Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 05 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana

මුල් සිංහල වීඩියෝව සඳහා Play කරන්න

Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 05 | 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:

The verse we explained is quite profound, so the thought arose that it would be good to elaborate on it a little more. Therefore, before we proceed to the next section on consciousness without a surface (anidassana viññāṇa), let us recall that verse once again and delve a little deeper into its meaning. For that, let us ask the Venerable Nun to recite the same section she did yesterday.

Venerable Nun:

With permission from the Sangha.

Homage to the Blessed One, the Worthy One, the Perfectly Self-Enlightened One.

Homage to the Blessed One, the Worthy One, the Perfectly Self-Enlightened One.

Homage to the Blessed One, the Worthy One, the Perfectly Self-Enlightened One.

The answer to this question was presented in the form of a paradox:

na saññasaññī na visaññasaññī, nopi asaññī na vibhūtasaññī, evaṃ sametassa vibhoti rūpaṃ, saññānidānā hi papañcasaṅkhā. (878)

He is not one who possesses ordinary perception. He is not one who possesses distorted perception. He is not one without perception, nor is he one who has eliminated perception. It is for one who is thus composed that form ceases to be. Why is this? Because the classifications of proliferation are rooted in perception.

What we are encountering here is an exceedingly extraordinary level of perception. It is one that is completely freed from form, which is the fundamental basis for the construction of worldly perception. The fact that this state is presented through a paradoxical phrase indicates that the transcendence mentioned here is not achieved by temporarily or permanently suppressing perception. Instead, this phrase suggests the various stages of perception. If one were to ask whether the person who has attained this mental state possesses perception regarding sense objects, or is devoid of perception, or has dispelled perception, the answer would have to be, "No, it is not that."


Gnanaweera Thero:

Let us recite the verse from the Kalahavivada Sutta.

Verse 877 is the question, and the answer is what the Blessed One gives. So, the question is from the Sutta we came to earlier. The venerable author has only taken a part of the Sutta here. Therefore, we must go to the Sutta itself to understand. We need to know what kind of question the Buddha gave such an answer to. Let us listen to it again and explain it.


Venerable Nun:


kathaṃ sametassa vibhoti rūpaṃ, sukhaṃ dukhaṃ vāpi kathaṃ vibhoti, etaṃ me brūhi yathā vibhoti, taṃ jāniyāma iti me mano ahū.


How should one conduct oneself for form to dissolve?

When living in what way do pleasure and pain vanish?

I need to be free from all these things,

Please explain this to me.

A wish to know of these things has arisen in my mind.

For a person who has practiced in what way does form cease to be? In what way do pleasure and pain cease to be? Please explain to me the way in which they cease. A thought arose in me to know this.


Gnanaweera Thero:

This is asking how form does not arise, and how pleasure and pain do not arise.


Venerable Nun:

The answer, verse 878:

na saññasaññī na visaññasaññī, nopi asaññī na vibhūtasaññī, evaṃ sametassa vibhoti rūpaṃ, saññānidānā hi papañcasaṅkhā.


Not perceiving perception as such, nor is it a non-perception,

Not without perception, nor moving beyond perception,

When one follows this path of Dhamma, one is freed from form.

The root of all unwholesome whirlwinds is perception itself.

He is not one with normal perception. He is not an insane person with distorted perception. He is not one devoid of perception. Nor is he one with a transformed perception. For a person who practices in this way, form ceases to be. The classifications of proliferation (papañca-saṅkhā) arise with perception (saññā) as their cause.


Gnanaweera Thero:

Now, let us discuss a few more ideas related to this verse before we move on to the remaining part.

Someone might begin to think, "Is it impossible to attain liberation (Nibbāna), to realize the truth, without being able to understand such profound matters?" The way I see it, the main point, which is more important than these profound matters, is how sincere we are in this practice. This means, if one is engaged in this quest for truth, it's about how much love, how much affection we have for this work. It is about the extent to which I give my heart and soul, my very life, to this practice. That is what is truly important. When that sincerity is present, these profound things will in any case, little by little, become directly realized. But if that fundamental quality is absent…

Now, someone might ask, as you, Venerable Sir, are saying, what does it mean to be 100% sincere? What does it mean to do this with one’s whole heart? To put it simply, being sincere means that we are not undertaking this exploration to gain something for this person I call ‘me.’ It’s alright in the beginning; at the start, we all have that idea. However, I feel it is like drawing a bow. As long as you keep pulling the string tightly, the arrow will not reach its target. But at the very moment it is released, it flies to the target. In the same way, this journey of seeking the truth… that is, sometimes we might think, "Is what the teacher says correct? Even if what the teacher says is right, is what we are doing right or wrong?" So, how are we to know? We cannot say for certain that this teacher is the only one who is right and all the others are wrong. However, the question is: how sincere are you at that moment? If you are following that teacher, how much of your heart do you give? How honest are you in your commitment? It is from that point that the real journey begins. Let's imagine that the teacher has not realized the truth. Even so, for your sake, Nature itself—the Dhamma (Svabhāva Dhamma)—will make that teacher worthy of delivering the message, because the message needs to be conveyed to you.

Because for such a devoted, loving, and sincere disciple, Nature is compelled to deliver the message to you through that teacher. Therefore, the most important thing in this matter is to ask ourselves: are we doing this work of seeking the truth half-heartedly? It is like what Jesus said: "If you are to follow me, leave everything and come." To "leave everything" means, "Do not come trying to protect the 'me'."

When we say we aren't sincere, it means that whatever we set out to do, there is a different agenda underneath. A hidden agenda. Now, it's alright to have that agenda, but what we are saying is, you must be sincere about that as well. Once you become sincere about the fact that "I have such an agenda," that very sincerity has a quality that can lead you and establish you in awareness. That is the secret of this truth. It’s okay. You become sincere even about your own hypocrisy. You become sincere about the thought, "In truth, I came to this quest for the ultimate truth, but underneath, there are still little bits and pieces for 'me'. I'm still trying to maintain 'me'." You start to become sincere even about that. This means there are no secrets in your life. You become completely genuine, completely sincere. Then there is no problem.

For example, sometimes people come and ask me, "Venerable Sir, why do you investigate these points of Dhamma so much?" I have to say that it's not purely for the sake of truth itself. On one hand, it has become a kind of job. People ask questions because I am a Buddhist monk. So, for me, it is not solely about the truth; it is also a role I have had since I was young. That side of it exists, and I am aware of it. It's not a problem, because I see it for what it is. I am not claiming that I do it purely for the sake of truth.

What I am saying is that what our inner being requires is this: how open am I? How sincere am I? When you become sincere to that degree, it means that while you are engaged in this quest for truth, you are not trying to please 'me'. You are not trying to gratify 'me'. However, in the beginning, these motivations are all mixed together. When any of us start, there is something inside that says, "Give me freedom," or "Keep me happy," or "Let me be at peace." There are these small, insincere parts. It means we are not seeking the truth for its own sake; we are seeking the truth in order to keep 'me' happy, to keep this being I call 'me' satisfied. We are trying to give this 'me' some kind of sanctuary.

Today, I was speaking with Dhammajothi Thero, and I told him to look closely, because sometimes in the work we do, we are not entirely sincere. On one hand, we also hope for attention. We hope for recognition. In that case, we cannot say the work is 100% sincere. However, it’s alright if you can see that. If you can confess it openly, if you can declare it, awareness immediately establishes itself right there. Awareness joins you in that moment.

So, the way I see it, this is the most important thing: how much is my heart in this work? How sincere am I? How devoted am I? This means that if any idea of gaining something for myself—of fame, of reputation, of gratifying 'me'—arises, little by little, you let it be caught by mindfulness (sati). Do not try to hide it. There is no need to justify it. And also, do not torture yourself over it. That too is important. Otherwise, you can end up destroying yourself by endlessly repeating, "This is who I am, this is my fault." It is enough to simply hold it up for mindfulness (sati) to see. Once it is held up to mindfulness (sati), once wisdom is applied to it, your own insincerity—the fact that in certain areas you are still using this quest for truth to please yourself, to build up some status for yourself, like seeking fame—once you become sincere about that, it cannot persist. It begins to fall away on its own. We do not need to force it away through self-torment. The crucial thing is sincerity; sincerity is what is required for this path.

Therefore, the way I see it, rather than thinking, "I cannot understand these profound things all at once," or "I can't figure out what this means," or "I cannot realize the truth," what we should be examining as we study these suttas is: how much of my heart am I giving to this work? How sincere am I? This means that whether I understand this or not, I will remain in this investigation, in this work, with utmost sincerity and with all my heart. I will stay in touch with it.

