Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 08 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana

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Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 08 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana 

A Note on the Source Text: This translation was prepared from a transcript of the original video recording. As the source transcript may have contained inaccuracies, there may be variations between this text and the original audio, particularly in the spelling of personal names, the titles of Suttas, and the rendering of Pali verses.

Gnanaweera Thero:

Very well. We were in the process of discussing consciousness without feature (anidassana viññāṇa). I believe we were not able to complete all the relevant passages during our workshop. I think we only covered about three pages. Let us discuss this a little more when we meet again.

Venerable Katukurunde Gnananda Thero has selected several beautiful suttas for our ongoing discussion, such as the Mūlapariyāya Sutta. Then there is the Kālāma Sutta. Likewise, moving forward, we will also encounter suttas that we have discussed previously, as well as those we discuss here at the monastery. However, there is one particular sutta we have not discussed, the Loka Kāmāguṇa Sutta. It is on page 81. I don't believe we have discussed it here. We have touched upon the other suttas in various places. For instance, what is found in the Brahmaṇimantanika Sutta is similar to the discussion on the perception of earth (pathavī-saññā) in the Mūlapariyāya Sutta.

Now, there is a particular passage here. Let's focus our attention on it today, and then, depending on the time, we can look at the section that follows. This is on page 81, the fourth paragraph, is it not? In the fourth paragraph, it says this—I will read it: “Therefore, monks, that base (āyatana) should be known. What is it? It is that wherein the eye ceases and the perception of form (rūpa-saññā) fades away; the ear ceases and the perception of sound (sadda-saññā) fades away; the nose ceases and the perception of smell (gandha-saññā) fades away; the tongue ceases and the perception of taste (rasa-saññā) fades away; the body ceases and the perception of touch (phoṭṭhabba-saññā) fades away; the mind ceases and the perception of mental phenomena (dhamma-saññā) fades away. That base should be known. That base should be known.” When the monks asked the Venerable Ānanda, “Venerable Sir, what is the meaning of this concise teaching of the Buddha?” he told them that it was taught to indicate the cessation of the six sense bases (saḷāyatana-nirodha). Just as the cessation of consciousness (viññāṇa-nirodha) is an experiential reality (anubhūti) and is therefore called consciousness without feature (anidassana viññāṇa), so too is the cessation of the six sense bases an experiential reality and is referred to by the term ‘base’ (āyatana).

I believe what follows after that are the verses from the Paṭhama Nibbāna Sutta: “Where there is neither earth, nor water, nor fire, nor air; nor the base of the infinity of space, nor the base of the infinity of consciousness, nor the base of nothingness, nor the base of neither perception nor non-perception; neither this world nor the other world, nor both the sun and the moon. There, I say, there is no coming, no going, no standing, no passing away, no being born. It is unsupported, without continuation, without an object. That, indeed, is the end of suffering (dukkha).”

I believe this verse is in the Udāna Pāli. There are four suttas where the Buddha speaks about liberation (Nibbāna): Paṭhama Nibbāna, Dutiya, Tatiya, and Catuttha. I think this is from the Paṭhama and Dutiya. These are the instances where the Buddha described liberation, and they are found in the Udāna Pāli of the Khuddaka Nikāya. The Khuddaka Nikāya is divided into fourteen books. During the Buddhist Council, the Venerable Ānanda included these suttas describing the nature of liberation in the Udāna Pāli. In them, the Blessed One describes that such a state exists.

For now, without going into that section on the Loka... Sutta, let us see… perhaps today or at another time, we can turn our attention to the Paṭhama Nibbāna and Dutiya Nibbāna suttas. But before that, please look at this sentence—from the Loka Kāmāguṇa Sutta. Here, the Blessed One says that the base (āyatana) where the six sense bases have ceased—the eye and form, the ear and sound, the smell… that is, the ear and sound, the nose and smell, the tongue and taste, the body and touch, consciousness and the perception of mental phenomena (dhamma-saññā)—that this base should be known. Now, when we hear this word, we need to understand a very important point.

When studying suttas like this… let's take these six sense bases and think of them as a fire. The eye and forms… this is mentioned in the Ādittapariyāya Sutta (The Fire Sermon) which comes before this. The eye, forms, ear, sounds… then, nose, smells, tongue, tastes, body, tangible objects (phoṭṭhabba), mind, and perceptions of mental phenomena (dhamma-saññā)—take all of this to be a fire. Therefore, when it speaks of a state where these sense bases are absent, one should understand it as the extinguishing of that fire. Take it in that sense. Otherwise, if we were to read a sutta like this on our own, we would immediately think, “Is there some other sense base beyond these six?” Take the word ‘fire.’ The fire is extinguished. That is all. So, when the Blessed One speaks of this other base (āyatana), He is referring to cessation (nivīma)—the extinguishing. You must apply that meaning here. When He says, "A base where these things have faded away should be known," or "where there is no sun and no moon," this is what is meant.

You see, a primary reason for this is that the Blessed One is delivering this teaching to the mind of an ordinary person (pṛthagjana), a mind that possesses a sense of self (mamatvaya). Therefore, it is necessary to show them that there is such a thing as liberation (Nibbāna). It must be shown that if there is suffering (dukkha), there is an end to suffering, a state where suffering is absent. There is nothing wrong with that; that is not incorrect. The most supreme attainment a person can achieve in this life is that end of suffering, the cessation of suffering. This sense of ‘I-ness’ is suffering itself. As long as there is suffering, there is a sense of self. As long as there is a sense of self, there is suffering. Therefore, at the end of suffering for a person, a sense of self does not arise.

So, when we study sublime teachings of the Buddha like this one, see what the Blessed One says: “no being born… unsupported, not established, without an object. That, indeed, is the end of suffering.” If we don't understand this, this is when, through misinterpreting suttas like this, we come to believe that there is a ‘city of Nibbāna’—that liberation is some kind of blissful state to be experienced, a pleasure devoid of this suffering.

Think about it this way: our ego—this sense of self (mamatvaya) in the mind—is always trying to grasp onto and cling to a place of pleasure without suffering. If you understand this, you understand our nature throughout this entire life. Look at every person. When some people say, “we played a match,” what do they mean? They mean they got rid of some suffering and found a little bit of pleasure. This sense of 'I-ness', this ego, has a nature like that of a leech. A leech only lets go of one spot in order to latch onto another. This is the nature of existence (bhava). It lets go of this only after grasping something else, then grasping something else again. So, when this sense of self identifies something as suffering, it seeks out a pleasure. When that too becomes suffering, it grasps for another pleasure. This is what we call dissatisfaction, which is craving (taṇhā).

We have heard the Buddha say that the ‘mother and father’ who accompany us on our journey through the cycle of rebirth (saṃsāra) are ignorance (avijjā) and craving (taṇhā). Ignorance is the sense that this existence and the things within it are persistent. Then, within that perceived persistence, the tendency to search for this or that, wanting one thing and needing another, is craving. We are always hoping to gain something. The entire plan is to let go of one thing in order to gain another, to let go of one thing only to cling to another. For instance, while we are at home, we come here. Once we arrive here, we try to grasp something outside again. Whatever we have attained is not enough; we try to cling to what we have not yet attained. We yearn for what we do not have. This is what we call the characteristic of craving.
However, understand that craving is only able to cling—to let go of one thing and latch onto another—because of the underlying ignorance (avijjā) which believes that there is something substantial here to grasp. Because of ignorance, craving clings to things. And because of craving, ignorance is strengthened. We are always searching for more and more things. We desire to see, to look at, and to experience new things in life. Because of that, this illusion (māyā), this existence, this illusion is re-established again and again.

Therefore, understand this well. When the Blessed One says there is a place where the six sense bases do not exist, a place without a sun or moon, if we grasp this with our minds, we imagine a place without a sun, without a moon, without stars. We think of liberation as such a place. Then, the sense of self tries to establish a consciousness there once again. We think, “It will be a state where I can just exist in bliss without any of these problems. Something will exist in my life, like a non-stop, continuous state of ‘wow’.” After all, this has been the plan for our entire lives.

And in truth, it’s not entirely wrong. For a person proceeding on that path, when they hear Nibbānaṃ paramaṃ sukhaṃ (Nibbāna is the highest bliss), it is not incorrect. In any culture, liberation (vimutti) is given the highest value. In any religion—the names may change, whether it is heaven, or for the disciples of the Buddha, liberation (Nibbāna), or for Hindus, Brahman—whatever it may be, that culture gives its highest place to that truth. So people perform all kinds of meritorious deeds and make aspirations for that very thing. However, people think that it is another place to become established in, to settle down in, just like the states they are in now. But the ultimate reality is unsupported (apaṭiṭṭhita), objectless (anārammaṇa), and featureless (anidassana). It is only at this point that the meaning changes completely. Otherwise, in the end, we proceed thinking that liberation (Nibbāna) is just another conditioned state. However, the Buddhas and the Noble Ones consider liberation (Nibbāna) to be supreme because it is not conditioned relative to anything else. It is emptiness (suññatā). It does not depend on anything else. That is why it is supreme. That is why it is sublime. It is not something that ceases because its cause has ceased. It is not something that wears away. This is because it is not lodged in anything, not established in anything. In that sense, liberation is the ultimate bliss (parama sukha). In that sense, liberation is supreme.

