you have ears. One born blind cannot apply labels. One born deaf cannot even label the experience of hearing as 'hearing'. As much as possible, be blind though you have eyes, deaf though you have ears, and like a corpse though you have strength. I remember this verse was displayed at the Subodharama monastery and also where Ven. Katukurunde Nanananda Thero was. It’s a beautiful verse from the Theragāthā. That is what is meant for that state.

So, at that point where the meditation subject has also faded away, the most important thing is to be very careful of that sleepiness and aversion. You will feel like giving up. Don't give in to those things. It’s okay if sleepiness comes. Just continue your walking meditation with that sleepiness, keeping the wakefulness. Do your routine. As much as possible, don't apply a name to it. Don't apply names, don't apply analyses, don't apply impermanence, suffering, or not-self (anicca, dukkha, anattā), or even Dependent Origination. All these analyses are doing something. By doing something, you are making contact there again. You are trying to contact a state that is completely uncontactable by applying Dependent Origination, the Three Characteristics, or whatever. Then you start chattering, "I saw impermanence and suffering. I saw Dependent Origination. I saw voidness." Then you might seem like a big shot to someone. "I saw Dependent Origination, I saw the Three Characteristics, I saw this, I saw that." But all of it is just analysis. You don't need it. Let those thoughts come and go. See how long you can stay without applying any of them.

Here is the next problem: it is extremely difficult to stay like that without applying anything. We always need to apply something, even if it's a snippet from a Dhamma talk. "Oh, the Venerable Sir said it's not this." It is very hard for us to remain in that state of wakefulness. We always need to get in there and understand it. "What is this? What is happening to me? What is going to happen to me?" Once you understand, you can hang onto the analysis. "Right, this is the way to Nibbāna." So, be very careful when you get there. It is very difficult to stay in that state of no-object. Because we feel a great sense of imbalance. It's a very... difficult... thoughts arise suddenly. I think it was Ramana Maharshi who said to strike down the thought at the very place it arises. It’s like aborting it in the mother's womb. If you keep your mindfulness right there, if you stay with that wakefulness right where the analysis is about to spring forth, the analysis will be aborted right there. It won't be able to grow into long chains of thought. It gets aborted right then and there.

But to stay at this level is very difficult for us. Why is it difficult? Because if you don't go to an analysis, if you don't engage in an act of attention, you will directly become Nibbāna, the cessation of contact will happen. The inner self is afraid of this. That is why, without us even knowing, we try to understand it, we think about what happened, we wonder what is going to happen, we feel fear. That is why the important thing is this: as you go about your walking meditation, your sitting meditation, your daily activities, and you come to a state where you can no longer direct your attention to objects, as contact falls away, do not try to understand it unnecessarily. Do not try to explain it. Do not try to analyze it. You don't need to think, "What is happening to me?" Just stay in that wakefulness. After you have stayed in that wakefulness, I will tell you the next problem, the next issue that arises. Doubt (vicikicchā) starts to arise. You start to have doubts. "Is this the wrong path? Is my mind heading towards a state of non-perception (asañña)? Am I on the right track? Or have I found the wrong teacher? Or is my technique slightly off? Have I gone mad from meditating without a proper teacher?"

To that uncontactable state... mindfulness is there. But there is a subtle contact here, with something like emptiness. That has to fall away too. That state of being blank, or a lovely, affectionate feeling… you are still consuming some quality. You are still contacting it subtly. In the beginning, it was gross, like the body. In the beginning, it was house, home, children. Then it was the feelings in the body. Then it gets even more refined, but you are still contacting. It’s like the sphere of infinite space (ākāsānañcāyatana), like floating in a kind of totality, or a very romantic, loving feeling. It's a very pleasant vibe. That's fine. We like that contact because then we feel that 'I' exist. We are contacting something, whether it's an empty space or a loving feeling.

Then, as you continue to stay in that state for a long, long time, that too starts to fall away, piece by piece. Then, this wakefulness has no ground to stand on. When mindfulness has no place to establish itself, a great doubt begins to arise about the teacher, about the practice. "Is this the right one? Or have I gone down a wrong path?" Unnecessary doubt arises from within, and you try to change techniques, change places. You try to do some crazy thing. At that time, the important thing is to understand. The way I see it, what is happening is this: at first, mindfulness was strongly contacting concepts. Then, when it was brought to a single object, mindfulness became more and more subtle, very pleasant and lovely. Then, what happens is, it becomes even more subtle. It descends further, and that mindfulness itself shatters. At the point where mindfulness falls away, there is no one to grasp, and nothing to grasp. It's like a black hole. Right up to the edge of the black hole, 'I' exist. But once you fall into the black hole, matter cannot exist. You become undefined. There are no qualities. You become non-manifest (anidassana). There are no signs. Consciousness becomes non-manifest. No signs. No world, no 'I'.

Some people are afraid of this. After listening to the Dhamma like this for so long, staying near Buddhas, and meditating, what we are doing is trying to remove the fear of this non-manifest state. As much as possible, by repeatedly talking about the Dhamma, we are trying to say, "Don't be afraid of the place where contact ceases." Let it cease without fear. Let yourself fall into the black hole. Let it fall away. At that point, it falls away along with the wakefulness.

This has to be heard and absorbed over and over again. Then, at some point, when you can let go without fear, without trying to grasp or analyze, without doubting, but knowing with faith that this contact is fading away little by little and heading towards the cessation of contact... When contact is there, it feels like 'I' exist. When contact is about to cease, it's like letting go. "Whatever happens, happens." Just like that, it is this fearlessness. Fear is the problem inside. Without fear, little by little, you go towards the cessation of contact. Then you will see the non-manifest consciousness (anidassana viññāṇa) here. Non-manifest consciousness is not a separate kind of consciousness. It just means that what you were holding onto has faded away. There was a certain effort in holding on. That suffering is over. When that suffering is over, the 'I' is over.

So, this is the kind of story here. Faith is also needed. Without doubting, you know that what is happening is that it is becoming more and more subtle. As mindfulness becomes more subtle, that subtle knowing, that feeling of being awake, that lovely or blank feeling—even that knowing falls away. Don't be afraid of that. It is with that knowing that the contact of 'I' exists. Just give it space, little by little.

Very well, let us stop for today. May the blessings of the Triple Gem be with you all.

Original Source (Video):

Title: අනිදස්සන විඤ්ඤාණය - 03 |Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ

https://youtu.be/bfmWNVegTlM?si=FYbuz7OF1l79zy5q

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