Alright, keeping that idea in mind, let us take the last line of the verse and move forward. What the Blessed One explains here in the last line of the verse is: saññānidānā hi papañcasaṅkhā. This means: "For the classifications of proliferation arise with perception as their cause." So, what is being described here is the nature of having crossed over, of having gone beyond this perception: na saññasaññī na visaññasaññī nopi asaññī na vibhūtasaññī, evaṃ sametassa vibhoti rūpaṃ, saññānidānā hi papañcasaṅkhā.

So, we cannot have ordinary perception (saññasaññī), nor can we have distorted perception (visaññasaññī). What the Blessed One is explaining here is that proliferation arises because of perception, but to be free from form, one cannot fall into ordinary perception. And likewise, one cannot possess distorted perception (visaññasaññī). Alright, let's take the analogy I used yesterday and examine it a little more. If you listen today, it might become clearer.

Ordinary perception is what a normal person has. When an ordinary person takes this cup, they see it as, "There is a cup here." That is ordinary perception. "A cup is here." "Mother is here, father is here." "The house is here, the cup is here, you are here, Venerable Sir." This perception that things exist in this way is ordinary perception. The Blessed One teaches here that it cannot be like that.

A place where this is beautifully explained is the Mūlapariyāya Sutta. Pathaviṃ pathavito sañjānāti—perceiving earth as earth. One takes the cup as a cup, as a thing. Pathavito maññati, pathaviyā maññati, pathaviṃ me ti maññati—meaning, "The cup exists," "The cup is made in this way," "The cup is mine." And then, pathaviṃ abhinandati—one rejoices in it. The Buddha points this out as the view of a worldling (puthujjana). The view of a worldling is that he directly perceives the cup—pathaviṃ pathavito maññati. Here, pathavi (the earth element) is not the cup itself, but the quality of hardness, which for now I will take to mean he perceives the cup as the cup. That is the ordinary perception of a worldling. He independently perceives the cup as a cup. Pathaviṃ pathavito sañjānāti—perceiving the earth element as earth, the cup as the cup. Pathavito maññati—he conceives from that.

Now, this conceiving (maññanā) is a distortion. It is a distorted view. To conceive something that is not truly there as being complete is what is meant by conceiving (maññanā). One makes a mental construction (maññati).

Alright, the Buddha points out here with the phrase na saññasaññī that a person who remains in such ordinary perception cannot get beyond form. They cannot get beyond feeling. There is no crossing over from this cycle of rebirth (saṃsāra) for one who possesses this ordinary perception. And what we see mostly are people who are at this level of pathaviṃ pathavito sañjānāti.

The Buddha then points out that for the Arahants, and for those on the path from the Stream-enterer (Sotāpanna) to the Once-returner (Sakadāgāmī), there is no delighting (abhinandati). They do not have a perception that "this is a cup"; they have a superior knowledge (visiṭṭa ñāṇaya). And for an Arahant or for the Blessed One, it is shown that this conceiving (maññanā) does not arise at all in relation to the earth element. For those from the Stream-enterer to the Non-returner (Anāgāmi), the word used is mā maññi—"do not conceive." This means the tendency might arise out of habit, but because they have the wisdom, because they have known the true nature of this perception with superior knowledge, they do not get bound by it. However, the tendency to get bound still arises. But for the Arahants, the Mūlapariyāya Sutta says that this conceiving does not happen at all.

Alright. So let's take that point. Now, next, to look at the term visaññasaññī, I will speak a bit slowly today, because some people said they found it difficult to follow as I was speaking quite fast. Alright. Then, visaññasaññī means one cannot possess a distorted perception. Now, what does it mean to perceive in a distorted way? Look at this carefully. We are going to conduct a Dhamma analysis. When we start this analysis, we ask a question like this. We ask, "Now, this cup..." We take the perception that the ordinary person uses in the world. We accept the cup. Then we ask, "Is the cup seen by the eye?" What does the person say then? He says, "Venerable Sir, the cup itself is not seen by the eye. Neither the color seen by the eye nor this shape is the cup." I ask if there is a cup in the sound. When attention is directed to the sound, there is no cup in the sound either. Then I ask, "If you smell this, is there a cup in the scent?" No. I say, "Take this," and I give it to his hand and tell him to pay attention to the weight. I ask if there is a cup in that weight. Then he says, "Venerable Sir, there is no cup in the weight."

So then I ask, "If this thing called 'cup' is not in the color, not in the shape... there is no cup in the color, is there? If we isolate only the color... if we isolate only the shape... the feeling... if we isolate only this feeling in the body, the cup is not there, is it? There is no cup in that feeling."

Then, he perceives it in this way. He says, "Venerable Sir, that means there is no cup." Ah, that very perception—"there is no cup here"—is again perceiving the cup with a distorted meaning. Do you see? He has found a new perception. Why? Because that perception seems correct to him. It accords with the Dhamma, doesn't it? The way he has now perceived it is perfectly aligned with the Dhamma. Because, after all, the eye does not see a cup; it sees colors and shapes. The ear hears a sound. The body feels a tangible sensation. So, there is no cup in the feeling. What is seen is color, and there is no cup in the color. So he concludes, "Venerable Sir, there is no cup!"

Do you understand? He has again obtained the cup through the meaning of 'absence'; a perception has occurred. The concept of 'cup' has once again become a proliferation for him, a conceiving perception (maññanā-saññā). He hasn't thoroughly understood it. He has just taken the perception he held in the sense of 'is' and re-perceived it in the sense of 'is not'.

Now, this same problem comes up for those who go looking for "Who am I?" In that "Who am I?" question, this issue arises again. Because when we investigate "Who am I?", we say, "Alright. The 'I' is not in the body. The 'I' is not in the hair. The 'I' is not in the urine. The 'I' is not in the intestines." When you look and look, breaking it down piece by piece, the 'I' is not in any part of the body. Then, thoughts come and go; the 'I' is not in the thoughts. Feelings and sensations arise and cease; the 'I' is not in them either. And then they arrive at a perception, an answer. The perception "I am not" arises for them.

That is extremely dangerous. You see, what I have noticed in the spiritual world is that many people, especially some who follow Ramana Maharshi's teachings, quickly go from the question "Who am I?" to an answer. They arrive at a new perception that "I am not," that "I am not here," that "I do not arise." But who is it that knows "I do not arise"? Who perceived that perception? Do you see? We are always habituated to replacing one perception with another, to establishing ourselves on another perception, on another saññā.

For Buddhists, it might be "There is no 'I'." For others, it might be, "All this is God," or "All this is Brahman." Do you see? One perception is removed—'I'—and replaced with 'Brahman'. Or, "All this is divine," or "All this is creation." What we do is take the ordinary perception, go to Dhamma analysis, break it down, deconstruct it, and divide it, and then arrive at another way of perceiving. Ah, and that new way of perceiving, we think, "This is it! This is correct." Then we call others "holders of wrong views." "They don't know this." And we stick a label on them: "holders of wrong views." "We are the ones who know the ultimate truth. We are the ones who know the divine."

In this way, that 'I'—that sense of identity view (sakkāya-diṭṭhi), the sense "I am this 'me'"—was sustained by an analysis, by a perception. This sense of being a person arose through a way of perceiving, a way of identifying something as "mine"—"this is my body," or "this is mine," or whatever it may be. This proliferation arose with perception as its cause. That is precisely what the Blessed One is saying here: the entire proliferation was constructed based on perception, based on the ways of perceiving. This whole story was created. This personal perception (puggala saññā) called 'this me,' this 'I,' arose from this. So, what do we do? Through more and more and more new analyses, through new and newer ways of perceiving, it is again the 'I' that arises.

However, I think there is a problem for us right there. We feel that when one analysis dissolves, there is a fear. There is no place to stand. We feel foolish, as if we don't know. And we want to be able to tell others, "I know." We need to be able to teach the Dhamma. So, we are not sure of ourselves. Our mindfulness (sati) is not certain; our awareness is not certain. Therefore, we need something inside, like a 'correct analysis'. Because it is through that 'correct analysis,' through that 'correct perception,' that the identity view (sakkāya) can continue to exist.

Even though the Blessed One says that perception (saññā) itself is a mirage, that it has the nature of a mirage, that it has never even truly arisen, we want to grasp this reality again and again through a perception. We need a perception; we keep needing a perception. At the very least, a perception like, "There is no cup here," or, "A cup was never born," or, "A cup has never arisen."

Look at all of these—they are all, again and again, new ways of perceiving the cup. "The cup has no meaning," "the cup has no essence." The problem is that these statements match the suttas perfectly. So what do we do? We look at the suttas, compare them with my analysis, and conclude, "Ah, what is written in these suttas is exactly what I think."