But that is not how we think, is it? We think that as we progress, the sense of self (mamatvaya) of a Stream-enterer (Sotāpanna) becomes a more powerful self as a Once-returner (Sakadāgāmī), and an even more refined self as a Non-returner (Anāgāmī). And we think, “Oh, at Arahantship, that’s the ultimate state! That the Buddha is the absolute peak of this.” That ego, that sense of self, wants to think of it like marks in school. It thinks that the paths and fruits (magga-phala) are some kind of ranking system, like being at the top of the class. Or like ranks in the army. Or even how, in monastic life, we show more respect as a monk’s seniority (vassa) increases. The ego thinks that the “highest” state must be something like that.

But in reality, the highest one… Jesus said that the son of God has no stone to lay his head on. That is the highest one. Look, the Bible says that other people at least have a house. Jesus says, “Oh, other people have at least a stone to lay their head on. They have a house to live in. They have a wife and so on. But the son of God has not even a stone to lay his head on.” That is the highest being. The highest being has nothing to be established in. It is featureless (anidassana), objectless (anārammaṇa), and unsupported (apaṭiṭṭhita). There is nothing. The “highest” state we imagine with our ego is not it at all. That is precisely where the ego gets entangled when it tries to attain liberation. The ego goes after what the world considers “high.” Every culture has established it, haven't they? That liberation is the highest, the most supreme thing. It is the most supreme attainment. That is why, apart from a Buddha, everyone bows down to, pays homage to, and reveres the one who has attained that supreme state. Even a king pays homage there. But when you finally get there and look, that most supreme being has no stone to support their head on, no place to rest their head.

It is for this very reason that such a being is supreme. They are not conditioned by anything. They are not relative to anything. They have not grasped any object (ārammaṇa). In that way, they are completely extinguished. There is no cause for them to be kindled again. Nothing has been established. There is no cause to catch fire. It is the end of suffering.

It is with such a meaning, I feel, that we should read these suttas. Otherwise, the mind, out of old habit, thinks of a state that is even more devoid of suffering, much like how we imagine the heavenly realms. Our idea of the heavens is that they are just like our world, but with finer clothes and ambrosial food. We imagine it is a higher level of the pleasures we have here, a “high” feeling. In that way, we approach liberation with the idea of it being an experience. But the Buddha says it is without feeling (avedayita); there is nothing to experience. The loss is that liberation is shown to be without feeling. There is no story of experiencing. Then, one might wonder, “Who would go there?” All of us are fond of experiences, aren't we? We crave pleasurable feelings. The world is greedy for these feelings.
The good thing is that, in the past, because we did not understand these meanings, it didn't matter so much. We didn't understand what “feeling” meant. Even when we heard Nibbānaṃ paramaṃ sukhaṃ (Nibbāna is the highest bliss), we just thought it must be some kind of ultimate state for us. So we just went along. But as you progress, you begin to understand that this is a different story altogether. What has been said is not false, but the meaning we grasped from it begins to be purified day by day. It is not the meaning we understood; it is not the story we had imagined. Gradually, the story of this truth, the story of liberation, unfolds.

However, the more you understand this, the more… you can't just run away from it. That's the next problem. The more this is understood, you cannot just escape. To the extent you have understood, you cannot turn back to the other world. That world has vanished to that degree. Even if you turn back, there is no world to run to. So it is a strange kind of base (āyatana). Yet, in that base, the suffering that existed in the world you turned from is not present. But as you progress further and further, there is nothing to hold onto, nothing to be established in. Just like the son of God having no stone to rest his head on. As you go on and on, you realize, “Oh my, I don't even have a stone, a place to take refuge, a place to be established.”

So, it is from such a perspective that we should understand this “base” (āyatana) being discussed—this base that is devoid of the six sense bases, that has gone beyond the six sense bases. Let us grasp in this sense what the Blessed One is trying to reveal in the Loka Kāmāguṇa Sutta. If we take that meaning, it might be better, instead of thinking of it as “another base, a place without sun or moon,” to hold the meaning of ‘extinguishing’ (nivīma). That brings it closer to our understanding. In Sinhala, nivana means ‘extinguished,’ ‘gone out.’ When something is extinguished, it doesn't really imply a place, does it? After it is extinguished, you can't go looking for the one that was extinguished. After a fire is extinguished, you cannot attain a state called ‘fire’ or a state called ‘extinguishing,’ can you? It is that exact meaning that the Blessed One conveys in these suttas.

However, in the Loka Kāmāguṇa Sutta—as I recall, it is in the fourth book of the Saṃyutta Nikāya. The fourth book is the Salāyatana Saṃyutta (The Connected Discourses on the Six Sense Bases). The fourth part of the Saṃyutta Nikāya is the Saḷāyatana Saṃyutta—oh wait, the Khandha-vagga, the Khandha Saṃyutta comes first, then the Sagātha-vagga... so the fourth saṃyutta is the Saḷāyatana Saṃyutta. And the verse in this sutta… what happens in this sutta, as I remember it, is this: When the Buddha-to-be was practicing meditation to attain Buddhahood… we think that during the period of his austerities, he was just practicing austerities, but he was also engaged in this practice. As the Buddha-to-be was continuing this practice, past perceptions (saññā) arose in him. As he was meditating, old perceptions arose.

Then the Buddha says, “Monks, when I was cultivating the requisites for enlightenment (bodhisambhāra), on the path to Buddhahood, these old memories, these old perceptions, arose in me. This will happen to you too, so do not get caught up in them.” He is giving advice. “Do not get caught up in them. There is a place where these perceptions are absent—there is liberation. Do not doubt it. Do not run back to old perceptions. I too faced this problem before my enlightenment. Before I became a Buddha, old memories came and troubled me.” Have a look, read that sutta. It's there. I'm not sure if I'm recounting it exactly, as I'm speaking from memory, so there might be slight differences. But you can go to a website like SuttaCentral and search for this sutta. Look it up. It is in the Saṃyutta Nikāya, in the Saḷāyatana Saṃyutta, in the chapter called the Lokakāmaguṇa-vagga. This discourse is found there.
The point the Buddha wants to make here is that we start to get bound up again by old memories and old perceptions. This happens before one is fully established in complete liberation (Nibbāna), before one is completely extinguished. Those memories get stirred up again. That is why the Buddha says it is very difficult to remain mindful in the present moment. It is difficult to maintain mindfulness (sati) because those memories, those perceptions, arise. “Therefore, monks, do not pay too much attention to these things. Know that there is a state devoid of these perceptions, a state beyond these sense bases, beyond the six sense bases.”

After the Buddha said this, the monks did not understand it. So they went to the Venerable Ānanda. “Venerable Sir…” The Buddha must have known about the meditation objects (kammaṭṭhāna) of those monks. They too were being pulled back by their old memories. When you are meditating, you get drawn back again and again. That is why the Buddha said, “Do not get caught up in this. Liberation exists. There is a release for you, an end to suffering, a place where these six sense bases are absent. A place of the cessation of perception (saññā-nirodha). Practice for this.”

However, here is a point we need to understand. When we try to understand these suttas, we tend to fall into this pattern: Let's say there is perception here. Then, when we hear of a state ‘without perception,’ we automatically project another state over here, a state of ‘no-perception,’ something to be attained. Our projection is, if this is perception, then when perception ceases, we project a state of ‘non-perception’ over there. But wisdom (paññā) is on this side. When the Buddha speaks of the cessation of perception (saññā-nirodha), he is pointing back towards this side. It is not about grasping something else. It is about realizing what perception itself is. Do you understand that point?
What happens is that as soon as we hear something, we think, “I need to get away from perception. I need to get away from suffering.” And in doing so, we go off trying to grasp a state of ‘no-suffering.’ When the Buddha says we must be freed from suffering, his disciples ask the Venerable Ānanda, "What is suffering?" If we are told to be freed from perception, shouldn't we first recognize what perception is? Otherwise, what are we to be freed from? We all say we need to be freed from this cycle of rebirth (saṃsāra). But to be freed from saṃsāra, we must first recognize what saṃsāra is. To be free from saṃsāra is the wisdom that recognizes what saṃsāra is. It is not about practicing to escape from saṃsāra. Did you understand that point? See if you can grasp it. Otherwise, we will get our entire narrative tangled up.

When the Buddha teaches something, we immediately go off searching for that other base called Nibbāna. But when He says, "where there is no sun," wisdom is applied to the base where there is no sun or moon only when we recognize what the "sun" truly is. It is not another attainment.

If we go in that direction, we are feeding craving (taṇhā). We are searching for a place without a sun or moon. We are searching for a place without suffering. We are searching for a place with pleasure. The nature of the mind is to let go of this and grasp something else, to establish itself in some other place. That is the characteristic of craving. The moment craving hears something, it wants to obtain it, to go there, to see it. That is the nature of craving. So when the Buddha speaks of a place where something is absent, our craving hears it as, “Ah, there is a place where that is not present! Wonderful! We can be in bliss, in a state of pure enjoyment.” We create more and more.

