Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 11 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana

මුල් සිංහල වීඩියෝව සඳහා Play කරන්න

Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 11 | 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.

The book, The Illusion of the Mind (Manase Mayawa), is also drawing to a close. Before we finish, I thought I would discuss another paragraph today. Please take a look at the section following what we discussed yesterday. Yesterday, we explained the first paragraph on page 89, regarding self-view (sakkāya-diṭṭhi). That is where we concluded last night’s sermon. Alright, let us look at the paragraph immediately below that.

The reason is that this section, much like the teaching on Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa), contains an explanation given by the Supreme Buddha regarding unestablished consciousness (appatiṭṭhita viññāṇa). As I recall, this is found in the Aṅguttara Nikāya, in the Book of Ones (Ekaka Nipāta), specifically in the Chapter on the Luminous (Pabhassara Vagga). If you turn the pages of the Aṅguttara Nikāya, look for the Book of Ones; it is marked there as Aṅguttara Nikāya One.

In that book, within the Aṅguttara Nikāya, the Supreme Buddha explains several discourses on luminosity. Venerable Katukurunde Nyanananda Thero has included a portion of one of those discourses here regarding this luminous nature. "Monks, this mind is luminous." We are quite familiar with the phrase pabhassaramidaṃ cittaṃ. "This mind is luminous, yet it is defiled by incoming defilements (upakkilesa)." It says "adventitious defilements." "The uninstructed worldling (puthujjana) does not understand this as it really is. Therefore, Monks, I declare that for the uninstructed worldling, there is no development of the mind (citta bhāvanā)."

Both of these verses are found in that same Chapter on the Luminous. Afterwards, it says: "Monks, this mind is luminous, and it is freed from adventitious defilements. The instructed noble disciple (ariya sāvaka) understands this as it really is. Therefore, I declare that for the instructed noble disciple, there is development of the mind." Right. So, what this implies is that whether one is a worldling or a noble disciple, both possess this luminous mind (pabhassara citta). However, for one of them, there are adventitious defilements.

That is to say, dust has settled upon the luminous mind. The ordinary worldling is unaware of these defilements. But look here, the Supreme Buddha does not simply label the worldling as a "sinner" or say that Liberation (Nibbāna) is unavailable to them. He has not said a word like that. Both of them possess the same luminous mind. In this regard, there is no division between them.

It shows that for both—whether an instructed noble disciple or an ordinary worldling—there exists a luminous mind (pabhassara citta). A luminous mind. In one case, it is defiled. However, the one called the worldling lacks the wisdom to recognize the defilement, to realize, "I am defiled." They lack mindfulness and wisdom. Now, because the noble disciples possess the wisdom to recognize the defilement, they do not have these adventitious defilements or dust. They are freed.

That is why the noble disciple has mental development, whereas the worldling does not. Right. Now, let us look at this a bit today. Because this term "luminous mind" is very relevant to Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa), I feel that through both these terms—"luminous mind" as well as "Non-Manifest Consciousness" or "unestablished consciousness"—the Supreme Buddha is attempting to highlight the same underlying truth.

Alright. I will explain this in some detail so you can understand how the ordinary worldling's mind is defiled by adventitious defilements without them even knowing it. I will further explain the example we used yesterday, and then this matter will become clear. Now, do not take this in the wrong way; if you understand it like this, it will be incorrect.

Do not think that there is a "luminous mind" somewhere, and that once we eliminate the adventitious defilements, "I" will remain within that luminous mind—as if it is a place without dust, a place of purity where "I" exist. When we hear these words, we tend to imagine that there is some kind of radiant mind waiting to be experienced. But if there is a mind that experiences it, then that is inevitably a sensation or a feeling. If it is something felt or experienced, then it is a defilement.

It is defiled by perception (saññā). Now, when we hear the term "luminous mind" (pabhassara citta), we tend to think it is something we can simply enjoy. We imagine there is some radiant, light-filled mind, and that attaining Nibbāna means reaching that state. We assume it must be some kind of feeling or sensation (vedayita), something to be experienced—a suffering-free experience that "I" undergo.

Therefore, do not attempt to understand this luminous mind at that level. If you do, we fall right back into formations (saṅkhāra). We would be grasping at an external, adventitious defilement and labeling it the "luminous mind." What we would actually be experiencing as the "luminous mind" in that case is a subtle established consciousness (patiṭṭhita viññāṇa), a subtle defilement (upakkilesa)—which is essentially the sense of self. Therefore, the true meaning we must grasp is not merely the feeling or impression we get when we hear the words "luminous mind."

When speaking of the luminous mind... Right, to help you understand this, let me offer an example. This will help you infer what the luminous mind is, connecting it to yesterday’s sermon. Think of it this way. Recall the simile we used yesterday—or perhaps the day before? Yes, the simile of the person watching the teledrama and the simile of eating rice. I believe we discussed those in yesterday’s sermon.

We discussed the person watching the teledrama and then the act of eating rice. I will explain that same point a bit further to help you understand the luminous mind. Now, imagine a scenario where someone is hitting a person. Let us assume a situation where someone is hitting me, or perhaps hitting another person. Now, when we see this in a dream, at the moment of dreaming, it feels as though we are witnessing it with absolute clarity and pure awareness, does it not?

That is to say, there is a very "live" quality to it. A sense of liveliness. This is precisely what is called existence (bhava). The defiled mind—that is, the mind that is not luminous but possessed of adventitious defilements—is characterized by this "live" nature or liveliness. It is like watching a "live" broadcast on television; as they show it, we feel, "Oh, this is happening right now." We feel the "liveness," the sense that "I am witnessing a live event." Now, think about it: in the moment of dreaming, we do not feel that this is a memory or something edited. We do not have that kind of feeling at all. What we feel entirely is that liveliness. That is what we call established consciousness (patiṭṭhita viññāṇa). That is the defiled mind, the state of defilement. However, the defiled mind cannot recognize itself as defiled.

That is why the Buddha says that the worldling (puthujjana) does not even know they are living with defilements. You see? That is the meaning of the statement: "The luminous mind is defiled by adventitious defilements, and the uninstructed worldling does not understand this as it really is." Just look at it: when we are dreaming, it is purely a defilement. Even in the moment when it appears to be a "live" event, there is no reality to it. Yet, we do not even slightly sense that this is merely a sleep state, something seen in unconsciousness. We do not realize, "This is entirely my own distortion; this is a distorted vision." We feel it is a real event, happening at this moment, happening right now, happening to a person.

Now, understand this clearly: it is not that we are sitting there thinking about it intentionally. We do not need to keep thinking; it simply exists as a "live" moment. In a dream, we are not constructing it by thinking and pondering. We are not analyzing it. That quality of "liveness" exists within it. This is what we mean. Do you see? Even though the luminous mind exists, the mind of the worldling is like this. The nature of the worldling's mind—the mundane nature—is of this sort; it is a defiled nature.

So, observe this defiled nature. We can understand it regarding the dream now, but within the dream itself, we do not realize it is defiled. The entire "me," the event, the person hitting—the whole incident feels as if it exists in a "live" state. It feels like something happening in the present. The feeling is entirely that it is existing, that it is actually occurring.