So, what is happening? We are giving birth to something that was never born, and then looking at what already exists as if it were unborn. That is the danger in this. Think about these words. Let's take an example. We say, "Today, no child was born in Sri Lanka." Now, that statement seems true to us, doesn't it? But if no child was born, why are you first creating a non-existent child just to say it wasn't born? Do you understand that? Did that make sense? If no child was born today, why do you need to specially create a non-existent child and then negate it by saying it wasn't born? It simply isn't there.

Do you see? In that moment, a perception has taken place. Do you see? You have perceived. You have created a distorted perception (visañña). You have grasped its non-existence. If it was never born, why say you are creating a non-existent thing and then saying it wasn't born? The moment you say "it wasn't born," you are again going back to a perception of birth. Look at that point carefully.

Think of it like this. Let's take water. The nature of water is to be fluid, to flow, to evaporate. Let's say that is the nature of water, its natural quality. What do we do? We solidify it into an ice cube. Let's say we freeze this water and make an ice cube. Then we say, "The nature of this ice cube is to melt, to evaporate." That is not the nature of the ice cube. That is the natural, inherent quality of the water itself. In the same way, we take a natural quality, solidify it into an 'ice cube,' and then say, "The characteristic of the ice cube is to melt and evaporate." There is no need to create an ice cube to see this; it is the inherent nature of water.

Do you see? We take what is impermanent (anicca), make it seem permanent (nicca), and then look at that 'permanent' thing and declare that it is impermanent again. We are playing tricks with perception. I don't know if I'm speaking too fast again today. What I mean is that this is what we call creating a distorted perception (visañña). We don't even admit that we have made it seem permanent in the first place. Then we say, "The nature of the ice cube is impermanence." If the very nature of the water is already impermanence, why do we need to make it seem permanent as an ice cube, only to then observe its impermanence? That is when we get caught in perception. We get caught in the illusory nature of perception.

Look closely. We have done this everywhere. Go to a river. The nature of a river is to flow. That is its nature. We go there, see the river flowing, and then we impose a perception, 'a river,' on it and say, 'It is flowing.' On top of the act of flowing, we artificially create a 'river,' and then say that this created thing, the river, will one day also be impermanent, that it will change, that the river is also an impermanent thing. We perform this strange operation and then declare, "Alright, now we know the Dhamma, we know impermanence. We know the reality here. Everything that has arisen is impermanent." In this way, we distort perception. And then we say that this distorted perception is correct. Then we say, "Alright, it is we who are distorting this perception, who are taking what is flowing and making it a 'thing'." Then, after doing that, we say, "Oh, I have realized the reality of this, that it is an impermanent thing!" We distort what is natural, and then we say that its inherent nature is impermanence. We say that its true nature is impermanence.

That is wrong. If its true nature is already impermanence, there is no need to first make it seem permanent, to create rivers and ice cubes. Look through these analogies. I am bringing up these analogies to show how we create these distorted perceptions (visañña), how we perceive things in a distorted way as impermanent (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and not-self (anattā). The problem is, we don't realize that seeing anicca, dukkha, and anattā in this way is itself a distorted perception, a saññā. We think it is the correct thing to do. Why? Because when you check the books, it matches perfectly. The books also say: "Form is impermanent. Feeling is impermanent. Perception is impermanent." So, we think, "What I am thinking and what is in the suttas are exactly the same. I have understood what the Buddha taught." Then we completely align ourselves with that interpretation of the Dhamma, thinking, "This is the Dhamma I have understood."

But what the Blessed One says is that the very nature of form, the very act of perceiving something as 'water,' is a mirage. The perception itself is a mirage. We, however, take the perceived object as real and then observe its changing nature, thinking that is what the Buddha taught. What are we doing? It's just like creating a non-existent child and then saying that child was not born. Or, after creating the perception that "today in Sri Lanka, no children were born," declaring, "Today, I understood that no children were born in Sri Lanka." It's an irrelevant statement. Do you see? This is the kind of thing we do when we distort perception.

Either we see it as 'non-existent', or, as I mentioned, we see it as mere elements. We perceive that world through another kind of perception. The world is either an illusion or a mirage; the world has never arisen; the world is unproduced (anuppāda); or this world has no essence; this world has no meaning. Whether you take the world, the 'I', the chair, or this cup, again and again and again, it is the identity view (sakkāya) that finds a footing. The identity view finds a place to land.

Alright, from there, let me move on to another point. The Buddha says here that these proliferations have perception as their cause. We must see how these proliferations arise because of perception. When we listen to a discourse like this—it doesn't matter if it's a formal sermon or a Dhamma discussion—when we hear this, mindfulness (sati) arises. When mindfulness arises, we can no longer create these false perceptions. That is why, when speaking of the gates to liberation (vimuttimukha), the Buddha points out five, one of which is listening to the Dhamma and engaging in Dhamma discussions. Sometimes, if our mindfulness is well-directed towards this discourse, this discourse alone can be sufficient to understand perception and to reach the state where perception is no longer fabricated. That mindfulness arises. That wisdom is applied. That is why I say, listen well, with good mindfulness and awareness. Don't fall asleep. If the person next to you dozes off, wake them up. Because one person came and told me that as soon as he hears these words, he falls asleep. As soon as he hears these verses, it's like he's allergic. "Oh no, is it going to be this stuff again today?" So, if the person next to you is falling asleep, give them a nudge.

Alright, let's take an analogy. How are we to understand this concept of na saññasaññī na visaññasaññī? I will use another analogy, one we didn't use yesterday, to clarify the point. See if you can apply mindfulness to this and perhaps see it through this analogy.

Now, I will take a point that we mentioned in the discourse the day before yesterday. The point we made was that this nature I call 'I' cannot exist independently. Try to recall what was said in the discourse the day before yesterday: this thing called 'I' cannot exist on its own; 'I' is a view (diṭṭhi). This 'I' is not something that has an independent existence. This 'I' is not a standalone entity. So, we said that this nature that feels like 'I' arises in dependence on four factors that the Buddha pointed out: the seen, the heard, the sensed, and the cognized (diṭṭha, suta, muta, viññāta). This means the perception (saññā) of 'I' only arises in conjunction with an action. If there is no action, there is no arising of the perception 'I'. It must be either "I saw," "I heard," "I felt," or "I thought." We exist within those four. Apart from those four, we have no place to posit a person called 'I'.

"Venerable Sir, I saw it with my own two eyes." "I heard it with my own two ears." "I was listening." "I was looking." "I was thinking." "I knew." "I felt." Without these, have any of us ever encountered an 'I' that exists separately and independently? If we were to remove seeing, hearing, sensing, and thinking, there would be nothing left for us to point to and say, "This is 'I'—black or white, tall or short."

You must understand this well. The perception of 'I' is constructed upon the perceptions of seeing, hearing, sensing, and thinking. However, the very acts of seeing, hearing, sensing, and thinking are the one place where a perception (saññā) cannot be formed. Now, listen to this again. The actions where it is impossible to form a perception are the act of seeing, the act of hearing, the act of sensing, and the act of thinking. These are things that cannot be grasped or identified; a perception cannot be made out of the raw experience of seeing. And yet, look, don't we feel, "It was I who saw"? Don't we feel, "It was I who heard"? "It was I who felt." "It was I who thought."

Look at how perception proves this. It immediately links the seeing to a thing seen—"I saw that object." It links the hearing to a thing heard—"I heard that sound." It links the feeling to a sensation felt. See this clearly. It is precisely because of this linking.

Because of this linking, seeing becomes 'a seeing'. Hearing becomes 'a hearing'. Sensing becomes 'a sensing'. Thinking becomes 'a thinking'. It becomes an action done by an 'I'. For that to happen, a perception must be entangled with it. Look at this point carefully. Otherwise, if a perception is not entangled with them, seeing, hearing, sensing, and thinking are not events that 'happened'.

Look, can we ever speak of 'seeing' independently, without a 'thing seen'? Can we speak only of 'hearing' without a 'thing heard'? We cannot. We only speak of a hearing in relation to something that was heard. We only speak of a seeing in relation to something that was seen. We speak of a thought by connecting it to something that was thought: "I thought about that thing." And along with that, the 'thinker' arises.

Now, see that these cannot be separated. They are bound together. The seeing, the thing seen, and the seer are all intertwined. But look at the illusion of perception (saññā). The illusion is that perception presents it as if I am existing separately, you, Venerable Sir, are existing separately, and the act of seeing occurred between us. "I saw you." See how this is presented as if three independent events took place?