So when the Buddha says this, we must ask ourselves, "If the perception of form (rūpa-saññā) fades away, then what is the perception of form?" It is in the process of seeking to understand that, that the quality of liberation, of cessation of perception, is found. It is not something to be attained. It is the quality of crossing over, of extinguishing. When you try to understand perception itself, it is seen for what it is. "What is this perception of form? What is this perception of sound (sadda-saññā)?" It is within that very understanding that it happens. It is not about destroying the perception of form to attain a state without it.

See how our minds are accustomed to grasping. In the noble search (ariya-gavesana), what we do is understand. We investigate. We are not trying to attain or grasp something else. The characteristic of craving is to try and grasp, and then get weary of it. We get weary of the path, weary of everything, because we are always trying to grasp. The nature of investigation is to inquire: "What is this?" What happens through that inquiry? Cessation (nivīma). Crossing over. Peace.

Let me give you an example. Then we can understand. What I am trying to explain is how we should approach these Buddhist discourses. If we are to study the Tripitaka, from what angle should we turn so that we do not feed craving? How should we understand the Buddha’s words? Because we study these discourses according to our own habits, the way we are accustomed to thinking. That is when we get stuck. Or else we try to establish ourselves in some concept like the ‘bliss of Nibbāna,’ thinking “May the golden gates of Nibbāna open for me,” or something similar, imagining a place where, if we go, there will be no sorrow, no grief for me. “The day I go to Nibbāna...” And that's not false. But it is not in the sense that you are thinking. The day you go to Nibbāna, all suffering does indeed cease. But it is not like a person going to a palace in a heavenly realm. That is not the meaning. There is a different meaning.

It’s fine; it's better to grasp it that way at the beginning. If a person knew everything from the very start, they wouldn't take a single step, would they?

So let's take that point. Let's understand what the perception of form (rūpa-saññā) is. We have discussed perception (saññā) in various ways these past few days. Now, it says here that the perception of form fades away, the perception of sound fades away. When we speak of a perception, let me give you this example. Imagine a dog is chasing you, trying to bite you. A dog is running after us to bite us. Now, we have the dog. We recognize the dog by its color, its shape, its appearance, don't we? Then, it barks at us. We recognize its barking through sound. Now, pay attention to what I am saying. Then you will apply wisdom to what the perception of form, the perception of sound, and the perception of touch are. Otherwise, it is useless to try and get away from perception without first recognizing it.

When it says “perception has faded away,” take this meaning. Now, with that dog, we have a perception of form (rūpa-saññā) to recognize the dog. We also have a perception of sound (sadda-saññā) that the dog is barking, don’t we? Then, "The dog bit me."

Then there is the knowing, the tangible contact (phoṭṭhabba), isn't there? There is the tendency to think about the dog—the perception of a mental object (dhamma-saññā). The smell of the dog, "Ugh, what a smell!"—that is the perception of smell (gandha-saññā). Let's take this same analogy of the dog to understand what perception (saññā) is.

Alright, now consider this. There is the dog, and there is the ‘me’ whom the dog is biting. I am there, the dog is there. There is the perception ‘me,’ and there is the perception ‘dog.’ There is the perception of the dog’s form, the perception of its barking sound, and the perception of its smell. All these perceptions are present.

However, I want you to think about this point in this way: What if we are seeing this whole incident in a dream? We see this entire event of a dog chasing to bite us in a dream at night. But within the dream, the idea that it is a dream never occurs to us, does it? We take it as a real event. That is the truth of it, isn't it? The dog's form, its sound, the pain felt when it bites the body, the 'me'—that entire event is real for us. Look closely. That whole event is real because, at the moment it is happening, does it even occur to us that this is happening in a dream? No, it doesn't. We add that label to it later. It is a fabrication we make afterward.

But now, think about it. Go to that moment when the event is happening within the dream. At that moment, there is no story of it being a dream. At the moment the event is happening, it is absolutely real; it is actually happening.

Alright. Now, here is another situation. I am moving to the next one. This same event happens while you are watching a TV drama. In the TV drama, we also get scared, don't we, at that moment? When watching a drama, don't we sometimes feel desire stirred up in certain scenes? In other scenes, don't we feel fear, like in a horror movie? At that moment, do we remember that we are just watching a TV drama? No, we don't. See, this is what I am trying to point out about the illusory nature of perception. Look closely. When we see a dog biting someone in a TV drama, the story that "this is a drama" is not present. It is only after we get startled, or someone speaks to us, that we think, “Oh my, I got scared for nothing.” It's only later that we label it a drama. Just as, after waking up from a dream, we label it a dream. What I am saying is, go to that moment, that specific instant.

Now, take the third instance: a dog biting you in ordinary life. When a dog is barking and chasing after us in real life, do we have the thought at that moment, “This is real”? Do we think, "This one is actually real, the previous one was a dream, and the one before that was a drama"? Does it happen like that? No. In that event, the incident of a dog coming to bite is simply real.

Now, think about this: take all three situations. In any of these three situations, did it occur to us at the time—I mean in the dream, go to that exact moment and look—did we think, “This dog in the dream is false,” or “This is just created for a TV drama,” or “This one is real”? Did we have these three categories? Just think about it. We did not have those three categories. It is only later that we say, “That was a dream I had last night,” or “Oh, that was just a drama.” But when you go to that moment, that instant, the event is simply: "a dog is coming to bite me." There is no separate story of "this is real" or "this is false." There is no story of it being a dream. Our life is simply within the perception of "a dog is coming to bite." That is all there is. It is the perception of a dog coming to bite. For us, it is not even a perception; it is a real event. There is no story of this being a perception. What we feel in a dream or in a TV drama is just as real as what we feel in reality. If not, why would people cry or get scared while watching a TV drama? If they knew it was just a drama, they wouldn't. They forget. At that moment, such a story does not exist. At that instant, it is the world of the dog, the world of Dracula; that perception functions in exactly that way.

Alright. Now, let’s look at this from another angle. Think for a moment. At the time of seeing that dog in the dream, when we have that recognition of "a dog is biting me," was there actually a dog that came and chased me? Or was there just a fabrication, just a recognition, of a 'dog'? Was there only a recognition in that manner, or was there really a dog trying to bite? Just think. It was a knowing that occurred through a fabrication. It was not a knowing of an existing dog. There is a dog that is recognized through the process of conditioning, through fabrication. There is a ‘me’ who sees what is known through that fabrication. It is a conditioned nature. A perceptual nature. That which is fabricated is what is known through conditions: formations are a condition for consciousness (saṅkhāra-paccayā viññāṇaṃ). It is not an existing dog. Look, within that dream, at that moment, when we are feeling it, in that incident—whether in the TV drama or anywhere else—at the moment of seeing, it is undeniably felt as if a dog exists and is chasing us, whether in the dream or in reality. Now, when I use the words “in reality,” it implies there is such a thing, but there isn't. I am just using these words to analyze it. It's not that there was a separate dog in the dream, another dog in the TV drama, and another in reality. There were not three dogs.

What is recognized is that which is fabricated. As it is said, yaṃ sañjānāti, taṃ papañceti—"What one perceives, one proliferates about." The proliferation (papañca) happens regarding what is recognized, not regarding what exists. Yaṃ vedeti, taṃ sañjānāti—"What one feels, one perceives." In a sutta it says, yaṃ sañjānāti, taṃ vitakketi, taṃ papañceti—"What one perceives, one thinks about, one proliferates about." The thoughts arise about what is recognized, not about what exists. Therefore, what is recognized is not what exists.

The late Venerable Katukurunde Gnanananda Thero used to explain this beautifully. He would say, “What is seen does not exist; what exists is not seen.” Meaning, what exists cannot be seen by us. What exists is featureless (anidassana), unsupported (apaṭiṭṭhita), it is cessation (nirodha). What exists can never be seen. What is seen is perception (saññā), and perception never truly exists. He used to say this so beautifully. I think it was around 2004 when I used to travel by bus to see him. When I heard these words, I felt something deep inside, though I couldn't understand it. Even when I went to see Venerable Katukurunde, I still couldn't understand. I thought perhaps if I went to see Venerable Kadawadduwe Sudassana Thero, I might understand something. He seemed to simplify it even more. I started listening to him around 2004; I don't know if he was teaching this before then. What is seen... what truly exists here cannot be known by anyone. What exists cannot be perceived. Nibbāna cannot be perceived. Nibbāna cannot be recognized. And what is recognized does not exist.

The moment the dog is recognized, the 'me' who saw the dog, that perception of sound, that perception of form, that perception of smell, that touch—they do not exist. Don't just say, "The dog and I are not here." See this entire phenomenon as perception. Don't take it as "I am a separate being and the dog is a separate being, and both are false." This entire story of name-and-form (nāma-rūpa) is a mirage of perception. Take this whole story as name-and-form. It's not that I have a separate name-and-form, that 'I' am a separate perception and the 'dog' is a separate perception. No. The entire incident occurring within the dream, that whole phenomenon of recognizing, is a mirage.