Even if you remain neutral within it, or maintain equanimity (upekkhā), or become attached, or react with friction—no matter your state—you still feel that the event is happening "live." That very feeling is delusion (moha). That is the stain, the defilement (kilesa). That is to say, the sense of liveliness, the sense that the event is actually occurring.

Now, sometimes you might tell me, "Venerable Sir, I was not attached to it. Even if they hit me in the dream, I did not try to hit back. I did not clash with it. I did not get angry." However, even though you did not get angry, even though you were not attached, and even though you did not try to fight back, you still felt the event to be true, did you not? Within that dream, the feeling that the event was occurring became a reality for you. That feeling—the very sense that it is a living reality—is what remains.

Therefore, what is called "mindfulness" (sati) or awareness in an ordinary, mundane person is actually their ignorance (avijjā). That person’s mindfulness is, in fact, unmindfulness (asihiya). It is mindfulness itself acting as unmindfulness. Is it not so? Inside the dream, we exist entirely with the "mindfulness" that the event is real. That is what we feel. That mindfulness is actually unmindfulness.

Now, think about it: where can you grasp this? How can you catch it right there? No matter how hard you try... when it is happening so "live," thinking about it is of no use. Thinking "there is nothing here, there is nothing here" is merely grasping onto the event and adding another thought or concept (vitakka) to it. That is not the way. So, look at this: despite our assumptions, how much has this ignorance become our reality? How powerful and vast is our unknowing? Our lives have become entirely a state of unmindfulness.

After that, let us take that incident... let us take the teledrama example we used yesterday. Let us examine that simile a bit today. When watching a teledrama, if we see someone being beaten, similar feelings are stirred up within us, are they not? Direct your attention to that event. In the moment we are focused on that event—the moment we are connected to it—we do not even have a faint mindfulness in our mind that says, "I am watching a teledrama." It is completely forgotten.

However, the event being seen feels as if it were real. That is the sickness. That is why, while watching the teledrama, tears flow. Tears flow, we cry, we tremble, we scream, or we laugh. Just look at it; go into that moment. Once we wake up from a dream, we realize, "The dream was false." That is true; we understand that afterwards. Once the film is over, we realize, "I was just watching a film; there was nothing real in it." We understand that.

That is why I am saying: go into that specific moment. Look at that moment. In that moment, even if you think, "I am mindful," the very moment you assume you are mindful is actually unmindfulness. In reality, nothing is happening there. There is no one hitting, nor anyone getting hit. We do not need deep philosophy to see this. We do not need profound wisdom.

Even an ordinary person understands that, in truth, there is no such thing happening inside the screen—even if I am triggered, trembling, tense, or crying. However, at that time, because it is felt as an experience (avadhi), because there is the feeling that it is a living, existing reality happening in the present—that something is happening right now—we are moved to tears. We react. Internally, the quality that "this is happening" is at work.

That is what is called existence (bhava). That is what is called the defilement (upakkilesa). The very sense that "it is happening" is active.

Right. Afterwards, observe this: suddenly someone comes to us... perhaps bringing a cup of tea. They give us tea. They tap us and say, "Drink this tea," while we are watching the film. They might say, "Drink this tea and eat this snack," or "Let's eat this submarine sandwich and watch the rest." Once they give us something—once they tap us and tell us to eat the snack—our attention breaks. The mindfulness that was fixed on the screen breaks. We were intoxicated by it, and suddenly it shatters. Then we might say, "Oh, I was lost in it. I was intoxicated by the film. I had forgotten everything else."

We had forgotten everything else; we were "mindful" of the film. But we did not realize that this very mindfulness was a confusion. After being tapped, we think, "Now I have returned to mindfulness." But look closely at that event. What we returned to as "mindfulness" is just the snack (short eats), the cup of tea, and the act of being served tea—it is just another event, another sound.

So, while watching the teledrama, when the beating occurred, we were in a state where that event felt like a living reality. When dreaming of a fight—whether I see someone hitting another or hitting me—or in the waking instance where tea is being served to me, that event felt real and existing (satta) at that moment. The reason I am using this simile again is to point this out: when we view these as events, in all three instances, we did not feel "asleep" in our experience. We experienced them as "live"—whether it was the tea being brought or the fight in the film.

When seeing the fight within the dream... it is only after we step away from that event that we realize, "Oh, what I saw as real at that time has no truth." It is because we decide that the fight in the dream was false that the fight happening right now seems true. However, if you examine the experience of the event itself, both feel exactly the same.

How do we distinguish between the fight in the dream and the fight happening now? Look for the dividing line. In both instances, it feels the same. The fighting is the same. The fear arises in the same way. The anger arises in the same way. Just observe this. On what basis do we say, "This is real"? At that time, that felt real. Now, this feels real.

Perhaps you might say, "But Venerable Sir, there are no wounds now." True, there are no wounds from the dream once you wake up. But similarly, in this event of being awake, there are no wounds from the dream either. Where are the wounds from the beating in the dream? They are not here now. Just look from where you are now. Then you will grasp this.

You cannot split this into two like that. In a place that cannot be divided, it is consciousness (viññāṇa) that separates them. Based on that separation, consciousness beautifully makes "this moment" seem even more real. It intensifies the sense of liveliness. That is precisely what consciousness does. That is the defiled mind; that is what we call the luminous mind that is defiled. It breaks and separates everything.

"Ah, what happened last night was false; this is real." It is by making that false that consciousness makes this real. However, if we are truly realistic, we never experienced it as "false" at that time. If we go to that very moment—if we go into that mindfulness, that feeling—if we go right into it, then we realize that we cannot break it apart here saying, "This is a dream," or "This is a teledrama."

However, it is through that separation that we constantly assert "existence" and "non-existence." We say, "Last night’s event does not exist; this exists." We say, "Yesterday I saw a dream; here I see reality." This creates a feeling of a substantial existence for a "self." It feels like, "I was present in both instances. I saw the falsehood last night, and I see the truth now." But look closely: at the time you were seeing it last night, did you feel, "I am seeing a falsehood"? You did not sense such a thing.

That was also real. The "I" who saw it at that time was also real. Yet, upon waking, you cannot find the person who saw it. So, when we consider that event... the problem is this: when such a defiled state prevails—where what we call "mindfulness" is actually unmindfulness operating continuously throughout life—how are we to see the luminous nature? Here, the Supreme Buddha declares, "This mind is luminous."

However, the worldling (puthujjana) exists in defilement. For the worldling, defilement is... well, they perceive their own mindfulness as real. How can they feel it is false when they see this? "Here is the cup of tea. Here I am. Here you are, Venerable Sir." How can one show them that it is merely an event? Because they continuously feed on that liveliness, that very "liveness." They are nourishing existence (bhava) itself.

So, think about it: at most, what they might do is listen to what you say and think, "It does not exist." But even when they think "it does not exist," what are they saying does not exist? The cup itself. When they say "no," they are referring to that same enemy. Even in saying "no," they are grasping onto that very thing. That is as far as the worldling's mind can go. Either they can say "it exists," or they can say "it is all a lie." That is all.