This is the knot tied by perception (saññā) and consciousness (viññāṇa) working together. It is an incredible knot, one that is impossible to even conceive of, because you can never find these three things separately. You cannot find a 'seeing' without a 'thing seen'. You cannot find a 'seer' without them. Without a 'seer', there is no seeing or thing seen. Without a seeing… these two… Now, you shouldn't take it like this: that there are three things and they are welded together. If you take it like that, the meaning becomes distorted. That is not what is happening.

All of this is dependently arisen (paccaya). It is not that the left hand and the right hand are relative to each other; they arise in this way: "in the presence of this, that comes to be." You cannot separate the 'heads' side of a coin from the 'tails' side, can you? You can't separate them and say, "This is heads, and this is tails." They exist together. And yet, we perceive that the coin has an independent 'heads' side and an independent 'tails' side. If we try to separate them—"Ah, this is the tails side, this is the heads side"—we again create a 'heads' and a 'tails' out of it. Look, you can never have a 'heads' side without a 'tails' side, or a 'tails' side without a 'heads' side. Even if you take left and right, they do not exist independently. However, the mind presents it as if the 'tails' side exists separately and the 'heads' side of the coin exists separately. If that's the case, then remove one side and show me just the other. When you try to show just the heads side, a tails side gets created. When you think of the tails side, a heads side gets created.

In the same way, understand that when we speak of dependent arising (paccaya), we are not saying it is 'one'. Nor are we saying it is 'two'. If you say it's one, that's another perception. If you say it's two, that's yet another perception. It is dependently arisen: asmiṃ sati idaṃ hoti—"when this is, that is." Those are the words used. It's not "because of this, that arises," but "in the presence of this, that is." Yet, it is not identical to 'this', nor is it separate from 'this'. But it's not two things either.

Look at it like that. When trying to understand this business of perception, that's a point where we need a bit of wisdom. We need to be mindful of the fact that although it feels like three separate things—'I' am separate, the experience of 'seeing' is separate, and the 'thing seen' is separate—it is not so. Think about it. Our entire lives proceed based on this kind of event. Even with hearing, the 'thing heard' is separate, the 'hearer' is separate, and the act of 'hearing' is separate. "Venerable Sir, I heard you." When we say, "I heard what you said," it immediately feels as though 'I' was here separately, the 'hearing' happened separately, and 'what you said' occurred separately.

Consciousness has this nature of separating things after cognizing them. That is its characteristic of 'discernment' (vijānana). It signifies things by separating them. Now look at how this process works. This is what's called its illusory nature. Because of this, we can't grasp it at all. It's impossible to conceive. Once this knot is tied, how can you untie it? Once that perception, that identification, is linked to the seeing, once that perception is tied to the seeing, it's impossible to escape from this view (diṭṭhi). No matter what anyone says, it will seem completely broken into three parts: the thing seen, the seer, and the seeing.

Tiṇṇaṃ saṅgati phasso—"the meeting of the three is contact (phassa)." The very nature of these appearing as three is contact. The Buddha says, Cakkhuñca paṭicca rūpe ca uppajjati cakkhuviññāṇaṃ, tiṇṇaṃ saṅgati phasso. Dependent on the eye and forms, eye-consciousness arises. The meeting of these three is contact. So, the eye is there, the form is there, and the consciousness of seeing is there. The very moment they meet as three, contact has already occurred. But don't take it as three separate things coming together to make contact. The very arising as three is contact. The meeting as three is contact.

Now, the problem for us in a situation like this is, how do we untangle it? The truth is, more than untangling the problem, the very act of discussing the problem is the untangling. Knowing ignorance (avijjā) as ignorance—"this is how it is constructed"—is the solution. It's not about finding another 'correct' thing or a 'right view'. This very discussion about how this fabrication happens is the arising of mindfulness (sati). This discussion, this listening, is the arising of wisdom (paññā). By seeing how it is constructed, the realization that it was never constructed in the first place occurs. Just thinking "it was never constructed" is of no use.

As this discussion proceeds, if I say something and you just form an idea from it, like thinking "it does not exist," that's just another conceptualization. That is not what should happen. This must strike your mindfulness, your wisdom. It's not about just grasping another piece of information or understanding another point like, "Oh, you're saying it doesn't exist, so I accept what you say." No. It must be a complete inner investigation, an inquiry. It has to be an aware listening, a hearing with wisdom. Only then can the fabrication cease. When I say "it strikes you," I mean it really hits home. This has to strike your awareness.

Alright, so I will bring up an analogy here. Look at this analogy. I will give you an analogy to help you understand that the perception we attach to the act of seeing has no connection whatsoever to the seeing itself. Now, think about watching a teledrama. Pay close attention to what I am saying. Think about watching a teledrama. While watching it, we see a series of activities, don't we? "Look, the person who was in the kitchen has come into the living room. Look, the person from the living room has gone out to the street." Think about this analogy I am giving you. While watching a teledrama, we see the person who was in the kitchen come to the living room. The person in the living room takes a bag and goes out to the street. Now, if we watch this teledrama for half an hour, we see a story about a single person who came to the living room and then went out to the street, don't we? For half an hour, we are watching an event, a sequence.

However, now look at it this way: what actually happened there? Let's examine what truly occurred. In that half-hour teledrama, a picture of someone in the kitchen was shown. That shot ended. Next, a picture of someone in the living room was shown. That shot ended. Then another shot of someone on the street was shown. So, in any given moment, only one picture is striking the senses, isn't it? In one moment, only one picture appears.

It's like the cartoons we watched as children; they are made the same way, with pictures being shown in rapid succession. At any given instant, there is only one picture, one 'seeing'. You've seen those old flip books; when you flip through a lot of pictures quickly, this picture and the next picture and the one after that have no connection to each other. But when they are flicked through at speed, it seems as if Doctor Good-Heart is walking, sitting down, getting on the ship… it looks like a single person is moving, walking, sitting down, and going out again. It feels like a continuous event is happening. That's how it felt watching cartoons as a child.

However, if we go and look closely, if we slow it down and examine it, we realize there are just a lot of individual shots. Or in the case of old cartoons, a lot of individual drawings. At any one moment, in any one instant, only one picture is being shown. It is because of the speed that we perceive a continuous story. But in any single moment, there is only one shot.

Now, focus on that point. Take your focus there. In the teledrama, what we actually see—to use this analogy—is, in one moment, a shot of a person in the kitchen. Just that picture. But we never actually see the event or the action of him coming from the kitchen to the living room. They don't show that, do they? He is in the kitchen. Then, the next shot, he is in the living room. Or maybe he is at the office. And in the next shot, he is at home.

Now, look at what happens in between. The 'story' is that he came home from the office, or that he came from the kitchen to the living room. But the picture of that action is never seen, is it? Look, where is the link between those two pictures? Where is the point that connected them? That is where the illusion of perception lies. The illusory nature of this mirage-like perception is in that place where the two are joined. We never catch that moment, do we?

If we go to the actual reality, to the way things truly are, what is happening? In reality, there is just the picture of being in the kitchen... then the picture of being in the living room... then the picture of being at the office... or, say, he is seen coming home from the office in a vehicle. Is the sight of him "coming in a vehicle" a single action, or is it another picture, and another picture, and another? We don't see a continuous "coming," do we? Picture after picture after picture is changing. Even if a teledrama shows a car moving, a car is not actually 'moving'. Picture after picture after picture is appearing.

So, if you look at it that way, consider this point carefully. If we go to the actual event of seeing in the present moment, in that event of seeing, you cannot see a person who has 'come from the office'. You cannot see a person who has 'come from the kitchen'. If you go to the actual event, the kitchen is completely irrelevant to the seeing of that moment. The office has nothing to do with the seeing of that moment. So, look, what we always see in any single moment is just one picture. That is why the Buddha said that the world is perceived in the mind (cittena nīyati loko). In that moment, there is one picture. One picture is seen. If you were to keep your mind completely on this seeing in this moment, you would not be able to identify this picture. See if you can. Can you form a perception (saññā) about it? You would not be able to provide an analysis for that actual seeing. If you truly come to mindfulness (sati), if you truly understand what mindfulness is, if you truly abide in it, if you truly come to this moment, you cannot posit perceptions about this moment. Why? Because in that moment, in that picture, the story of the old pictures is irrelevant. That picture, in that moment, has no connection to any other picture. In that moment, if you were asked to describe that seeing using only that seeing, you could not analyze it.

Do you see? If you cannot form a perception about the seeing, what happens? There is no 'getting' of it, not even as 'seeing'. The task of crossing over is accomplished. You come to true mindfulness. You arrive at a mindfulness that is beyond all knowing. That means no knowledge, no identification… That is what we call true awareness, true mindfulness. When you arrive at true mindfulness, it becomes impossible to 'know' anything.