Take it in that sense. Then, this entire perception of form, sound, smell, taste, and touch that we see is something that can never truly be experienced. At a place that cannot be experienced… for example, now think about this. I mentioned a dream. Have we ever actually seen a dream? Just think about it. Although I just used the word ‘dream,’ the event of ‘a dream’ is something we cannot experience. At the time of seeing it, it is real. When have I ever seen, "I am seeing a dream"? Never. It has never been experienced. The dream itself is what is not established. The dream itself is what cannot be known. Even though we say, "I saw a dream," no one has ever seen a dream in their life. Just think, when did you ever see a dream as a dream? But it is from the standpoint of "I saw a dream" that we assert this reality I am speaking of. Even on that day, what was seen at the time of seeing was real.

Anyway, look closely… that is not the point I want to make now. Let me come to the part I want to explain. If I were to explain it from another angle... the point I need to make here is this: look, just as in the phenomenon of the dog in the dream, what happens within that dream cannot be established at that moment. You can't even speak of "at that moment," because that creates a sense of a separate place existing. So, this entire perception of a dog barking, the dog, me, the form, sound, smell, taste, and touch—these are not mere things. A dog was not known. It is through the recognition that a dog was met. It was a fabrication, a recognition of 'dog' that arose; it was not a recognition of an existing dog. However, this fabrication presents itself as if an existing dog was recognized. That very "encounter" of recognizing an existing dog is itself a perception.

So now, when I say perception (saññā), you should have the wisdom to understand. I don't need to keep repeating it. Perception is that which can never be truly recognized. The Buddha constantly refers to perception as a mirage (marīci). A mirage means that which is utterly unrecognizable. It is utterly unrecognizable. That is, at the point where a ‘dog’ cannot be recognized as such, the very concept of ‘recognition’ has no meaning. Once that realization arises, by directly seeing the very point of recognition of 'dog,' one becomes established in that base where the dog is absent.

Therefore, that base is not another place. To recognize what this ‘dog’ truly is, to realize the very nature of perception—that is what it means to be established in the base that is beyond perception. It is the base where suffering is absent. However, it is not a person going to a place where there is no dog. It is not a dog-less person existing somewhere. It is about understanding how the 'dog' is fabricated. In the very process of understanding that fabrication, one realizes that this fabrication occurs within a nature that is itself un-fabricated.

However, a nature that is ‘un-fabricated’ cannot be designated as a thing. Otherwise, we might think there is something called the ‘unfabricated.’ If we were to encounter something called ‘the unfabricated,’ that too would become a fabricated thing (saṅkhata). Nibbāna is called the unfabricated (asaṅkhata), meaning it is not fabricated. Can the ‘unfabricated’ be fabricated? The cessation of one's suffering, the establishment that occurs upon realizing the true nature of fabrication—that is what is called the unfabricated (asaṅkhata). That is Nibbāna. One becomes established in the unfabricated. However, it is not that the fabricated becomes the unfabricated. Do not even think from the perspective of something that was. The unfabricated is the realization that it was never a fabricated ‘thing’ to begin with.

See how these words work? Consciousness presents it as if there is something fabricated and something unfabricated, like two separate things. “The fabricated is knowing there is a dog; the unfabricated is the realization of a base where there is no dog.” But if you grasp the ‘unfabricated’ in this way, you have just created another fabricated thing. It’s just an analysis, another fabrication. It is not like that.
That is what is meant by the unfabricated: cessation (nivīma). Cessation is not a place or a thing. However, the Buddha shows that there is cessation. It is not that there is no cessation. He says this to the person who is in the fabricated: “There is an unfabricated. There is a nature that is not fabricated.” Is that a place without suffering? Yes, there is no suffering there. There is no ‘I’ there. But there is no need to add anything further. When one understands the true nature of the fabricated, what becomes evident is the unfabricated itself. Even my saying “the unfabricated itself” is incorrect; even describing it with words is incorrect.

This is the kind of teaching it is. This is why the Buddha says, “Such a base should be known.” When he says it is a place without these perceptions of form, sound, and so on… what I need to say is, when we hear this, we should be asking, “Venerable Sir, what is the perception of form?” rather than searching for a place where the perception of form is absent. It is not about engaging in another action. What is the perception of form? What is it? We have just discussed two aspects of it. Now, as we gradually begin to understand perception, we realize something. Whether we call it a TV drama or reality, it was not the recognition of an existing dog in an un-fabricated place. The recognition, the fabrication, is what occurred. This happened because of not knowing its true nature, because of ignorance regarding a nature that can never be fabricated. A fabrication has occurred: “There is a dog, there is me.” It is due to ignorance of the unfabricated, of Nibbāna, of cessation, that this world of perceptions—this dog, this me, these forms, sounds—exists in a fabricated state.

Now, look… with the language used in tonight’s sermon, you might feel like giving up, thinking, “This is difficult, what is he trying to say?” But it is good to learn this language, to get a little accustomed to the language of the Buddha’s discourses when we read them. Otherwise, we can also speak in the language we used this morning. That is our normal way of speaking. But then, the terminology of the Buddha's discourses will seem difficult. It’s not our language, is it? This was a language used in the time of the Buddha, a regional dialect used in Magadha, India. So, at first, it might feel a bit alien. But as you listen to it again and again, you will understand. It becomes familiar. It's not about the language used in Magadha during the Buddha's time or the specific words. The mind tries to reject it at once because it feels a little unfamiliar. So even if it’s difficult, it doesn’t matter. As you keep listening, you will begin to understand it a little.

That is to say, as we apply wisdom to this act of ‘recognizing,’ we come to understand that wisdom dawns upon its very unrecognizability. The truth lies within the recognition itself. Then, there is a distinct realization of what this ‘recognition’ is. "What exactly is this perception of form?" When the perception of form is recognized, one doesn't fall into the extreme of saying, "There is no perception of form." One doesn't say, "This dog definitely exists," nor does one say, "The dog doesn't exist either." One doesn't say, "There never was a dog." One knows how the story of a ‘dog’ comes to be applied. One knows how it was fabricated. There is a wisdom. Because one knows how the fabrication arose, a knowledge of cessation (nirodha-ñāṇa) arises. Knowledge of the unfabricated, of cessation.

That is the Buddha’s un-fabricated base, the base beyond the six sense bases, cessation, Nibbāna, the state of being extinguished. Did you see? We are not trying to search for something that is absent. We are investigating how it is fabricated, what the origin (samudaya) of suffering is, how the fabrication arose. As one goes on to realize how it arose, cessation is realized. The knowledge of cessation arises. One becomes unfabricated. The fabricated becomes un-fabricated.

As we say, visaṅkhāragataṃ cittaṃ, taṇhānaṃ khayamajjhagā—"The mind has gone to the unconditioned; it has reached the destruction of craving." All formations (saṅkhāra) are de-conditioned (visaṅkhāra). Craving is worn away. Craving cannot arise. The sense of 'I-ness' is finished. The Buddha shows this, like in the inspired utterance (udāna) where he says, “I have found you, O house-builder! You shall not build a house again.” To realize this is for all formations to be de-conditioned. All fabrications become un-fabricated. This happens at the very point where this knowledge, this wisdom (paññā), is applied—the seeing of the true nature of the fabricated, the realization of perception as perception.

So, look. At that point of the ‘dog,’ it is we who later break it into three categories: "Oh, Venerable Sir, that was a dream, and that other one was a TV drama." But look closely. Even though we say "a dream," as I mentioned earlier, we have never had an experience of "a dream." Since we have never experienced it as such, then the label ‘dream’ is just another fabrication. Has anyone here ever seen a dream as a dream? No one has seen a dream. Therefore, a ‘dream’ is not something that exists. ‘Dream’ is another formation, another fabrication.

So, when the very concept of ‘dream’ becomes empty (suñña), then… it is because we say, “That dog was seen in a dream,” that what is being seen now becomes ‘real.’ We cannot speak of ‘reality’ without making a dream its condition (paccaya). But if we look closely, we will see that at every moment of seeing, we have seen reality, reality, reality. However, every instance of it being ‘real’ was based upon, conditioned by, the idea of a ‘dream,’ a ‘dream,’ a ‘dream’—based on the idea of a falsehood.

But what we have never encountered is a dream. If we have never encountered a dream, then we could not have encountered a real dog either. Without a falsehood, how can we speak of a truth? The reason we say, “This world we see now is the real world, with real mothers,” is because we have designated what we saw last night as false. Look closely. At the point of saying ‘true,’ or at the point of saying ‘false,’ we have never encountered a separate state of ‘true’ and ‘false.’ At every moment, due to fabrication, it has only ever been a recognition, appearing as real at that time.