They are holding onto two modes of attention (manasikāra). Holding onto two kinds of volition (cetanā). Either the volition that says "it exists" or the volition that says "it does not exist," taking that as the truth. This does not mean they have realized the luminous mind (pabhassara citta) or that the adventitious defilements have ended. They have merely changed their attention. That is all.

Now, regarding the luminous mind, let me offer two similes. Try to grasp the point through these two similes. First, I will speak about the defiled mind. Take the story of the animal in front of a mirror as a simile for the defiled mind. You can grasp it through that. Understand it through the mirror simile.

When an animal—say, a bird or a monkey—goes in front of a mirror, it does not see a reflection in the mirror. When it goes there, it perceives another independent individual. It sees the color of an individual, the shape of an individual; it gets the perception of a separate individual. A different consciousness... that is, a different person.

Now look: the mind that arises at that moment is a defilement, is it not? It is a defilement (kilesa). That is what is called the state of the worldling (puthujjana-bhāva). That mind is entirely a defilement; it is possessed of adventitious defilements.

Why? Because for the bird in front of the mirror, what it sees appears separate. It sees itself as separate. It sees another individual, someone distinct from itself. It sees a person separate from itself. Yet, at the moment of looking, for the bird, that event is "mindfulness." Now think: how can one tell the bird the truth of this? That is why it is said that in the animal realm, it is very difficult; one cannot generate this luminous mind.

Just think: how can you explain to that mental level, "What you see as another person is actually you"? If you say, "That is a defilement; what you see is yourself," the bird would think, "But I see another one right here!" It is entirely a defilement. "Your mindfulness is actually unmindfulness." Just think: how can you show this to that state of existence (bhava)? How can we teach this to a monkey?

It is not easy. If the bird is pecking at the mirror, and we remove the mirror... if we take the mirror away, the bird will think, "The one who was here has disappeared." It will come to a conclusion like that. If we remove the mirror today, the bird might go there tomorrow and look, thinking, "Oh, he is not here today." It will go to a place of "non-existence" regarding that "person."

It will hold onto the idea of that bird and think, "He is not here; he must have died today," or "Something happened to him." It will go to a place of "he does not exist." So, think about it: this is what is called the mind with adventitious defilements. This nature can only be explained through these similes. Wisdom (ñāṇa) must arise from within oneself; it cannot be done otherwise.

I can only bring these similes. I do not know any other way, because there are no direct similes for the luminous mind. To show the luminous mind, one must point out the confusion, the unmindfulness (asati). That is unmindfulness. That is the main thing. It is when unmindfulness is pointed out that true mindfulness (sati) arises. The luminous mind is mindfulness. We live in what we call mindfulness, but the mindfulness we know is actually unmindfulness. That is to say, whatever a worldling claims to be true is, to the mindfulness of the Noble One (Ariya), unmindfulness.

Whatever the Noble One (Ariya) sees as mindfulness (sati), that is unmindfulness (asihiya) for the worldling. The worldling simply cannot understand such a thing. That is to say, the luminous mind (pabhassara citta) seen by the Noble One is something the worldling knows nothing about. The defiled mind that the worldling sees is something the Noble One never encounters. He is freed from it.

Just think about it: when we go in front of a mirror, can we even form the volition or thought that "there is a person in front of me"? We are completely freed from that mind. We know that the very defilement (upakkilesa) that arises for the bird when it approaches the mirror is absent in us. That is to say, we are in the luminous mind. However, there is no "talk" of a luminous mind there. That is the point.

It is not that I am now "seeing this with a luminous mind." The absence of the defilement engaging—that itself is what is called the luminous mind. We are not looking at it through some strange, special mode called the "luminous mind." We see exactly what the bird sees. However, there is no stain there. There is no defilement. It does not appear any differently to us than it does to the bird when we go in front of the mirror. The reflection strikes the mirror in the exact same way.

But go into that event—look closely—and understand what the luminous mind is within that event. Through that simile, we can infer, using logic, that "this is the nature of it."

So, we cannot take this "luminous mind" to be some separate, strange thing that we see or experience as a distinct entity. If we do that—if we see it again as some illusion, or a mirage, or whatever else—then, just like the bird, I am merely seeing another defilement I have constructed.

If I see it again and again as "this is an illusion," or "this is a dream," or "this is a mirage," then I am right back where the bird is. The bird says "bird," and we grasp onto "bird" and say, "No, it is like this." We are again accepting a separate existence. Again, what we call "mindfulness" is actually unmindfulness. That is what I am saying.

Now, think about this: trying to understand the luminous mind in this way is all just inference. Just imagine... if the bird going in front of the mirror were to suddenly get the eyes of a human, the ears of a human, the wisdom of a human... If that happened, its vision through those eyes would be the same. It sees; it hears. But would it then encounter something like "I see another bird"? No.

At the very least, would it even encounter a perception like, "This is the color of a bird"? Would it think, "This is not a bird, but only the sight of a bird's color"? Would it even find that? No.

So, regarding the luminous mind, take this simile. Take the example of a camera. Imagine a cricket match is being played. When watching a cricket match through a camera... just think, how must that match appear to the camera? The camera might be recording the cricket match for a full two hours. Or perhaps it is recording a wedding, a film, or a match.

Just put yourself in the place of the camera that is recording purely. Go to the camera. Just imagine the camera recording that blue film or that cricket match. It records the entire event. But if we could speak to that camera and ask, "You who are recording this entire event, how does this appear to you? How do you see this?"

Just think about it: whether we watch a match on a phone, or watch a cricket match on TV, or watch a blue film on a phone, or whatever we watch—what strikes the screen is what was recorded by a camera. The entire event is there. This is merely a simile to point out, by inference, what the luminous mind is.

So, if we come to a point like this... if we could speak to it... Imagine if life came to the camera, just as it does to us—if life came to the camera recording this sermon, or the camera recording the cricket match or the blue film—and we asked, "How do you feel?"

Think about it: we cannot even conceive of it, can we? As we are now, we cannot even imagine it. No way of thinking available to us is relevant to how the camera sees. Would the camera say, "No, it is not like that"? Would it say, "I do not see two sides called Sri Lanka and India"? Would it even say "no"? Would the camera utter such a statement? Can the camera generate such a sign (nimitta)?

The level of the camera is a place where signs cannot be generated, even through the mode of "non-existence." Would the camera at least say, "I only see"? "I am recording; I only see"? Even an analysis like "seeing" is irrelevant to the camera. Do you see? In the place called the luminous mind, even the talk of "seeing" does not apply. The talk of "hearing," or the talk of the seen, heard, and sensed (diṭṭha, suta, muta), does not apply there.

However, even saying "it does not apply" is again my analysis. Concepts like the seen, heard, and sensed are not the camera's analysis. Those are analyses made by a person—by "me" taking the lead again. Ah, that is unmindfulness (asati).