Do you see? Consciousness (viññāṇa) cannot find a footing. Why? Because consciousness can only find a footing in seeing if a perception (saññā) is tied to it. Otherwise, consciousness cannot arise. Mind-and-form (nāmarūpa) does not arise for consciousness. If a perception is not tied to that seeing, in that place where mind-and-form is not constructed, there is no construction of consciousness, no arising of consciousness, no arising of 'knowing'. Now, even saying "there is no arising" is another analysis. There is nothing to say about it, nothing to discuss.

Right there… now, look at this point carefully. Let's try to understand it a bit more through that analogy. Did it become clear? So, how do we make the analysis, "At this moment, he is in the living room," or "He is at home"? You cannot describe the present picture using only that picture. If you try to describe the seeing using only the seeing, there is truly no description for it. There is no perception. It is impossible to generate a perception about seeing itself.

So, this thing called 'seeing'… that is it. In the present moment, 'seeing' cannot be known. The actions of seeing, sensing, or hearing are not constructed in the present moment. What turns seeing into the action of 'seeing', what makes it into an experience that "I know," an experience that a person knows, is an irrelevant piece of information brought in from elsewhere: "Ah, I saw him in the kitchen." "Ah, he came from the office." By taking an irrelevant analysis, a condition, it becomes, "I know this person now. This is so-and-so. He came from the kitchen yesterday." In reality, there was no story of a kitchen in the teledrama. There was no kitchen in the seeing of that moment. What is taken as 'kitchen' there is some other event brought in and used as a condition.

Do you see? Tattha tattha vipassati—Paccuppanne ca ye dhammā, tattha tattha vipassati. "For whatever phenomena have arisen from conditions, if one sees the truth of them then and there..." If you see the true nature of the phenomena constructed from conditions right then and there, you will find neither a condition nor an effect. Cause and effect cease to arise. Why? You have arrived at the state of tattha tattha vipassati. You have seen the nature of it right then and there. You have seen the seeing purely with the seeing, without conditioning it with anything else. Because in this moment, the events of other pictures are irrelevant to this one picture.

Do you see? That is what you must understand well. This is what is meant by saññānidānā hi papañcasaṅkhā. By connecting a completely irrelevant story or event to this seeing, the proliferation of a 'seer', a 'thing seen', and 'seeing' arises. That is the whole story. This means that in the entire half-hour of watching, no story could have possibly been constructed. It's impossible for a story to be constructed from those individual pictures. There is no one in those pictures, in that seeing.

However, when you see how this construction happens in a place where nothing can be constructed, where nothing can be born, it is not that you create a distorted perception that "these things don't exist" (visañña). No. You know correctly: "If a perception arises, this is how it arises. If something is identified, this is how it is identified." For the one who has this understanding, the act of identifying does not happen. That is the place where perception does not arise. If you look at what is there as 'not there', you simply 'get' the state of not-thereness. However, for the person whose wisdom is applied in that place where nothing can be generated, when they see, "If something does arise, this is how it arises," they neither say "perception does not exist," nor do they cling to perception as if it were a real thing. Ah, they begin to embody the meaning of na saññasaññī. They know, "In this moment, if I were to practice tattha tattha vipassati completely, if I were to go to that picture then and there, that picture, that moment, cannot be known at all." This act of seeing... in truth it is not an act... it cannot be known. The present moment, mindfulness, cannot be known. That is mindfulness. That is consciousness without a surface (anidassana viññāṇa).

Standing in such a place, one sees that the act of 'knowing' happens like this: in a place that cannot be known, an irrelevant thing is taken as a condition, and a story is constructed. The person with good wisdom, the one whose mindfulness and wisdom are applied, does not find a story within the present moment. And if there is a story, for them it is just a story, not a reality. It's just a mere perception (saññā), a mere comparison with some old, irrelevant thing, used to give existence to this 'seeing'.

Then, the person without wisdom will ask, "How can you say something like that didn't happen, Venerable Sir? I saw it!" Do you see? What we call 'seeing' and 'hearing' are feelings (vedanā). When we say diṭṭha, suta, muta, viññāta, 'seeing' is a knowing, a feeling. Because of the feeling, we tie it to a perception. "It's because I saw him that I said he came from the kitchen." Do you see? Because of the seeing (which is a feeling), one perceives. Because of the perception—"Ah, this is the same person who was in the kitchen; he has come to the living room"—and because of that perception, "I see him now, I saw him there before, and I see him now,"... do you see?

That is why the Buddha said that a mental formation (citta-saṅkhāra) is constructed when feeling (vedanā) and perception (saññā) arise dependently. Feeling is the diṭṭha, suta, muta, viññāta. Feeling gets its existence from perception, because we analyze it and form perceptions about it. Perception gets its existence from feeling. "After all, isn't it because I am seeing it, because I am feeling it, that I am making this analysis?" Do you see? When these two are conditioned, a mind, a consciousness (citta-viññāṇa), arises. "I saw that." "I spoke with that person." "I saw him with my own two eyes." "I heard what he said." Then, mental formations are constructed continuously.

"That person," "that person," and the 'I' who saw that person... an 'I' who has been travelling continuously, who existed yesterday... "It is the same you, Venerable Sir, whom I saw yesterday that I see today." "It is the same 'I' who saw you yesterday who has come to see you today." A continuous becoming (bhava), an existence that has come along... a continuous 'me', a continuous 'you'... we meet again and again, we separate again and again. It's just like watching a teledrama and thinking the next evening at 8:30, "Those people must be somewhere," and then starting to watch again from that point. "They were there at 8:30, and then they must have gone to the office, eaten, drunk..." and then, "Oh, I saw you again today at 8:30."

That's what's being done here. Yesterday's episode is connected to today's episode. But there is no connection at all. The event at 8:30 in last night's teledrama and the event at 8:30 today have no connection between their pictures. But do you see? They are connected by perception. "Ah, the man who was beaten up yesterday is the one in the hospital today." That picture has no connection to the other picture. But through perception, a single person gets sick. That is, a single person was beaten up, and it is he who is in the hospital. But if you look at it in reality, 'being beaten up' is a picture seen in one moment. 'Being in the hospital' is another picture. The two perceptions are not connected.

Now, think about it. 'Being born' is one perception, isn't it? 'Dying' is another perception. These two perceptions are not connected. But we create the idea that "the death we see is the death of the person who was born." When we hear 'birth' and 'death', we think the perception of birth is one thing, and this picture we see of dying is another perception, but it seems like an event has occurred—an action called 'birth' happened, and a disappearance called 'death' happened.

Now look at what I'm saying. In the teledrama, what really happens is just a picture of 'going to the office' at one time, and some pictures of 'coming home' at another. But while seeing the pictures of 'coming home', it feels like the event of 'coming home' actually happened. While seeing the picture of 'coming out of the office', it feels like the action of 'leaving the office' is happening within that picture. This perception is always... It's the same even when you have a dream. No real event is happening, is it? Just a series of pictures are striking the mind. No one is actually going anywhere or coming home in a dream. But while dreaming, it feels like someone is talking, someone is coming and going. So look, that seeing has no connection whatsoever to the next seeing.

When we take a picture, this picture is not that picture. That picture is not this picture. So, the source (nidāna) of this perception, its illusory nature, is that perception constructs a long story, an event spanning years. A fabrication (saṅkhāra) happens. We say, avijjāpaccayā saṅkhārā—"with ignorance as condition, formations come to be." Think about it. We are the editors of the teledrama. We take unrelated shots taken in different places and tie them together. When they are tied together, it seems to us that for that whole half an hour, those people were acting continuously. But no. Perhaps they shot 10, 20, or 30 takes. "Cut! Do it again like this." One scene might be shot, and the next might be shot a week later. But when we are watching it, we don't see that story, do we? We see a non-stop, beautiful, continuous flow: he was angry with her, then they came here, then they went from here. We don't even notice the editing, the cuts between shots. We don't notice that it was pieced together from different takes.

Do you see? Perception has this quality of connecting things. It fabricates (saṅkhāra). It ties the two completely together. After tying them together, the perception that "the same person who existed since childhood is the one who has now grown old" becomes true. That identification becomes real. In the teledrama, it's the same person who acted yesterday who is here today.