But then, look. We take an unexperienced dream as a reality—that is, we have not experienced a dream. But it is by calling the unexperienced dream ‘false’ that we engage with this as ‘real.’ Think about it. When, in our lives, have we ever seen a dream? At the moment of seeing it, was there even a particle of realization that it was a dream? No. So, we have never experienced ‘a dream’ in our lives. If we have never experienced that, then how can we posit that this waking state is real? Where do we establish it from? This is what happens. We cannot posit this as ‘real’ without having experienced a dream.
Therefore, this state too is nothing but an illusion of perception. We cannot make such a designation. Look closely. We take this as ‘real’ on the basis of that being a ‘dream,’ meaning, "What I saw before was false, so this is real." But if we have never experienced a falsehood, how can we call this a truth? The word ‘truth’ loses its meaning. The word ‘waking’ loses its meaning. It is just like the dream. Just as we have never experienced a dream, we have never experienced a state of ‘being awake’ either. Therefore, this feeling of ‘being awake’ is just another mirage-like perception, just like the other. Just another mirage-like perception. It is at that point that we see… it is then that we understand that this is all a fabrication. It is not something seen after waking up, nor something seen in a dream. There was no one inside the dream, and there is no one here now either. It is not a knowing of someone who exists. Rather, what is happening is a fabrication: “There are people here, and they are knowing.” An illusion is taking place. As wisdom is applied to this again and again, those formations (saṅkhāra) begin to be de-conditioned (visaṅkhāra). One directly realizes the un-fabricated nature.

This is the kind of teaching that the Buddha, as I understand it, is trying to show. “Monks, there is such a state. What you see is like that story—it is an engagement with something that never happened as if it happened. That is the formation that exists. Wisdom and knowledge must be applied to this.”

Alright. As wisdom and knowledge are applied to this… let me change the topic slightly. After I started meditating, we would bring these suttas and ask about them. We would bring a sutta and ask the monks who were teaching meditation, “Venerable Sir, the Buddha has said this. There is no form, no sound. Then, there is no eye, no form, no sound. There is a base where all these perceptions have faded away.” After saying this, someone might ask in all seriousness—now listen carefully—"Alright, you told me to watch my breath. So when I watch my breath, the perception of ‘eye’ has not arisen at all. It’s finished. That base is finished.”

Don't think of what I'm saying as a joke. It's actually true. When I am watching my breath, the perception of ‘eye’ has not arisen at all. The perception of ‘form’ has not arisen at all. That base that is spoken of—that un-arisen state—that is it. The ‘eye’... now when I am watching my breath… now look, think about this point for a moment. When we truly place our attention on the breath or on the body, five of the sense bases are finished. Five sense bases are un-fabricated. Five sense bases have not arisen. Just think about it. At the time I am watching my breath, the perception of sound is not established, is it? The perception of form is not established. The perception of smell is not there, the perception of taste is not there, and the perception of concepts is not there.

So, on the path of meditation, what is done is not to cut all six, but to cut five. There is only one left to cut. But people don't get that far either. It’s too much for them. That one is finished too.

So after hearing this teaching, it becomes clear… this is why we are told that one must have at least a little bit of intelligence. One needs to have at least some brains, instead of grasping these things and just arguing about them. The question is, how do we establish our practice (paṭipadā) from this? When we read this sutta, a certain kind of wisdom arises. Now, we have to establish our practice from this. There is no set order, like “after this, do this.” If there were, the Blessed One would have gone and told us, “Do this.” But we don't have that. What we have is the practice. Somehow, through the Buddha’s words, we have to establish our own practice. We have to forge a path to become one with that unfabricated element (asaṅkhata-dhātu). Each one of us has to, because each person’s addictions are different. Each person’s likes and dislikes are different. Although liberation (Nibbāna) is one, the paths people have taken are different; the paths they are addicted to are different.

Therefore, we have to forge a path for ourselves from this, to reach this unfabricated state, this state without suffering, this end of suffering—to be extinguished. So, this has to be done relative to ourselves. We need the help of a spiritual friend (kalyāṇa-mitta); we cannot do it without one. But from our side too, we must find our own ways and means. We cannot just wait for everything to be served on a platter of flowers. We have to make the effort. We have to find it for ourselves.

From the Buddha’s words, we understand that this is the kind of teaching it is. Wisdom arises. And as wisdom arises, we also understand our own state. Even after hearing this, for some of us, our defilements (āsava) are still strong. Our tendency to create conditions is still strong. But now, because we have heard this sermon, the wisdom to know that has arisen. The wisdom to understand has come. Now, the way it was explained to me was this: The cessation of the six sense bases (saḷāyatana-nirodha) is Nibbāna. That is correct. The non-establishment of these six sense bases, the fading away of all six, the cessation of perception (saññā-nirodha)—that is liberation (Nibbāna). That is correct.

Now, when we practice this, five are already featureless (anidassana) and unsupported (apaṭiṭṭhita). During meditation, when we are watching the breath, we have no idea about forms. This means that, in that respect, we have already attained liberation. It is unfabricated (asaṅkhata); it is not fabricated (saṅkhata). That sense base has not been fabricated at all. There is no ‘me’ who knows the forms of the breath, and there is no ‘form,’ and there is no ‘eye.’ This is during meditation. Now, this is not a truth based on relative reality, not an inferential knowledge. But let's just use inference to understand this for a moment.

The path we are forging now exists within ignorance (avijjā). What I spoke of earlier was the discourse on Nibbāna. But now, when we forge a path to it, we are making a formation (saṅkhāra), are we not? The path itself must also wear away. After crossing the river on a bridge, the bridge must be let go of. A bridge that has been crossed cannot be carried along. What we are doing now is making a small raft. But upon reaching the other shore, the raft must be abandoned. You cannot carry the raft with you. The raft cannot remain. The one who crossed cannot remain, and the raft used for crossing cannot remain. However, you cannot put forward the argument that one can cross without a raft either.

So, here, we make a raft. We make a raft to cross over. We do this with faith, hearing that the Buddha said it. It is not something we have concocted ourselves. We do it with the trust that the Buddha taught this. But the problem here is that, in the end, the raft must be worn away, the raft must be let go of. The one who crossed, the raft, the one who taught how to cross, this shore, the other shore—everything must become of an un-fabricated nature. It must become unfabricated (asaṅkhata).

Alright. When we get to this level, try to understand it like this. When we come to such a point on the path, we tell the person, "Understand this logically: you have already attained liberation from five sense bases. You have no suffering concerning them, do you?" You have no suffering about forms, no suffering about sounds. There is no suffering, and no ‘me.’ There is nothing being experienced. There is no idea about them at all. So, in that respect, it is completely featureless (anidassana), unsupported (apaṭiṭṭhita), and objectless (anārammaṇa). There is no establishment whatsoever.

Now, at this point, grasp this with relative knowledge. With relative knowledge, we understand, "By grasping one, I have attained liberation from five." Liberation from five has been attained, but by holding onto one. See? Even without that profound wisdom from before, we can now understand through relative knowledge that this is a good deal. We sacrificed one for five. By grasping one source of suffering, five sources of suffering are over. Five formations are over. Five fabrications are over. Five out of six are finished. Only one remains. The suffering is in that one. The formation is in that one. The ‘me’ is in that one. Self-view (sakkāya-diṭṭhi) operates in that one. It is there.

Now the problem is that we are holding on tightly to that one thing. The suffering is in what has been grasped. In reality, to attain liberation, you don't have to let go of the whole world. I only suffer from the things I have grasped. I don’t cry over what you have grasped. If you lose your girlfriend or boyfriend, I don’t feel sad. If your child passes away, I don't feel the pain. If your child gets sick, it doesn't affect me. I only suffer because of a child I have grasped. So, there is no need to be freed from the whole world. I just need to be freed from what I have grasped.

Now, don't connect this part of the talk with the sermon from before. What I am talking about now is a story within the fabricated world, a world seen through worldly eyes. We are now building a raft. We have come into this existence (bhava). The part I spoke of earlier was directly about cessation (nirodha). It didn't have these stories.

What I am talking about now… you can feel it a little more, can't you? It feels like I'm talking about you. The earlier parts were like Greek. You couldn't understand them, couldn't grasp them. They were not on our level. But this line of talk, you can feel it bit by bit. You understand it. You can feel it well. This is like the raft. So, now we understand it in this way. We experience suffering from what we have fabricated. We don’t need to attain liberation from everything in this world. We don’t have to let go of everything. I don’t suffer from the formations that other people have grasped. They suffer from what they have grasped. They experience suffering.

But right now, there is something that I have grasped. And that is my body. So, if I experience suffering, I experience it only from this perception. This is what I have fabricated now, what I have assumed to exist. Because the body is a fabricated thing. It’s not that we are knowing an existing body; we are recognizing a fabrication that ‘a body exists.’

Now, try to understand this. In awareness, there is no body. If we become established in awareness, in mindfulness (sati), mindfulness has no body. What is present at this very moment is a knowing. In that knowing, there is no body. We are operating under the assumption that there is a body. Do you understand? In reality, we have never experienced a body. What is there is a knowing. Just like the story of the dog in the dream, we are suffering within a fabrication called ‘body.’ We are afraid. In the dream, there was no body, but the nature of that fabrication was, "The dog is coming to bite me."