Now, do you understand? The point is that how the camera experiences this can never be experienced through my own analysis. In the same way, I can never understand this mindfulness (sati) through my own analysis. It is just like the camera's vision. But what is actually happening here? The true story belongs to the camera, does it not? It records the entire event.

That is what the Buddha means by the luminous mind. It exists. The camera exists. Right, the camera... that is the luminous mind. That is the true nature of this event here; it records the entire story. However, it is precisely that camera which has no analysis whatsoever. Even the statement "the camera has no analysis" is something I am saying.

What I mean is that our analyses, which we form as "you" and "I," are irrelevant. Thus, we can never truly know how it feels to the camera. Yet, it is the camera that sees this exactly as it is. We analyze based on its videos. We give all our interpretations to what the camera records. We act according to our database: "This is the Sri Lankan match being played." We cheer. We shout. Or we say, "Ah, it doesn't matter; I am keeping my mind balanced; I am neutral."

Whatever we say, not a single one of those analyses is relevant to the camera. So, regarding analysis... this is what is being said here. The Noble Ones (Ariyas) know this. The worldling (puthujjana) stands there with his analysis having become truth, having become "live." The worldling lacks the wisdom to even recognize that this is unmindfulness. The Noble One knows it.

Wherever the mind goes, "This analysis of yours is entirely unmindfulness." See? That is why I am trying to say this: one cannot understand the luminous mind by a person thinking, "Ah, this is the nature of the camera; this is the true way I think." One cannot think, "I am thinking from the true nature existing here." One cannot find such a thing.

If such a mind were to arise, it would again be an established consciousness (patiṭṭhita viññāṇa). Again, it is not luminous. Again, a volition (cetanā) has become real; one encounters only volition. One sees a formation (saṅkhāra), a construction, as real. One sees an analysis as truth.

That is another point. It cannot be grasped by a place where wisdom has not arisen beyond that point. That is to say, even the confusion of this analysis is found only at the place that has become the "camera." In the place that has become the camera, there is no separation between the camera, the thing seen, or the seer.

It is to the place where wisdom and mindfulness are applied—where there is no separation—that the defilement in the application is recognized as a defilement. Yes, these are all analyses. That is why it is called a mindfulness that has transcended words and terms. That is why people cannot conceive of this Dhamma. "What is he trying to say? Whatever you say, you say it is wrong."

"What is this? Is it this? Is it that?" This is what they say. That is why everyone gets stuck. If you look at it, any teacher will say, "That is wrong, this is wrong." Then, the best thing about those teachers—the best thing that allows them to remain teachers—is that no one has ever become like them. Everyone else is wrong; only they are right.

So, it seems correct, does it not? Because no student has ever become the teacher. Every day, they try something else, and it is still wrong. "That is wrong too." We get frustrated, don't we? It is quite a mess. People ask, "Is there nothing right? Are you the only ones who are correct?" So, they get frustrated. That is to say, we think that the luminous mind (pabhassara citta) or Non-Manifest Consciousness (anidassana viññāṇa) is some kind of state we can establish ourselves in, or some experience we can undergo—a place where we can settle.

But the one who has settled in the "right place" does not find any talk of a "right place" to settle in. Ah, that is where wisdom applies for him. He understands how unmindfulness (asati) occurs. For the one to whom that wisdom applies, it is not that unmindfulness continues to exist; rather, he is directed towards the cessation of unmindfulness. He is directed entirely towards Nibbāna, towards cooling. His existence does not proceed forward into further becoming (bhava). He leans entirely towards cooling. His realization leads to further cooling, not to stabilization.

Why? Because the light of the unestablished luminous mind has fallen upon him. That is to say, the question of "how the world appears to the camera"... Now, the problem is this: the moment I use the word "camera" and say "the way the camera sees," I have already been caught by a view (diṭṭhi). That is why I say that the similes used for the luminous mind and Non-Manifest Consciousness are extremely materialistic. They are dualistic stories.

We use them to discuss this because otherwise... truly, if someone were to ask, "Explain how the camera sees," wisdom would only arise in the realization that it cannot be explained. Then, for every explanation, one would have to say, "Not that, not that, not that." "Not that either."

Then, does the camera not see? Again, that is also a grasping. By grasping onto "seeing," one asks, "Does the camera not see?" Or, "Does it see?" Again, another explanation comes up. "That too is wrong."

No, it is not that the camera does not see. But if it sees, how does it see? Then I get stuck inside. That is to say, how can we talk about it? How does the camera see? "It is empty, it is empty." That too is an explanation. One must become the camera. That is the point. The camera... then, the wisdom that has become the camera is the luminous mind.

The luminous mind is not something to be experienced. We can use this as a proper example. The story of the luminous mind is like going in front of a mirror. Just think: when we go in front of a mirror, do we stand there thinking and pondering, "There is no one here; this is only a mere appearance; this is only a mere form of color in the eye"?

Do we perform any volition (cetanā) thinking, "There is nothing here, there is nothing here"? No. See? The luminous mind is not about thinking in a certain way and making "nothingness" real. Look, when we approach the mirror, the thought "there is a person here" does not even arise. Right.

Then, suppose someone says, "No, you must think about it." Or we say, "Okay, there is a person in the mirror. There is a person in the mirror." Even if we think that, does it become established (patiṭṭhita) for us? It never does. Ah, something like that is the luminous mind. Now, can you point out the luminous mind separately? No. That is wisdom. That is... well, can the person with the luminous mind not think? Ah, he can think as much as he wants.

"This mirror is like this; that person is like this. That person is like that; he is white. That person is black." But not even the volition of that thinking has any existence (pāvatma). That very thinking volition is hollow. To even analyze it as a "volition" is actually incorrect. Although I called it a volition, no volition arises there. "Intention, I tell you, monks, is kamma" (cetanāhaṃ bhikkhave kammaṃ vadāmi).

A volition arises for the bird there. For us, no volition arises in front of that mirror. That is why no kamma is accumulated for us there. I only become a volition there if it becomes real to me. For us, even if we think it, there is no reality (satta) in that volition. There is no defilement (upakkilesa) there. There is no Dependent Origination (paṭicca samuppāda) or causes and conditions (hetu-pratyaya) there for us to say, "Because of causes, another person appears here."

"Ah, when I leave this place, the person disappears. The person was born only when I came here." At that time, no explanation arises from the perspective of "a person"—neither that "it arose" nor that "it arose due to causes." No story about a cause arises with the effect (result) being the primary focus. The Dhamma goes wrong for us when we take the effect as primary—like going in front of the mirror, holding onto the effect called "the person," and thinking, "Ah, this arose because I came."

In that way, contact (phassa) occurs for us, and a cause-and-condition arises. Ignorance (avijjā) is present there. Why? Because we have taken what is in the mirror as a "thing," and it is for that "thing" that we analyze the law of cause and effect. We give interpretations and analyses. All of that... However, please think: these similes I am using for the luminous mind... do not think of them literally.