We don't need to look far. It is the person who went to sleep at night who woke up in the morning, isn't it? Now look, between going to sleep and waking up, we see two pictures. Apart from seeing those two pictures, we never encounter the action of an eight-hour sleep anywhere, do we? We never encounter the act of "I slept for eight hours." We see one picture, and then in the morning when we wake up, we see another picture. Between these two pictures, the story that "someone went to sleep, and someone woke up" is not present in the pictures themselves. Where does the story of sleeping for several hours come from? Who connects the night and the morning and says the one who slept is the one who woke up? In the space between those two points, there is nothing. Perception quickly hides that gap. Without showing the gap, it quickly says, "The one who went to sleep last night is the one who woke up this morning." If the story of 'last night' is not used as a condition here, there is no answer for the person who 'woke up'. There is no evidence whatsoever for the event of 'waking up'. What is the proof that "I woke up this morning"? Because there is no proof, perception quickly provides it: "No, this is the same bed I went to sleep in last night." It joins the story of 'last night' to this moment. But that is not something that can be known in this moment.

Look at the trick that is played here. Between sleeping and waking, there is absolutely no connection between the two perceptions, the two pictures. A connection is created where there is no connection. An addition is made. And then, the same person slept, the same person woke up. "It is the same room he saw yesterday that he has today. The same children are here. It is the same house." Look at how all of this is constructed. It's like a dream. In truth, our life is like a dream. Things that cannot possibly be put together are put together by perception.

That is why the Buddha said that proliferation arises with perception as its cause. Perception ties these two together. This means it's something that cannot be seen in the present moment. Or perception will change its story. Perception will come and say, "I haven't seen this person before. He's not in my notes." Do you see? It even says things like, "It's as if I'm seeing a completely new person," and makes that real. "This is new, I've only seen him today... didn't the old me see him?" Even if you cling to the past, you are conditioning it. "This is a completely new person." Think about it. If you say, "This is the very first time I am seeing this person," you still have to rely on the past, don't you? You are conditioning it with the non-seeing of this person in the past. You are giving an analysis to the present by saying, "I have not seen him before." You are constructing a meeting.

Now, look carefully. There is nothing for us to do here. What is needed is for wisdom to be applied. As wisdom is applied more and more, this knot dissolves. As you listen to this discussion more and more, you realize it is only because of not-knowing that we get caught. We don't examine this. The very reason this illusion persists is that this story is not discussed, not examined. Because it is not discussed or examined, we go along with the knot as if it were real. We think that the actions of seeing, hearing, and sensing are really happening in our lives. If asked, we say, "Venerable Sir, I'm not blind, so I can see. I'm not deaf, so I can hear. I'm not dead, so I can feel." But we don't realize that even though you believe in this seeing, hearing, and sensing, it is precisely these things that you have never truly seen, heard, or felt.

So, the fact of the matter is, you are already dead. You are already dead, and life has been breathed into you by this illusory perception (saññā). Look at where the person you call 'you' has been given life. This is a story that is already dead. By 'dead', I mean it was never born. It's not that it was born and then died; it is a story that was never born in the first place. But you say, "If not me, then who? I can see, I'm not deaf or blind. I'm not dead. I feel, I see."

Alright, that's why we say, "Okay then, can you describe this 'seeing'?" But you must practice tattha tattha vipassati. You must describe the seeing using only the seeing itself. You cannot bring in anything else. You cannot use the kitchen to describe the person who was seen in the living room. You cannot use the walls you saw yesterday. Try to analyze the moment using only the moment. That is when we encounter the original story of mindfulness, the original story of awareness. We find that consciousness (viññāṇa) has no footing, no existence.

So, in this way, as we see into this perception more and more clearly, the wisdom that should arise is that no such identification is actually happening here. It's not something you think; it arises. Look, if all we ever have is the present moment, then in this present moment, nothing has ever been seen, heard, or felt. Therefore, all this talk of "I felt," "I saw," "I heard," "I knew," is not about something that was truly known or truly seen. So this whole story is like the teledrama we watched for half an hour—a complete mirage. We think we watched for half an hour, or we watch a movie for three hours, and we realize that no one was continuously flowing along there. There was no person, no viewer, who existed continuously.

Therefore, this feeling of a 'seer', a 'thing seen', and 'seeing'—that very feeling is the unborn mirage itself. So don't take it that perception is a mirage. The mirage analogy is used because perception cannot arise. The feeling that an event is happening, that something is arising in a place where it cannot arise, that is jātipi dukkhā—"birth is suffering." We see a birth in a place where birth is impossible. Therefore, birth is suffering. The Buddha says this very birth is suffering, because we are encountering a birth in a place where birth cannot happen. A birth in the teledrama. That's why he said jātipi dukkhā, not that being born from a mother's womb is suffering.

The cause of birth is ignorance (avijjā). This birth happens because of ignorance of the true nature of what is happening here. Look at dependent origination (paṭiccasamuppāda). The cause for birth (jāti) is becoming (bhava). The cause for becoming is clinging (upādāna), which is caused by craving (taṇhā), which is caused by feeling (vedanā), contact (phassa), the six sense bases (saḷāyatana), mind-and-form (nāmarūpa), consciousness (viññāṇa), formations (saṅkhāra), and ignorance (avijjā). The root cause for birth is ignorance. That is why the Buddha said that it is because of this not-knowing, this ignorance of the true nature of things... and what is the true nature? It is this unknowable, surface-less nature (anidassana) that is present here. It is completely unknowable. That is the nature of liberation (Nibbāna). In a place where this surface-less (anidassana) nature prevails, the ignorance of its unknowability... it is out of ignorance of this unknowable nature that this perception of 'knowing' and 'I know' arises. This itself is birth (jāti). This itself is suffering (dukkha). This itself is impermanence (anicca). This itself is not-self (anattā).

So, it's not the thing that has been born that is the problem. A child who is born is not suffering itself. If you want to see suffering, wait 50 years and see how that child decays and dies. The suffering is the very arising of a perception of a 'child' in a place where it cannot be constructed, where a perception cannot arise. Jātipi dukkhā. That very birth is suffering. That arising is suffering.

Otherwise, we just look at the things that have arisen, and when they get sick, we feel aversion. That's not wisdom; it's anger. "Oh, this being that was born is getting sick and dying." What we feel then is resentment, a grievance. Here, the birth itself, this arising, is suffering. The ignorance of the fact that nothing can be constructed in a place where nothing can be constructed—that is avijjā. It's not that ignorance is a 'thing'. It is the ignorance of the unknowable nature. The consciousness without a surface (anidassana viññāṇa) is unknowingness. The ignorance of this anidassana viññāṇa—the ignorance of the fact that an unknowable nature prevails here—is what gives rise to the construction of a 'knowing' and this world.

That very nature of construction is suffering. It's not that the things that arise are impermanent; the very nature of arising is impermanence and not-self. So, this is not a story about things that have arisen. It is not about the decay and death of what has been born.

The one to whom this wisdom arises, the one to whom this kind of liberation arises, will not find a place to stand. They won't find a footing. There is no place to establish oneself. As this wisdom is applied more and more, one arrives at the unestablished, surface-less consciousness (apatiṭṭhita anidassana viññāṇa).

Let me give an example to help grasp this a little more. Think about this. We always feel that we have done some action, don't we? I am either seeing, hearing, knowing, or thinking. As I said, we feel this 'I' through some action. You feel 'you' are there, that you exist independently, through an action. But look, have you ever seen an action that you have done? That's the point. Look at its illusory nature. Let me give you an example.

Imagine you are coming from Colombo to Nihada Arana. Let's say you came by car. You say, "Venerable Sir, I came by car from Colombo to Nihada Arana." Alright. In that event, you feel the action: "I came from Colombo to Nihada Arana." "I came on foot." "I came by bus." Let's take a car. We think, "I came in a car."

I ask you, "How do you say you came in a car?" "Well, Venerable Sir, I was sitting in the seat." I ask, "Were you really sitting in the seat? Did you actually come anywhere, or were you sitting in the seat the whole time?"

Think about it. Even though we say, "I came from home to Nihada Arana by car," have we actually 'come' even for a fraction of a second? We were sitting in the seat the whole time. We didn't even move. We were just sitting in the seat. So, even though we say "we came," we were in one place the whole time.

What I mean by that analogy is, even though I think "I came from there to here," did the seat even move? No, the seat was also in one place. My body was in one place. So what am I pointing to when I say, "I came to Nihada Arana"? This 'I' is given life, given power, through these actions: "I came, I went, I did, I gave, I took, I saw."