In the same way, this body that we are currently grasping is also like that. It is not a story of this reality, of this knowing. It is not a story of awareness. It is another fabricated base, just like the dog in the dream. It is something known through fabrication, a recognition. The 'I' that is in this body, and this 'body' itself… go back to the dream story. Just as the ‘dog’ was not a knowing of an existing dog, but rather, the ‘dog’ and the ‘me’ were recognized through the fabrication ‘dog’—in the same way, this is not a knowing of an existing body. It is through the very fabrication ‘body’ that a ‘me’ has come forth, and it is this ‘me’ that is in this bundle of suffering, thinking, “Oh, I am experiencing such pain with this body.”

Apply that analogy. Apply that analogy to the situation we are in now. It is not, as we think, “Oh, I am suffering because of this body.” No. This is the suffering of formations (saṅkhāra-dukkha). It is ignorance, a not-knowing. It is not that there is a thing called ignorance; this very fabrication itself has become suffering. It has become a ‘me.’

When we go into this story, we gradually begin to know it. So, even when I go to meditate, I grasp and pay attention to the knowing of ‘body.’ After maintaining that attention—now, understand the next point—after letting go of everything else and establishing mindfulness on that one formation, that formation cannot persist. That formation gradually, gradually, gradually subsides. The perception taken as ‘body,’ the thought grasped as ‘body,’ the fabrication grasped as ‘body,’ begins to wear away, bit by bit. As the thought grasped about the body wears away, due to the wearing away of that formation, dispassion (virāga) arises in us. Passion wears away. Dispassion arises. As passion wears away, we begin to understand.

Now, there is no perception of form, sound, smell, or taste for you. Gradually… those who practice mindfulness of breathing (ānāpāna-sati) will understand this; the feeling of the breath disappears altogether. The body is not felt. In walking meditation, there is a slight difference. In walking meditation, the walking is felt, but a person walking, a body, is not felt. The action of walking just happens. The feeling of "I am the body" is not there. It is just felt, that's all. The story of "I am walking" disappears. The story of 'body' disappears. Those who have done it know. As you continue practicing, eventually, the story of "I am doing walking meditation" is not there. That sense base also wears away for us. The sense base called ‘breath,’ called ‘body,’ also wears away.

But as this sense base called ‘body’ wears away, as you continue walking, the path to the cessation of the six sense bases (saḷāyatana-nirodha) begins to open up. You see? There were no forms, sounds, smells, or tastes. Now, as that final perception that was held onto also wears away, passion becomes dispassion (virāga). The clinging and experiencing becomes dispassion. We describe that dispassion as, “I feel so lonely.” This is what we have been talking about all week. The reason I kept repeating it this whole week is because many people came to me and said they were feeling a strange loneliness, a strange sleepiness. They feel they can’t practice. What is this? For all of them, passion (rāga) has begun to wear away. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? That’s what we were suffering from. But when passion starts to wear away… when we were at home, what did we do? We thought, “This husband of mine doesn’t care for me.” It’s not that the husband doesn’t care; it’s that the passion for that person has worn away. Then that person becomes useless to me. But we don’t see it as passion wearing away. We think, “Oh, this person is like this and that.” We are always… anyone who gets married, after some time, the passion for that person wears away. They get tired of that person. That passion is exhausted. Then, instead of the mind identifying it as passion wearing away, it says, “This man is not compatible with me anymore. He’s not like he used to be.” And for the man, the passion for the woman also fades quickly.

It’s not like they are always in that newly-married bliss. Ask a couple who has been married for a very long time. They will say, “You’re better off not being married. Don’t ask me about that.” Ask someone after they’ve been married for about 45 years. After about 45 or 50 years, ask them what it’s like. They will tell you exactly what’s in it. Don’t ask those who have only been married for a week what’s in it. Those people are in a different world altogether. Don’t ask them. Ask those who have been in a long-term marriage for 45 or 50 years what it’s really like. They will describe Nibbāna perfectly. “Oh my, I don’t want it in the next life either.” All that’s left is dispassion (virāga). “I don’t want it again. Just let me be in peace.” That’s all they ask for. “Just let me lie down on the bed in peace.” They know very well that dispassion has arisen. All their passion has worn away. All those people want is a bit of peace; they are asking for Nibbāna itself. They are asking for Nibbāna. The passion they had for the other person has completely worn away. “What karma did I get myself into? What have I done?” It is then that they begin to understand a little.

Yes. So it’s not that the woman is bad or the man is bad. It is because of the association with that person that the passion for them has worn away. The passion for that object has faded. Something similar happens as you continue to meditate. The intoxication with the meditation object, the passion for it, wears away. When that passion wears away and dispassion arises, we don’t smile about it, we don’t rejoice. I don’t know how to say that dispassion is good. I don’t think I even know what dispassion is. I think that as I continue meditating, this not-understanding anything must be what they call Nibbāna. When I think like that, I feel happy. There’s nothing to cry about; I’m in Nibbāna. My passion is wearing away more and more. The desire I had for meditation is fading. I used to practice meditation with desire, looking at my body, but now I’m just here. I come to the hall because I have to, and I just sit. There’s no desire. And that’s good, isn’t it? I let go of desire for other things by desiring meditation. Now I don’t even have a special desire for meditation. I don’t need anything from it. I don’t need anything from the meditation center. I don’t need anything from a disciple. I don’t need anything from the breath.

If I could rejoice in that… I don't need sense bases, I don't need disciples, I don't need friends. I don't need a meditation object. I don't need to give sermons. All the illnesses are cured. All the illnesses are cured. The passion for everything gradually, gradually, gradually wears away. It’s like a Talipot palm tree; it blossoms just before it dies. When everything is going perfectly, that’s when it’s over. When things are going perfectly, you think, “Oh my, that’s enough. I don’t need it.” It’s all been danced.
At that point, one doesn't get thrown off. One is happy. The arrears from saṃsāra are settled now, aren't they? That sickness is cured, isn’t it? That sickness is cured. That is why you can’t say anything to those who get married; they have to get married over and over in saṃsāra until that sickness is cured. For those who are not, if the sickness isn’t cured yet, they should try getting married to see if it gets better. Gradually, that sickness is cured. Just like that, this sickness of seeking Nibbāna also gets cured. Now the arrears are settled. Now there is bliss. The sickness is cured. It’s not that a pleasure was gained. The sickness is gone. Everything is gone. Everything has gone from under the rug. Everything has been purged. All gone. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want it at all.

Just like that, for all of us in saṃsāra, the passion for meditation and for everything else wears away, little by little. The only problem is that when this passion wears away, we don’t smile and rejoice. We just sit there with a long face, thinking, “Now I have no passion for anything.” Now I want to be like Socrates. Socrates used to walk around town and say, “Today, I didn’t need anything from this market.” In the past, if he saw Bombay sweets, he would feel like eating them. If he saw ice cream in town, he would feel like eating it. If he saw a book, he would feel like buying it. But now Socrates says, “I walked all around today, and I didn’t need a single thing.” I think to myself, I’ll go to the book exhibition and see if I can come back having thought, “I don’t need a single book.” I don't know if that will happen. If I think, “I don't need even one,” my monastic cell (kuṭi) will become emptier and emptier. It's because I still want a few things that I’m struggling.

Gradually, I think, as we continue practicing this, in the end… the place where everyone gets entangled is that they develop aversion (dvesha). “Now I don’t even need to listen to sermons. I don’t even need to meditate.” The problem is the aversion that arises towards the fading of desire. We should smile and say, “Now I don’t need to gain anything from this.” But we still go and sit for meditation. We still go to the book exhibition. It is a certain pride to come back without buying any books, isn't it? But there's no special happiness in coming back either.

So, look, as this happens bit by bit, we start to think, "What happened to me?" Gradually, within ourselves, we begin to understand. After some time, there is nothing special in anything. There is no special excitement in anything. You can go for a swim anywhere. But now, there is no pressing need to go for a swim. If you see a stream, you might swim. But if you don’t, there is no longing for it. It's not like before, when if you saw someone playing cricket, you had to go and at least hold the bat for a moment. Now you see them playing. You don’t even feel the need.

It is then that you understand, “I don’t know if I have attained Nibbāna, but I don’t need it. There is no problem in having done it, either.” In this way, we begin to understand many things in life. I don’t know if it’s due to age or something else, but gradually, that intoxicating quality we felt in everything diminishes. If this happens to your meditation practice, it’s a good sign.

But there is a problem that arises here. Look at this part. Within us, this sense of self (mamatvaya) has a condition: “Even Nibbāna must be attained in the way I want it.” It thinks, “It can’t be lonely. It can’t be isolating. Even if I attain Nibbāna, I must be able to feel it in a ‘wow’ way.” There is this inner demand: “Even Nibbāna must come the way I want it. It can’t just come as an empty, worn-out state.” Instead of being okay with what is happening, there is an ego that remains, trying to attain Nibbāna in the way it wants. Note that.