Ah, I need to say this: this is solely for the purpose of liberation from defilements. It is not so that, having been freed from defilements, you can then grasp onto something called a "luminous mind." If we think, "There is no person in the mirror," but then grasp onto "there is a reflection" or "if I move, the reflection moves," that is another established state (patiṭṭhita). It is like thinking, "My own form has struck there." Again, we have opened the door to duality.

"It is my shape, my color; that is my reflection." Do not take it like that there. If you take it like that, you will go wrong again. That is to say, I am trying to give a simile for a place where similes cannot truly be given. I am offering an analysis for a place where there is no story to be thought about or pondered. This analysis itself brings confusion. Nevertheless, I have to say it. When I say, "This is the kind of thing the Buddha is pointing to," we get a small inference.

Now, this is not a state of non-existence. Just imagine... truly, if that bird, after some days, were to gain such wisdom—perhaps by meeting a spiritual friend (kalyāṇa-mitta) and hearing the Dhamma—just imagine if that bird met a spiritual friend, heard the Dhamma, and that wisdom arose in him. Would he then say, "There was a bird before, but after meeting you, Venerable Sir, I understood that the bird does not exist"?

"Meeting you was a great thing! Oh my, it was only after you spoke that the bird disappeared!" No, it is not like that. Then he understands: "It was the luminous mind all along. There was an adventitious defilement (āgantuka upakkilesa). Because of the spiritual friend, mindfulness arose there." It is not that there was a bird there, and after the spiritual friend spoke, the bird ceased to exist.

That is why it is said that Nibbāna is what exists right there. Again... that is to say, if one truly sees the reality of that event, what remains is the Nibbāna we speak of. It is the luminous mind itself; the defilement was adventitious. Take the bird's level as our current level. Take the Arahant's level as the level of the human [in the mirror simile]. When one reaches the level of the luminous mind—like an Arahant—just look: for us, the story of "another bird" simply does not apply there at all.

Then, the way we see when we go in front of the mirror is just like the camera's vision. It is just another way of looking; it is not another mode of attention (manasikāra). That is precisely what we never encounter. Do you understand then? The mind that analyzes cannot understand true mindfulness. The analyzing mind wants to see another "thing" that it has understood—another mental attention, another unmindfulness, another "understood thing" labeled as "mindfulness."

Look, then... think of it this way as an example. Suppose there is a place where the human never encounters a "bird." Even if the bird and the human go in front of the mirror, the human does not encounter a separate person called "a human," nor does he encounter a separate bird.

Even if one were to think about it, there is no meaning in it. Right, what if that mindfulness were present in the bird's life for all twenty-four hours? Then, for that bird, there would be no story of "a bird appearing or disappearing," or "a bird arising due to causes and then ceasing." No such story would ever apply.

Now, imagine if that wisdom came to us, just as it came to the bird. If, in the very places where we see and hear, the mindfulness of the human [in the mirror simile] were to arise in us... Currently, we are at the bird's level.

Imagine if the level of vision of the human came to us—if the mindfulness and wisdom of the Arahant's vision were to apply to us. Then, we would possess the wisdom that we cannot be caught by this "live" experience, this feeling of existence. This mindfulness cannot be grasped by thinking about it anyway. That is the point. I am not thinking this. Something like that is what is called the luminous mind. If I told you to grasp this by thinking, your head would explode after a while.

Your head would feel heavy, wondering, "What on earth is this person saying?" That is what we are saying: our lives are engaged in... well, there is a mindfulness that allows the bird to know, "There is another bird." But our truth lies in a place where that kind of mindfulness can never be established.

The reality of our lives is situated there. It is situated in the luminous mind. However, when I speak, you might feel as though there are two things: the "luminous mind" and something else. But it is not like that. It only feels like two things when hearing about it. In realization, it is not like that.

For us now... regarding the reflection in the mirror... we do not have two things: "There is a person in the mirror" and "But the truth is something else." For us, there are no two things. What I am saying is this: when we go in front of a mirror, do we actually think, "Conventionally, there is a person here; ultimately (paramattha), there is no person here"? We do not have such a thought. It is simply "no." There isn't even a discussion about "no."

Look, that is the luminous mind. That is Non-Manifest Consciousness (anidassana viññāṇa). It is luminous. Now, how can one grasp that by thinking? That is the problem.

No matter how you think—"No, no, this is only seeing, only seeing"—those are heavy burdens. Those are merely activities. They are exhausting tasks that fill the head. "It is only seeing, seeing, seeing; hearing, hearing, hearing." If you go to experience it like that, just look at the exhaustion involved. Why do you have to think like that? Because underneath, the grasping that "this exists, this exists" is so strong. The moment you forget to think, you feel it exists again.

So, think about it: when reading suttas like this, it is not good to approach them in that way. We should discuss wisdom—mindfulness and wisdom. Just imagine, as an example: before I ask you to place your attention on your body, you do not have the knowledge or feeling, "This is the body, I am seated here inside the body."

During this sermon, the time you did not feel that knowledge was greater, was it not? Just think: take those moments where you did not feel "I exist" or "I am seated." This is just an argument to lead your mindfulness... If that same state remained throughout the day... if that same "mood" came... Actually, we only feel "I am seated here" for about a minute during a one-hour sermon.

Let us say we do not feel it for a full hour. If the sermon was an hour and one minute long, we might feel it for about a minute. Then for fifty-nine minutes, we do not feel it. That means for fifty-nine minutes, we are in the luminous mind. Which minute are we in? We are in that defilement (upakkilesa). We are in that defilement for a short time.

Ah, even regarding that minute... think about it. Our mindfulness is there. But we cannot even think, "The mindfulness that is there exists." Nor can we stay thinking, "I am not thinking."

Do you understand what I am saying? You cannot grasp the way you were during the time you did not feel it, using attention (manasikāra). The moment attention comes, "that" is not it. The moment attention arises, it is no longer that state. It becomes a knowing again. Ah, it is a place that cannot even be known. Therefore, we can never achieve it through attention.

The moment attention comes, "Ah, I feel I exist." Think of a place where that cannot be known. In that way, it cannot be seen with eyes. It cannot be thought. It cannot be grasped. It cannot be made an object of the senses in any way. When that mindfulness and wisdom—which cannot be made an object of the senses—is applied as "mindfulness," we tend to think it is something we need to establish. It is not so.

If such clear comprehension (sati-sampajañña) is present... eventually, even in that minute where it is felt... that mindfulness goes there too, and it reduces to thirty seconds. It reduces to twenty seconds. It reduces to a second.

It is a knowing that cannot be known. That mindfulness continued. Imagine if our entire life became a state of "knowing that cannot be known." That is becoming the luminous mind. That is becoming the camera.

If we reach such a place, can we say, "Oh, from a place where nothing was felt, something was felt"? Or, "From a place where something was felt, it went to a place where nothing was felt"? That story does not apply. It is like saying, "I went in front of the mirror and saw a person. Yes, after I moved away from the mirror, the person disappeared. Then I came back to the mirror, and I felt a person appear."