Now, take that very analogy of coming from Colombo to Nihada Arana. Even though we say "we came," if you look at it, we were just sitting in a seat in one place. So, even though I say I performed the action of 'coming', I can never find the action of 'coming' itself. You feel you are an 'I' who came, a 'doer' who left Colombo and arrived at Nihada Arana, through that supposed action that happened in between. But is there any evidence for that action that supposedly happened in between? That very action you are thinking of is the one that cannot be known. So, if you want to prove you 'came', what do you point to? You might point to the seat. But is the action of 'coming' in the seat? You might point to the tire and say, "I came with the tire." But is the event of 'coming' in the tire? Or you might point to the road. You can show a photo of the road. But is the story of 'coming' in a photo of the road? So, you see, all we can point to are pictures. We can show a picture of the seat, and then another picture and say, "Here I am, coming." And then another picture, and another. So, look, to say that you 'came', you have no way to prove the story of 'coming', and because it's impossible, you resort to other things. Do you see? "I was sitting in the seat," or "I came in a vehicle with wheels like this." You describe a series of stories that are irrelevant to the actual action of 'coming'. It is through that perception that an existence is created for an 'I' who supposedly 'came', making it seem like a continuous event, as if a person who left Colombo actually arrived in Kandy.

Because we cannot prove such an action, because there is no evidence, perception quickly grabs a few random photos and patches them together. "I passed that place, I passed that place..." and then, "Look, there's a photo, we just passed the shopping center, now we've passed Pussitiya." But did 'Pussitiya' travel? Pussitiya is just a stationary photo. Everything we see are stationary pictures. The seat is a stationary picture. The body is a stationary picture.

So, this is a real problem for us. We describe an action—"I came, I went, I saw, I heard, I felt"—but if you try to examine the action through the action itself, you can't make contact with it. You can't 'get' it. You won't find an action to stand on. You become unestablished (apatiṭṭhita), surface-less (anidassana). It’s just like waking from a dream. Just like waking from a dream. Inside the dream, I might say I traveled for miles, but when I wake up, I realize I haven't moved even a fraction of an inch. While dreaming, the perceptions of "I passed that, I passed this, I went here, I went there" are just a story woven from perceptions. This is what is meant by a mirage (marīci). It's like constructing a story of water in a place where there is no water.

Because of this, our life is like a dream, like something that was never born. In other words, this 'I' that we posit is sustained only by these actions we talk about—"I saw, I heard, I came from there to here, I went from here to there." "I am eating." When you say, "I am eating," can you ever point to the action of eating? You might point to a photo of a plate of rice. You might show a photo of teeth chewing something. But there is no evidence to show the action of 'eating'. You might speak of the taste you feel, about a sensation. You take a feeling and connect it to a picture—the photo of rice—and say, "Ah, it is this rice that I am tasting." Within that entanglement, the idea of 'eating' or 'going' is created.

But if you look closely, you will see that even though I say, "I came from Colombo to Kandy," there is absolutely no evidence for the story of 'coming'. It is by tangling together completely irrelevant things—something about a town, a school, or whatever else—that a perception is constructed. And from that, a person who 'came', a person who 'goes', a person who 'is', a person who 'was born', a person who 'dies' is built up. All these activities are encountered through these false, illusory, and irrelevant conditions that are connected to the present 'action' to give it the nature of a person, to give it existence.

Now, as this wisdom is applied, what should happen correctly... for example, what kind of mindfulness is it to see the truth here? It is like this. Imagine I tell you to pay attention to your breath. You only 'feel' it after I tell you to pay attention to it, don't you? But before that feeling... as soon as you say, "Venerable Sir, my attention has come to the breath," we immediately entangle a perception with that feeling, don't we? "Ah, this feeling at the tip of the nose is the breath touching." We label the feeling 'breath'. We entangle the perception 'breath' with that feeling, that vedanā, and in that moment, the event of 'knowing the breath' happens.

But—and think about this point I am making—before that event of 'knowing' happens, wasn't there a moment that was completely unknowable? There was no story of breath, no story of feeling, no story of being mindful... If mindfulness were to arise in that preceding state, if that kind of mindfulness were to arise in this moment of feeling, ah, then even in the place of feeling, one would know the not-knowing itself.

Now, these are flawed analogies, because such a state cannot be 'known'. I am using an analogy to describe the event. Can anyone 'know' that kind of mindfulness? Can anyone 'experience' it? No. Look at the point I am making. In the very moment of feeling the breath, a 'breath', a 'nose', and a 'feeling' were constructed when a perception became entangled with a sensation. And then a 'knower' of the breath was created. Now, try to go to the state that existed before this was said. Can we think of that preceding state? No. Can we know it? We can't know it either. We can't know it, and we can't think it. Is there a 'knower' there? You cannot posit a knower. You cannot posit a known object. You cannot even posit a 'feeling' there. You can only guess.

Now, don't go splitting your head trying to think about this. It was just an analogy. You cannot know the unknowable. But think of it this way: if a mindfulness arises where, even in the moment of feeling, you realize it is just the not-knowing itself, that this is the nature of what is happening here... this kind of mindfulness can never be attained by thinking. You can't get it by practicing something. But if such a mindfulness were to arise, there would be no one there to know that mindfulness. There would be no feeling of 'mindfulness' to stand on. There would be no 'thing felt' and no 'feeler'. Then, you couldn't apply any perception—"there is nothing here," or "there is something here." No feeling would apply. No combination of the two would apply. No 'knower' would apply. Our mindfulness must become that subtle. Mindfulness and wisdom must reach that level.

That is why I said at the end of yesterday's discourse that there comes a point where even the mindfulness that we think we are 'experiencing' has to fall away. We are caught in every place where we say, "I am feeling this, I am feeling that." But even though I say it must fall away, you won't find an 'experiencer' who experiences it falling away.

Ah, it is for the person to whom that mindfulness and wisdom have arisen that the flaw in this fabrication is caught. Perception is understood as perception, without it becoming a 'thing'. For the one whose mindfulness and wisdom are applied to the unconstructed nature, ah, they can engage with this world like an Arahant does, as if it were a play. It's like a dream that they engage with. But it's not on the level of 'reality' that we perceive it. It is an unestablished, surface-less consciousness (apatiṭṭhita anidassana viññāṇa).

Now, when I say this, don't think that there is a 'person' who has become surface-less, or a 'person' who has become unestablished. Don't take it like that. If you do, you will be talking about Nibbāna from within saṃsāra. That is a dangerous thing to do. You would be bringing Nibbāna into saṃsāra and making a saṃsāra out of Nibbāna. Your mind will try to grasp it. It will try to understand the 'inability' to grasp.

Therefore, we say... before I end the discourse, let's establish that this is the kind of story that is at play here. Having understood that, let's now look at our practice. What are we doing in our practice? We spoke about a part of it yesterday. Today, I'll give another small idea.

When we say we are developing mindfulness, we hold onto a 'knowing', a 'feeling'. But the reason I hold onto that 'knowing' is not to remain in the 'knowing'. I'll tell you the reason for holding onto that 'knowing'... Now, for someone who has just come here today, this will be confusing. We don't say these things to someone who has just arrived for the first time. We tell them to first practice mindfulness. So they stay with a 'knowing', with attention on a feeling. They are in a 'knowing'.

What should happen for them in meditation... I'll explain this point with this analogy. Now, look carefully at what we are doing when we practice mindfulness. The reason is, anyone can bring up the argument against what I have said, "Then what is the use of this meditation?" One can get lost in intellectual arguments, creating more proliferation, but there will be no wearing away of the defilements (āsava). That is why we say that this kind of wisdom needs to be applied, and for some, it may arise from a discourse. But even after listening to the discourse, we say, "Develop mindfulness. Maintain your attention." But this is what happens when you maintain your attention. Look at this example. After I ring this bell, observe it. Now, I tell you to keep your attention firmly on this sound. So, look what happened. You kept your attention on it, didn't you? You experienced a feeling; a feeling of sound occurred. But relative to this feeling, to this attention, our attention on everything else was withdrawn, wasn't it? Look closely.

Now, we have grasped something. We have grasped a feeling. By grasping it, relative to that grasped object, we have broken our attention to other things. But then, while keeping your attention on this, become aware right to the very end of it. Become aware of the final end of this sound. That journey of going to become aware of the end is what we do in meditation. We give a primary meditation object, discuss this topic, and then we say, "Alright. Giving a meditation subject like this means, 'Keep your attention on this one thing, without paying attention to other things.'"

Now, when you keep your attention on that one thing, at first you feel it. But as you continue to keep your attention on it to a certain degree, sensual perceptions (kāma-saññā) begin to arise. It is important to understand this point. For a person's sensual perceptions to be stirred up is a sign that their spiritual faculty is good. The sensual realm (kāma) is the state where we are attached and bound to homes, families, and so on. But when we let go of those things for a little while and practice meditation, keeping our attention on something like this sound—take the sound as the primary meditation object—when we keep our attention on it for a long time, sensual perceptions get stirred up more than usual. Feelings get stirred up more than usual. Emotions get stirred up.