As you continue meditating, the six sense bases themselves cease. But we want to make the six sense bases cease in the way we want. We want to experience the cessation in the way we want. We don’t experience the cessation in the way it comes. Look at that point. See if you can understand it. That is where self-view (sakkāya-diṭṭhi) lies. That is where the ‘me’ is formed. Otherwise, the meditation practice naturally proceeds towards cessation. The six sense bases cease. But amidst this, there is still that one who thinks, “I still need to do this base in the way I want. I need to create the system in the way I want. I need to keep this group of people in the way I want.” There is still that striving. It cannot yet adapt to what comes; it cannot conform to the nature of what is arising. It is still trying to shape another person, another group, and even Nibbāna, to its own liking. It is not ready to be okay with the way things unfold.

It is not yet at the point where it can say, as Jesus did, “Not my will, but thy will be done.” It still wants to cry out, “Jesus, why have you done this to me?” meaning, “God, why have you forsaken me?” It wants to cry, “You have left me alone. Why have you abandoned me?” Isn’t that ugly? “Oh, why, in trying to attain Nibbāna, have you, Jesus, God, forsaken me? What have you done to me?” So, even Nibbāna is wanted in connection with someone else. “Jesus, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus didn’t say that. Jesus said, “God, why have you forsaken me? Why have you done this to me?” In that, there is this idea of, “I have my own way to go to Nibbāna, a way that I prefer.” That is why, if I tell some people to come at 5 a.m. and practice in a certain way, they won't come. They go according to the method they want. They come to the program they want. They don’t come to what I suggest. In the past, I used to get upset, but now I’ve realized, if I just adapt to them, my suffering is over. “Come to whichever program you like.” My suffering is finished. My formations (saṅkhāra) are finished. Otherwise, telling them, “You must come to this program, you must come to that program,” and messaging them again and again—oh my, what suffering is that? That person is enjoying themselves by not coming, while we are here suffering. And then, after all that suffering, they still have to come, and after they arrive, you have to suffer because of them. It's an unnecessary burden, an unnecessary suffering. That person is enjoying themselves by not coming, while we are here suffering twice. It’s not necessary.

So, bit by bit, we understand that this path to Nibbāna is an understanding of life itself. Gradually, we understand that we don’t need to create formations. We don’t need to label the person as they are. Without having to do anything, just let it be. There is no need to struggle with anything. If there is no passion, there is no passion. If you are tired of it, you are tired of it. You don’t need to suffer by thinking, “I must not get tired of it, it must be this way.” That is just a burden. Then you don’t need to unnecessarily try to fix your mind or do this or that. Bit by bit, just be okay with what has happened. That’s all. “Did you meditate?” “No, Venerable Sir, I didn’t.” That’s it. “Did you come?” “Yes, I came.” “Good, it’s good that you came.” “Didn’t you come?” “That’s good too.”

In this way, little by little, you begin to distance yourself from the lives of other people. You begin to distance yourself from your own mind. You begin to distance yourself from your own feelings. In reality, you are removing yourself from yourself. I remove myself from me. When I remove myself from me, I am removing myself from this whole world. I don’t try to fix this world. I don’t try to fabricate this world. The burden we are still carrying is from having tried to fix this, to fabricate everything perfectly.

Now, understand this bit by bit. Understanding does not mean rejecting everything, abandoning everything, and running off to the Himalayas. It’s not like that. This very understanding is the release. And in that release… I will say this, as you develop mindfulness (sati) this week, try to understand this. I will give you another small clue. Think about this point for a moment.

Let’s say we have meditated and connected with awareness. Understand that this awareness, this knowing, is the illusion (māyā). This creation cannot remain silent. This creation is always in the process of creating. I will tell you a way to understand this well. When I meditate… look, when you sit down now, has the illusion stopped? No, it hasn't. See, now your legs are hurting. You don't know when it will end. It keeps happening. See? This illusion has not stopped. It is always creating, creating, creating. Even if the ‘me’ is not in it, this mindfulness is a madness. It wants to dance. This mindfulness, this knowing, does not stay still as if a nail has been driven through it. It is always playing, dancing, writhing. That is why it is said that what is fabricated is afflicted. It is always in a state of rapid, rapid, rapid change. This thing called mindfulness… there is no silent thing called mindfulness. Mindfulness is agitation.

Look, even if ‘I’ am not writhing, doesn’t the food in my stomach digest? Don't I get hungry again? It is writhing. If we don't get hungry, we're dead. We can't just eat once and be done with it. It keeps digesting. We get hungry again. We feel like eating again. Then we get hungry again. Then thoughts arise. Then we get stirred up again. Today you might think, “Oh my, all my problems are over. Venerable Sir, I feel like I’m floating.” But tomorrow, you’re back to clinging like an orangutan. What is this? This mindfulness is in a state of constant change. We think, “Now I’ve got it right. Today is the day.” Or, “Tomorrow, for sure. Oh, now I am free.” No, it doesn’t happen like that. This illusion does not remain still. This is a flowing river. This awareness is a fast-flowing river. If you focus on one point in it, you cannot hold it there. Try to point to one spot in a river and hold it. You can’t hold the river. The river itself is rapid change. Awareness is rapid. Look, morning came, then noon… and now it is already evening. Look at the speed of this illusion. We didn't even notice the speed at which the morning sermon came, then lunch, then a short rest, and now it is already night. Look at how fast it is. We can't even imagine its speed. Look how quickly it changes. The bamboo saplings that were small when we were children are different now. They have grown tall. Our bodies have also changed in the same way, without us even noticing. Now, when I use these labels, don't get stuck on them. When I'm talking, I have to say 'bamboo tree'; there is no other way to talk about it. It's not that a separate thing called a 'bamboo tree' is changing. What I am saying is that the characteristic of this creation, this awareness, is that it is never calm, still, or stopped. I mentioned in the morning meditation that people try to make it calm and end up developing depression. They try to practice calm meditation to calm a mind that cannot be calmed. It’s an awareness. Mindfulness is a knowing. Trying to stop it causes seizures and ulcers.
This is a river, a fast-flowing river. If you try to stop it by building a dam, the whole dam will break. The dam will break. That’s why I said in the morning meditation discussion not to do these things. Don't try to build dams with your meditation. This mindfulness, this knowing, this illusion (māyā), has an immense speed. If you try to block it, it's like holding in your urine; the bladder will burst. Let it go. When you need to urinate, just urinate. When you need to defecate, just defecate. That's why little children don't have depression. When they need to urinate, they let it out. When they need to defecate, they let it out. When we grow up, we put on a tie, hold our stomachs in at meetings, and in the end, the bladder bursts.

So we need to understand that this knowing is never a still thing. This awareness that we feel after waking up in the morning, even before we talk about sleep, is purely the speed of creation. The creation is changing at an immense speed. Meditators don't allow for that speed. Meditators, moralists, those who practice serenity (samatha), are trying to do something that cannot be done. It's the wrong approach. They try to meditate. Moralists try to reform people. It's not possible. The way that person was, they will be the same way, spinning around, a year from now. Meditators try to concentrate their minds. It's not possible. The mind might be fine today, but tomorrow it's crazy. It's not possible.
But the 'me' does not accept this. That 'me' thinks, “No, I can change this person.” I listen to all their dark stories, and think they are cured, but tomorrow, they are dark again. Thinking like that, how many people have I ‘cured’? In the end, after two months, they are the same, and so am I. I have ‘cured’ myself many times, but the madness returns. I have ‘cured’ others many times, thinking, “Oh, they have truly understood.” But a week later, they come back with all the screws loose again. So it’s not a problem. Or rather, it is a problem, but it’s not a solvable problem, because that is the nature of awareness.

Think about it. Can you have water that is not wet? There is no water in the world that is not wet. ‘Water’ means wetness. ‘Mindfulness’ means that agitation. ‘Being alive’ means that writhing, that struggling. There is no water without wetness. ‘Water’ is wetness. ‘Mindfulness’ is that writhing. Can there be an ocean without waves? The ocean is waves. There is no ocean without waves. Has anyone seen one? There is no river that flows in a straight line either. It meanders. We can’t straighten it.
So, understand this well. This awareness, this creation, is a fast-flowing river that has never stopped anywhere. That is why no one can try to stop the day and say, “I will not let it get dark today.” They will go mad, but it will still get dark. They will only give themselves an ulcer. They will only get a stomach ache. We cannot change the nature of things, the Dhamma. All of this is the nature of awareness. The waves are the nature of the ocean; they are not separate from the ocean. Whether big waves or small waves, it is all the ocean. It is all the nature of things, the nature of the ocean.

So, put aside that battle. Put aside that work of giving yourself an ulcer. Just… in the nature of things, in the speed of this awareness… my story has no place. The digestion of food is something that happens within awareness itself. Breathing in is not something I do; it is something that happens in awareness. Breathing out happens in awareness. As we continue to meditate, we gradually draw closer to this point. We begin to understand that as we meditate, we are moving more and more towards this empty space, a place that cannot be made into an object, a place that cannot be made into a sign (nimitta). We awaken to that signless place. And when we awaken to that signless place, all that is there is constant change. That empty space can never be stabilized. It cannot be made permanent. It cannot be made lasting. No matter how empty it becomes, it starts to vibrate again and again.