"It was seen, then it was not seen." Can we say that again? No. Why? Because our wisdom is continuously established in the mindfulness that "no person was ever established there." If a mindfulness that "no person was established" continues... then the stories of "a person arose and ceased," "a person's sound was heard and ceased," or "a person's form was seen and ceased" simply do not apply. There is no story of arising and ceasing. There is no rise and fall (udayabbaya).

Look at that! That is when we understand. That is why the Buddha says that continuously... truly, whether one claims this world is real or thinks this world is false, for everyone, the true nature is the luminous mind. However, even though the luminous mind is present, for some, volition (cetanā) has become real. They think that the volition they conceive—like the bird thinking "there is a bird"—is something they can see.

They think it is something they can grasp. That is the place where the adventitious defilement (āgantuka upakkilesa) exists. The bird thinks it can see what it conceives. It thinks it can grasp the thought it thinks. It thinks it can look at it. That is why the bird goes in front of the mirror again and again. It thinks it can see the volition conceived in its mind.

That is why it goes to check if "he" is there today. It goes to peck at it because it thinks it can grasp it. Just think about that volition. Now, imagine if wisdom came to us... Suppose I go in front of a mirror and I actually think, "There is a person here." Or, "There is a woman here." Truly, we feel it. We feel, "There is a person here; there is a woman here."

If wisdom comes to us regarding that conceived volition—if we reach the point of realizing, "This thought of 'a woman' can never be seen in the mirror"—then what happens? That thought, that volition of "woman" or "man," gained its existence because we believed we could see her. We believed we could grasp her. We believed we could grasp a woman, see a woman. We believed we could hear her voice. It is through the seen, heard, and sensed (diṭṭha, suta, muta) that power was given to that volition.

So, regarding that volition... if wisdom comes to me regarding the volition of "woman" or "man"—just as if wisdom came to the bird—I would realize that although I thought "it is a bird," it can never be seen. It can never be grasped. You realize that in your entire life, the woman you loved... you have never actually seen her. You have never grasped her. You have never heard her voice, never kissed her. Never kissed, never seen, never touched.

If that happens... then "who is the woman I loved for so long?" That question loses its meaning. That volition loses its meaning. Then, regarding that defilement, wisdom arises seeing the defilement as a defilement. Then its existence... then that volition, little by little—not all at once—fades.

Even when that volition arises, little by little, we do not even slightly think, "I can go and see the volition that is arising. I can see it." As that mindfulness and wisdom grow, the wisdom of mano pubbaṅgamā dhammā, mano seṭṭhā, manomayā ("Mind precedes all mental states, mind is their chief, they are all mind-made") applies, seeing the formation (saṅkhāra) merely as a formation. Right. Look at that. Then it will be understood.

So, that is the kind of place we have to gradually work towards. That is why... well, for the ordinary worldling's mind, this is not caught as a volition. For him, what is thought and what is seen have become one. That is to say, his perception (saññā), his feeling (vedanā), and his thinking are fused with the seen (diṭṭha). What is thought is fused with the heard (suta). What is thought is fused with the sensed (muta). He thinks, "The person I thought of is the one I touched."

It is the same in a dream. It is the same right now. It is the same in the teledrama.

However, if wisdom arises for him... properly... Now, do not get confused here. I am not trying to say, "There is a seeing, and there is a mind; what is thought is not seen." I am not telling you to do that. It is precisely because of the thinking that the seeing got its existence. The moment you separated it as "a seeing," the mind received strength. These two have come together; they are dependently arisen (paṭicca samuppanna). They have become causes for each other.

Just think: for that bird, it was because of the volition "there is another bird" that it felt it saw him. However, it was because of the seeing itself that the volition "there is a bird there" received power. Because the seeing became a "thing," the seeing turned into a "seeing" [as an entity]. If the "thing" disappears... well, that is why for the camera, it cannot even be encountered as "a seeing." For the camera, a place called "a seeing" does not even apply.

That is what I am trying to say. At the very least, if someone says, "The luminous mind is merely seeing, merely hearing, merely sensing"—that is also wrong. That is not what the luminous mind is. That too is a form of establishing (pihiṭīma), a form of grasping. One cannot establish oneself even in that way in the state called the luminous mind. That is why I said that this wisdom—this mindfulness and wisdom—cannot be discussed by putting it into the four categories of the seen, heard, sensed, and cognized (diṭṭha, suta, muta, viññāta).

One cannot put it into a view (diṭṭhi) saying, "It is only a mere seeing, only a mere hearing," and call that the luminous mind. Nor can one say, "Becoming the luminous mind means forgetting these concepts and becoming just the seeing." One cannot say that either. If one eliminates one thing to get to another state... then that becomes a meditative absorption (jhāna). If one tries to forget some memories and reach another nature, then that is a jhāna.

That is not the attainment (samāpatti) of the Noble Path. That is not the Fruit of the Path (magga-phala). In that case, what one is doing is forgetting concepts a bit and keeping the mind at the level of "seeing." Or keeping the mind at the level of "nothingness." In that case, consciousness has found a support (patiṭṭhā). It rests on a subtle perception. Then it is a jhāna. It is not the Fruit of the Path.

The Buddha... well, it is not that these are wrong. They are good; we need them. The mind becomes calm at such levels. Although we need them, they are not what is called the attainment (samāpatti) of the Noble Ones. The attainment of Stream Entry (Sotāpatti) or Once-Returning (Sakadāgāmi) is distinct. Jhanas are a different story. In jhāna, one blanks out the existing object and establishes the mind on a different sign (nimitta). However, that is established (patiṭṭhita), not non-manifest (anidassana).

When speaking of the attainment [of the Noble Ones], wisdom is applied right where the seeing and hearing occur in front of the mirror, and a wisdom is encountered. Ah, that is why one needs a spiritual friend (kalyāṇa-mitta) to become a Stream Enterer (Sotāpanna); one needs the sound of the Dhamma (parato ghosa). One cannot become a Stream Enterer through jhāna alone. Forgetting what exists and staying in some other place... for that [realization], one needs the association of a spiritual friend. One needs to investigate this Dhamma. One needs discrimination (vicakkhana). Wisdom must be applied there. It is not about blanking out something that exists and establishing oneself in an empty space.

Right. So, regarding that... well, something like that is what is called the luminous mind. That is the luminous mind.

So, regarding the practice we are doing now... let me give you another small idea. What is the relationship between the mindfulness we are practicing and the luminous mind? Now, one might think... well, the difficulty lies in connecting these two. Because those who analyze and understand the part I explained earlier might dismiss mindfulness right from the start, saying, "Mindfulness is actually unmindfulness."

"Oh, truly, that mindfulness is just unmindfulness; why should we develop it?" That is where... well, think about it. Those who speak extensively about emptiness (suññatā) are not wrong. Because if you listen to about 20 or 30 sermons along the line I just explained... "What is this mindfulness? It is false. Why develop mindfulness?" One might come to such a conclusion.

Those who develop mindfulness might think, "Yes, we don't need to listen to that right now. We will get that luminous mind when the time comes; we don't need to think about it," and they might reject this sermon. That is where... well, now we have to [reconcile] both. I don't know... I am also still trying to bring these two together. Because it is quite difficult—these two.