When those emotions are stirred up... my teacher taught me this. He said that when you come to a meditation center, emotions tend to get stirred up more than usual. Feelings are stirred up. What he taught me was not to worry about it. "Because now you are not in the sensual realm. You are not intoxicated by it. These feelings have just been stirred up a little. Don't make a big deal out of it. Don't try to analyze it too much. Be happy that you are not caught in the sensual realm now. You are not intoxicated by it. There are just some memories that have been stirred up a little."

The problem is, as the saying goes, "it's harder to bear a pinch than a crocodile bite." When we were in the sensual realm, we endured it. Now, when it's just stirred up a little, we can't stand it. We can't bear even a tiny pinch. He told me, "Don't think about it too much. It is because you have let go of the sensual realm that these sensual perceptions have surfaced a little. Just keep your attention well on the fading sound."

Do you see what is happening here? This is actually a wrong view (micchā-diṭṭhi). I mean, we are firmly grasping a certain object with our attention. We are making contact with an object. However, as we continue to make contact with that object, we cannot maintain contact with it for long. You can't listen to this sound continuously without it changing. Little by little, the object that you grasped, that you held onto tightly, begins to fade. The perception of that object wears away, and as it wears away... imagine this sound is now fading away. When you withdraw your attention from everything else and keep it just on this, it fades little by little, imperceptibly, and you begin to fall into a kind of gap, a space, an emptiness. The sound disappears, but the mind does not wander here and there.

Instead, the mind turns inward, deeper and deeper. Like going to the middle of the ocean, it turns inward, inward, inward, and then begins to expand from within. Before, it was scattered outward. Now, it turns inward and an expansion happens from within. And as it turns inward, the object that was grasped disappears. As that perception disappears, it begins to expand again. When it starts to expand, the meditator, the one who is staying aware, has no object to cling to. When there's nothing firm to hold onto, they feel like they are going to vomit. A sense of aversion arises. It's like the pains of childbirth; they feel like vomiting, they feel revulsion, sleepiness, great restlessness, irritation. They feel like they absolutely must go home. "No, I'm leaving, I can't do this." A strange and indescribable state arises. They came with such faith... Several people have come to me these past few days saying they can't stay, they just feel so sleepy. Some even fall asleep during the discourse. That's because there's no noise anymore. The sound they were holding onto as an object is gone. Finally, they can't even find a footing in that.

When you can't find a footing even in that, when there's nothing to hang onto, what comes is pure... it's as they say, the moment of reckoning. The devil (Māra) comes. You feel like killing something. You feel anger, sleepiness, irritation... a raw irritation. You mentally curse everyone. For no reason at all, an anger towards the teacher arises. There's no reason for it. A strange grievance arises. "What the hell am I doing here? What the hell is being done to me?" What comes up is... it's impossible to put into words. You want to swear in your mind. You curse everything. "What has this done to my life? It's made it completely tasteless. I can't enjoy anything now. Nothing works. The world is useless." We create this aversion towards life.

At some point, when all objects have faded away, if a person, without falling asleep, without doubting "Is this right or wrong?", without over-analyzing, can, as much as possible, enjoy this solitude, this aloneness... if you can call this joy, this freedom... "I am not a slave to anyone now. I am not seeking anyone's love. I am minding my own business, not bothering anyone."

Instead of crying and singing that old song about the lonely squirrel, understand this solitude as a state of peace. Try to savor it a little, like a pleasant experience. Say it with a smile on your face, not looking like you've sucked on a sour fruit, not making a face that belongs on next year's calendar of hell. Say with a smile, "It is lonely, but we are here in peace and tranquility. We are minding our own business." Don't be like that song that bemoans, "Oh squirrel, you're doomed and I'm doomed," crying over it. That feeling of having no object to hold onto, try to see it as peace and tranquility. Little by little, instead of seeing it negatively, see it as "This is serene, this is sublime. I am no one's slave. I don't have to follow anyone around and be a slave. I don't have to lament. I don't have to be a beggar, begging for love. I can be like a king's son. I have nothing, but I am like a king. I don't bow down to anyone, I'm not a slave to anyone."

You must have that grit. As much as you can, you must stay in that signless mindfulness (animitta-sati). While staying there, the Buddha pointed out that even in this state of awareness, consciousness (viññāṇa) can find a footing again. It doesn't grasp form (rūpa) anymore. When it doesn't grasp form, it can find a footing again in perception (saññā), or in formations (saṅkhāra), or in feeling (vedanā). That is, in perception, feeling, or formations.

So, while staying in this awareness, don't try to find reasons for it, or analyze it, or try to see the three characteristics here, or dependent origination. In the book on dependent origination by Venerable Katukurunde Nanananda Thero, I think in the ninth section, he says that when mindfulness reaches this level, do not go piling up more perceptions by thinking about the three characteristics, dependent origination, or the Four Noble Truths. By doing that, you give a footing again to the consciousness that is dying, that is becoming surface-less. Sometimes I have told certain people not to even come to the Dhamma discussions. They think I'm jealous of them, but it's not out of jealousy or anger. It's because again and again, they don't allow the consciousness that is dying to die. They try to understand it more and more, to analyze what's happening more and more. They try to figure it out too much.

Now, that's where I'm stuck too, because of this 'job'. Through over-analyzing, we give life again to the perception aggregate (saññākkhandha). But you must do it knowingly. That's what I meant. When you do it knowingly, you know you can't let perception run wild, because you know you are just feeding it. You try to understand too much, analyze beyond the limit. That itself is a place where one gets blocked, gets stuck. But we must talk about it without fear. We must expose it without fear. We have to bring it all out into the open and deal with it. "This is where I am stuck. This is where I am shattered. This is where I am trying to over-analyze Nibbāna, to analyze the surface-less." You try to analyze the unanalyzable. And then there is no inner value to that analysis. The analysis begins to fall apart right then and there.

Or, for some people at that stage, formations (saṅkhāra) arise. They feel like creating something new. New plans emerge: "I'll do this, I'll do that." The 'architect mind' comes up. They start building castles in the air, planning, planning, planning... That is the inability to stay in that awareness. Because they can't stay there, they jump out and start planning for the future. Some of those plans are incredible. An amazing creativity arises, an unimaginable creativity. It's not a bad thing, but you shouldn't become a slave to it. Because no matter how creative you become, the formations just get sharper. You gain a powerful ability to plan everything, to create. But whatever you create, you must have the wisdom to see that these are all just sandcastles built on the beach. You can never really build a house on sand. So, every creation we make is a sandcastle. That is the wisdom that needs to be applied.

I am not saying, "Don't build sandcastles." That's what I meant. Form perceptions, create formations, but understand that none of it has any real value. They are all just sandcastles. The meaning of 'sandcastle' is the tendency to construct in a place where nothing can be constructed. So, if this wisdom, this discernment (paññā), is applied to the formations within consciousness, creations might still arise through that awareness, but an identity will not be formed. A 'me' will not be constructed from it. Because it's like watching little children playing. They build sandcastles, and then they themselves knock them down and leave. In the same way, every creation we make is temporary. It's child's play in the sand. That's how the Buddha described our whole lives: a playhouse made of sand. Other than being released from it, it has no other meaning.

Now, this shouldn't become another analysis that "it has no meaning." It should be wisdom. All these formations we make, all these analyses, these perceptions and formations... and also our feelings... we might feel, "I want to be the king in this play. Then all the queens' attention will be on me." There is a perception attached to that pleasant feeling. So, it's alright, dress up as the king. But know that you are just dressing up. "This is just a play. It's just a role." Inside, there is no king. We are all just wearing costumes. It's okay to follow the feeling, but know that this is just a play, a mere dream. In the dream, you can be a king surrounded by queens, but when you wake up, it's all over. When you wake up, there is no king from the dream, nor are there any queens. So, "I am going to be crowned king in a dream, to dress up as the king in a play." But then you know it's just a costume.

As you continue developing that mindfulness, that awareness, these tendencies will get stirred up. But if wisdom is applied to the feelings, perceptions, and formations, you cannot create an 'I', a person, out of them for consciousness to grasp. Why? Because you know it's hollow. Wherever you try to build something from feelings, perceptions, or formations, wisdom has already arisen there, and consciousness cannot find a footing in them.

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

Original Source (Video):

Title: අනිදස්සන විඤ්ඤාණය - 05 |Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ

https://youtu.be/eJY7_sfwF1w?si=HbN9tvma8csjhV9m

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