At this point, the only thing we tell the meditator to do is this: having arrived here, what is happening in this awareness is like the waves in the ocean. The only thing to do is to refrain from giving these waves a name. If you give it a name, it becomes a thing. As soon as you give it a name, you try to experience it. As soon as you give a name to that empty nature, it acquires a value. That empty space acquires a value. As soon as you name it, it grows. It becomes more precious than a gem. Look, you gave value to that empty space. You put a label on that empty space. The moment you label it, the moment you make it a thing, it gains an unnecessary value.

So, I am telling you to see this. Do not label the rapid changes happening in this awareness as ‘passion’ (rāga). Do not label them as ‘aversion’ (dvesha). Do not label them. Is there loneliness in that knowing? Is there passion in that knowing? It is just a knowing. We are the ones who put a name on it and then judge it as right or wrong.

It is at that point… that base that cannot be fabricated, is not meant to be fabricated. But then we think it is real. We think, “I am a person with passion.” We think, “I am a person with anger. I am a person with loneliness. I am a patient with such-and-such a disease.” Was there really such a disease? It was just a knowing. All of this is just perceptions attached to a knowing.

Look at this point I am making. After that, thinking, “Oh, passion has arisen in me,” we create a ‘me’ who has passion, and think, “I am suffering these days because passion has arisen in me. I am going off track. I am going crazy.” After initially separating all these things in awareness, later, none of them can be separated from awareness. If you look at the waves of the ocean by separating them, you will see arising and ceasing. But if you see the ocean as a whole… just go to the beach and look at the entire ocean. Can you label it? Then, within that seeing, there is a concentration (samādhi), a subsiding, an extinguishing—Nibbāna. But if you try to look at a single wave, you will see the wave arising, changing, vibrating, moving. Then there is change, movement, friction.

Think about it. Take a part of this knowing and separate it out as ‘body.’ Then, it gets sick, it gets old, it ages, it decays—a whole host of problems. Instead of labeling it and boxing it in as ‘body,’ let the body be felt as mere awareness. Then, the decaying of this body might happen, but my inner being becomes extinguished, becomes Nibbāna. Why? Because I did not label it, box it in, and turn it into a thing. When it is not a thing, a ‘me’ arising from it does not arise, and suffering does not arise.

Why not see the whole picture? The secret is to see the whole picture. If you separate parts of the ocean from the whole, you get caught in that friction, that mental stress. Why? Because you have labeled it: “This is me, this is passion, this is suffering.” The moment you label it, you have designated it as a thing, fabricated it, recognized it. And the moment you recognize it, see? You have made a new fabrication in an un-fabricated space. Then you think, “Oh my, my concentration is gone. Oh, suffering has come to me.” There is the ‘me,’ and the experience that came to me. See? You have separated one thing from the whole.

What I am saying is, instead of separating things from the whole, awaken to it as a single, total unit. Then there is peace. There is cessation. It does not turn into a thing. Look, think about this point I am making in this way. Imagine this hall. When the 240-volt current comes, there is movement, isn't there? The fans turn, the lights go on and off. There is a lot of friction here. How many times a day do I have to say, “Flip the trip switch”? The power goes, the power comes—it’s so troublesome. But look, it’s because we have separated out the 240-volt current that there is this trouble in the hall. When it is at 33,000 volts, there is no vibration. There is no such commotion. But the moment you separate out from the 33,000 volts, the lights go on and off, and it's a nuisance.

It's just like that. If you let concepts be felt through awareness without turning them into separate things, without turning anything into a ‘thing,’ and just let the whole be felt, then there are concepts, things, and feelings—everything is there. But there is no vibration or agitation. That is, there is no attachment. There is a knowing of awareness as awareness. If you label this awareness as a body, as passion, as aversion, then the affliction begins; we get tormented.

So look closely. If you look at this point I am making, you will understand that what meditation really does is, as you go deeper and deeper into awareness, you stop turning awareness into perceptions and concepts. You don’t box awareness into a concept. Because if you box awareness into a concept, what happens is you think, “I am dying. Passion arises, passion ceases.” You get stuck in a view of two things: something that arises and an owner of that thing, an arising and a ceasing. But if you remain in awareness as a mere knowing, without conceptualizing it, that same process still happens, but there is no suffering that I have dragged myself into.

Whether I think about this body or not, the food in it digests within awareness. These trees die, and new trees grow. I don’t need to think of them as ‘my trees.’ Whether I think about them or not, the trees grow as trees. The breath flows as breath. The problem is the act of fabricating. At least recognize that it is a fabrication. However, even that act of fabricating is not something I did. Give that act of fabricating back to awareness as well. Listen to that phrase carefully. The fabricating is not ‘me’ either. Give that ignorance, that too, back to awareness and let it go. Because that too is the nature of that base. It is not something I am doing. It doesn't mean there is a separate 'me.' This tendency is also a characteristic of the ocean itself.

Gradually, do not try to fabricate even the act of fabrication. See even the act of fabricating as the nature of things (dhammatā), as not-self (anattā). Then you will understand that there is actually nothing for us to do. There is nothing to let go of, nothing to grasp, and nothing to attain. There is absolutely nothing to do. What has been happening is that we are suffering from having tried to block a natural flow. We have suffered by fabricating a natural flow, by stopping it, building separate dams, and trying to create separate swimming pools. Otherwise, it naturally… we don't need to create a separate person called 'me' with 'my world' and all that. There is no such thing. The ocean is a whole. That's what I said in the morning during the meditation discussion as well. There is no 'Indian Ocean' or 'coast of Sri Lanka' for the ocean. The problem is the label we attach: “This is my knowing, the way I think.” That's what I said in the morning discussion: turn around and look for the one who is putting on the labels. Look for where that ‘I’ is, that owner.

Then, you might feel a headache or a stomachache. But somehow, a strength to endure all of it arises. That is because awareness has the capacity to bear it. If awareness could not bear it, it would not be felt in awareness. A crocodile can bear a blow from a club, but a housefly cannot. The moment you attach a ‘me’ to it, you can’t bear it.

So see that. The act of fabricating is not you either. That too… it is a fabricated state that arises due to the not-knowing of that awareness. Gradually, do not grasp even the formations. Do not make the formations ‘me.’ The final meditation instruction given to me was just this much. In this entire story, it is just this: do not turn awareness into a thing. Do not label this fast-moving knowing. Do not separate it out as ‘body,’ or ‘my body,’ or ‘mother,’ or ‘father,’ or ‘happiness,’ ‘suffering,’ ‘passion,’ ‘aversion,’ ‘delusion.’ And if you do label, recognize it as just a label pertaining to awareness. Let even the labeling become a part of the knowing itself.

In the end, the essence of this whole talk is just: be mindful without doing anything. Don't try to do anything. We are always trying to do something. If you try to label something to either get rid of it or attain it, that is what is called established consciousness (patiṭṭhita-viññāṇa). Why? Because by labeling this knowing and making it a thing—‘this is good, this is bad, this must be destroyed’—and then trying to realize something, a ‘me’ is created. Then, suffering is created. A place to go to destroy it is created.
However, without any perceiving (saññā), without attaching any label, if there is just an awakening to this knowing as knowing, then that very awareness is featureless (anidassana). That very consciousness (viññāṇa), that very knowing, if it is not named, is what is called consciousness without feature (anidassana viññāṇa). However, even that is a name, an act. That is liberation (Nibbāna) itself. If you label it as passion, aversion, and delusion, and then try to destroy things and attain things, then that is established consciousness (patiṭṭhita-viññāṇa). There, you have made it a thing, a perception, and are struggling with a self-created ‘dog’.

Therefore, if you do not fabricate this awareness, this consciousness, this knowing, and create concepts and run out with them, then that very knowing is, in the end, what is called consciousness without feature, Nibbāna. The moment you label it ‘body,’ ‘my body,’ or ‘woman,’ ‘man,’ and engage in an action of ‘I must attain this, I must let go of that’—that is established consciousness, that is the cycle of rebirth (saṃsāra), that is the illusion (māyā).

So, liberation is right here, and the cycle of rebirth is right here. Choose the one you like. In reality, I feel that even this choosing is not something I do. That too is karma (kamma). That too is a part of the nature of things (dhammatā). That is, choosing liberation is the work of mindfulness (sati). And choosing the cycle of rebirth is also, in the end, the work of that same awareness. Whether it chooses to go home or to continue tasting this illusion, that too is the work of awareness. You have no connection to it. You are empty (suñña).

Very well, we must conclude. This is all we can do for this program. For everyone in this retreat, may the Triple Gem be your refuge.

Original Source (Video):

Title: අනිදස්සන විඤ්ඤාණය - 08 |Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ

https://youtu.be/PjnEg7njod0?si=MC8ck4DfWnoShy_r

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