Because up to a certain point, one must show mindfulness. Afterwards, like a baton in a relay race, one must take it and run. However, at a certain point, what is called "mindfulness" must also drop away. That balance... I do not know... perhaps one needs some wisdom carried over from samsara for that. I don't know. Because at the moment of striking this balance, it will not work if one listens to the earlier sermons and simply gives up, saying, "There is nothing; mindfulness is unmindfulness."

While maintaining Right View (sammā diṭṭhi), one must cultivate Right Mindfulness (sammā sati). Right View must be foremost; this vision (darśana) must be heard. However, afterwards, we sometimes realize that there is a time when we must hold onto the raft. Therefore, within this practice (paṭipadā), there is ignorance. But if Right Wisdom (sammā ñāṇa) is at the forefront, then practicing that path is not unmindfulness.

Although there is unmindfulness there, wisdom is applied. One has received the association of a spiritual friend. One has heard the Dhamma. Having heard the Dhamma and associated with a spiritual friend, one now grasps the object called "mindfulness" with wisdom and mindfulness, considering its benefit. Why? Because he knows: "I have wisdom, but my defilements are strong."

So, at this point... let me mention a small characteristic of mindfulness. Now, having heard this sermon, we generally practice mindfulness here—what we call "here and now." However, listen to this sermon.

While you practice "here and now" and construct that existence, having heard this sermon, the mindfulness heard from these teachings applies to that very place. While you are practicing "I am mindful in this moment" at every moment, if you allow these sermons to be heard as well, eventually, the "mindfulness" that you are actively cultivating will begin to drop away quickly. It becomes a great support.

However, while we practice the awareness of "being in this moment" at every moment, if we listen to these sermons simultaneously... as we feed that in, the formations (saṅkhāra) do not get constructed. Whatever tries to form begins to loosen and dissolve. So, we are developing mindfulness, and we also have wisdom. Then, even if stories are constructed, those stories have no power. The power of volitions is broken. Why? Because wisdom from the sermon has been applied.

Because that wisdom is applied, we do not go into judgments based on the formations that arise. We do not go into verdicts. The point I am making here will be very important. That is to say, for example, the first point is that listening to this sermon is valuable. Having listened, I understand that somewhere, at some point—perhaps in front of a Buddha—the light of that luminous mind must fall upon us.

Because the habit lies in the adventitious defilements. Let me tell you a characteristic of those who are in adventitious defilements. I have met some people who are very educated, possess knowledge, and sometimes have wealth—especially during the time I was abroad. However, I have realized that there is a tremendous selfishness within these people. Very selfish.

I have felt what I am saying while associating with them. Actually, sometimes you find a bit more gentleness in someone sitting on a culvert, perhaps smoking ganja or taking a hit.

Sometimes, in them, you find that "love," that affectionate nature... that "heart," that loving nature. Without any of those [pretensions], they have a nature where they can just jump in and help another person with their work. That is to say, somewhere, even without deep discussions, they have been touched by the compassion of a Buddha in some existence. That lighting of the luminous mind... they have been touched by that luminous nature.

Although they cannot fully reach that state due to some addiction, they have an openness to it; they have been touched somewhere. Then you meet some others who analyze things extensively. Oh my, they will speak so eloquently that it might make your ears ring! But you realize... their mind... their thinking pattern is terribly selfish. Oh, it is rough; very selfish. A characteristic by which you can identify them is that no matter how much they understand the Dhamma, they get terribly depressed.

He gets terribly depressed. He has some strange ailments. Then you realize... well, he knows the Dhamma as facts. He can recite the points. But their thinking remains entirely on the defiled side. The luminous state... somewhere, in front of a Buddha, one must be touched by that light. Because being touched by that light is one thing; understanding it through the similes I used is something else entirely.

It is not just this knowledge; it is not a story of knowledge. It is a luminosity of that experience (avadhi). This is a luminous nature; it is an experience that has transcended personality (pudgalatva). If that light has touched them even by a fraction... there is something indescribable about them. We say... even if they do not know the Dhamma factually, there is something in their lives... how shall I put it? Yes, a fragrant, loving nature. It is not just about showing off their "heart" for their own gain.

It is not like saying "Hi, baby-achchi" just to get my work done. It is not like that. It is... well, it is very hard for me to say. We call it a "good heart." So, they do not get depressed like that. Even though they have not attained Nibbāna, there is some strange quality about them. Like "Jolly-batta" [a carefree person].

That is to say, they do not even know about Nibbāna. But whenever you look, they might be chewing a betel quid or doing something... they do not think, "Is this my work? How much will I get from this? Will we get closer to Nibbāna?" They do not measure percentages. There is nothing like that. Nothing at all. They might just bring a sheaf of betel leaves on the day it is needed, and that is all. "If I can, I will bring a sheaf of betel leaves."

"Is this strictly my work?" There is no measuring of percentages towards Nibbāna, nor any talk of how close or far they are. You just feel it... there is a very loving nature. There is a real heart. So, they cannot do anything against that heart. The other group is not like that. Even in a place where there is no sermon, they can criticize the teacher however they want. If the teacher is not acting according to their wishes, it does not matter to them.

Even behind his back, they can cut him down and talk. But the one with that love... he cannot do that. There is something that came from his heart. That is to say, what he has is not something known factually. No matter what world he goes to, that heart is there. Sitting right there, or behind one's back... acting however they want... the other group is not like that.

When things happen according to their wishes, it is not just "heart"—they would give their life! But the moment their pattern is broken even slightly... they get depressed, they criticize, they go to various places and badmouth the teacher, scolding the teacher... it is strange. So, you realize... even in this talk of the non-manifest (anidassana)... that somewhere, near a Tathāgata, that light must strike. That light of experience... that is to say, the light of compassion, the light of love. Because without love... love is the characteristic of one who has approached the luminous mind. Because if that is missing, one can proceed purely by logic, using the earlier sermons.

If one takes the earlier part of this sermon and grasps only the two similes... well, one can twist and turn it and analyze it logically however one wants. But the way to find out is through that fragrance. If, day by day, the fragrance of that love comes from that person... then we understand that they have not grasped this sermon through logic.

Truly, while hearing the sermon, that person is proceeding with devotion (bhakti). They are giving priority not to wisdom (paññā), but to faith (saddhā), to trust, to devotion. Devotion means love. Love is what we call the experience (avadhi). That is to say, the experience fits perfectly for this person. This person is not taking this sermon into their mind and analyzing it.

The people who put it into their mind get tense, get agitated, get heavy... it is their story of selfishness. They want to grab Nibbāna quickly for themselves. They work entirely with that view (diṭṭhi), with that selfish mind. That selfish teacher [within them]... However, the teacher [outside] senses it. "No matter how much this person struggles, they are heading towards something else." That is what we mean by sensing the scent. Or sensing the bad smell when they are near. When they are near, a bad smell starts to come. One starts to feel the stench. It is not that they are becoming more and more gentle and common [shared/open].

It is a run where they are trying to grab Nibbāna for themselves too. It is a race. It is like... well, from the time they went to school, they competed to come first or second in the class. Even when they went to work, or even when they fell in love... "If I love her, I won't even let another man look at her! I'll kill the woman and eat her!" That is the kind of character they are. So, these characters grasp this [Dhamma] in the same way.

"If I love it, I can't even look at anything else." It is like that... still very rough. They still lack that gentleness of heart that comes when one approaches the luminous mind in that experience (avadhi). That is why I said it is something spiritual. Upon seeing a Tathāgata... along with seeing a Tathāgata, for a brief moment, we feel the luminosity of that experience. We feel that unbearable lighting—and by lighting, I do not mean physical light.

That is to say, the luminosity that transcends personality. Somewhere, we must be touched by that light. We might call it something like receiving a definite prediction (niyata vivarana). Somewhere, the place of luminosity in that experience must be felt. What I am saying is, there is no point in us being sad about this now. "Oh dear, I don't have it, do I?" We have no meter to measure whether anyone has it or not.

However, we can infer it little by little... when that selfish struggling is put aside a bit. We say to some people when they come here, "Put that rush for Nibbāna aside for a moment. Just plant a sapling here. Just go to the garden for a bit." But some do not listen to that. They do not think about it. They think those things are meaningless. "I can get something from this [Dhamma practice]."

It is that greedy, view-based nature inside them. "Not like that... just go to the garden for a bit. Just go into this environment for a bit." Then they think, "Ah, okay. You told me to, so I did the chore (vat) and came back." They think, "There must be some other separate action I can take to get Nibbāna. I just did the chore because you told me to, and now I'm back."

They do not understand that the teacher is doing this to make them forget that internal journey of trying to grasp Nibbāna selfishly. They do not understand that. The teacher is putting Nibbāna aside and covering it up for them. "You are trying to grasp Nibbāna." That is to say, this is to erase their selfishness. Their selfish nature... struggling to go to Nibbāna as if saying, "I don't care what happens to anyone else." Because that struggle must break, and the interior must become loving.

So, look at that a little bit. That is why we say to do chores as much as possible. We do meditate too. However, we meditate, but we also work; we do chores. We call it walking meditation (sakman bhāvanā), but we know separately that meditation means mindfulness. Because if not, do you know what happens? One can run in that race for some time.

After running in that race for some time, once they feel they are not getting anything from it, what happens next? Either they have to disrobe. Or else, they start getting sick inside this [monastic life]. They get sick, and then they start having strange illnesses frequently. Truly, I tell some people, "Go and build your hut in the hospital."

That is to say, it is amazing... a person does not get sick like that normally. Just look: when we were playing cricket during the Sinhala New Year season, we didn't even have time to drink water! There are illnesses. The problem is only if you think about them. If you don't think about them, you can work with any illness. It is purely bogus stars [imaginary problems]. That is to say, purely bogus stars. Just look: did we spend weeks like this at home with illnesses like the ones that strike here? No.

We go out even with phlegm; we go to the field, we go to town. This is a strange thing. Here, if there is a little pain, we drag it out for two or three days. Just bogus stars [imaginary problems]. That is to say, bogus stars... there is no such thing. If people want to... even if that person has difficulties, if they want to come to the sermon, they can come. No matter what difficulty they have, there is no inability to do that task. What I mean is, people who are not sick become sick. That is natural.

However, just look: during the times when we were happy, when we were doing something with desire, no matter how much sickness we had, we endured it, didn't we? That is when you realize... if you go in that selfish way, after some time, when you feel that this urgency is not producing results, the person starts becoming a sick person. Why? Because they take "sickness" and drag it out. Then, since there is no work to do anyway, eventually the best thing is to take an illness and drag it out for a week. Then, in another two weeks, take the next illness. Drag that out for the next week.

Like that... or... I don't know, I might get sick too after saying this! I might get sick too. However, I know that on the day I think "I cannot give a sermon," I will drag it out. But if I think "I can," then no matter what nonsense happens—even if ten teeth were pulled out—I could do it. But if I think "I cannot," then even a small scratch on my finger would be enough for me to lie in bed and say "I can't." What is relevant there is volition (cetanā).

Therefore, whatever person or event I look at, I see it according to the way I look at it. I can look at any person I want. If I look thinking "that person is bad," I see them that way. If I look thinking "that person is good," that person is good. If I look thinking "it is difficult for me," it is difficult. If I think "I cannot attain Nibbāna," then I cannot attain Nibbāna. So, that is the volition you are proceeding with.

The problem with mindfulness is that this volition becomes a truth. See this clearly. Our volition is always... well, it is better to have the volition "I will attain Nibbāna." That volition is beautiful, compared to the volition "I cannot attain Nibbāna." The volition "I cannot do this, it is difficult today" leads to sickness. However, the volition "I can go to the hall for the sermon"—the moment you take that volition, it becomes a truth. Then you can come, even if you fall along the way.

You can get up. So, it is just about putting that volition there. We start becoming negative through our own volition. However, whatever volition you take, it is indeed an illusion (māyā). There is no reality (satta) in it. But as we gradually develop mindfulness, we make the volitions positive; we do not put in negative volitions. Because if you put in a negative volition, that becomes the world you see.

That is why the Buddha says, "The world is led by the mind" (cittena nīyati loko). The world means your volition. If there is no volition, there is no world. However, what is being said here is: do not make the volition negative. Do not see through negative volitions more than necessary. Afterwards, you do not know... by putting in those negative volitions again and again... the danger is that as you develop mindfulness, that volition becomes a reality in that very moment.

Think about it: it does not need days. Afterwards, all of that becomes intensely strong, and that thought begins to feel like a truth to you. It actually starts to appear as real. That is the case here. That is the issue here. Therefore, the important thing is: practice mindfulness well—"here and now." Develop mindfulness, but do not form the volition "I cannot attain Nibbāna."

"Oh dear, the Buddha's compassion has not touched me." Do not listen to this and put volitions into the negative side. Otherwise, you will use this very sermon to go and cry. To become even more negative. Why? You will take whatever you hear from this sermon and apply it to something like, "Oh, I am like this, I am like this, I am a sinner." Therefore, that is where wisdom must be present. "I will understand every word heard in this sermon correctly. If the Buddha has said that even a sinner has the luminous mind, then no matter how much you label me a sinner, Venerable Sir, I possess that same mind." That is how you should take it.

"No matter how much you put me down, Venerable Sir, no matter how much you condemn me, no matter if you call me selfish or a bogus star... the Buddha has not said that. How compassionate the Buddha is! The Buddha has said that even if one does not know this, it is still the luminous mind." Look at it like that. Without taking this and suffering mentally, falling from the frying pan into the fire... you do not need to do that.

You do not need to become mentally hacked or disturbed more than necessary by hearing these words. You cannot check this immediately through these words. The Buddha knows better than you, Venerable Sir. You are speaking based on what the Buddha has said. So, the Buddha has said that the luminous mind is right here.

"So, Venerable Sir, no matter how much you call me a sinner, selfish, or cunning, I possess the luminous mind." That is all I undertake to believe. We all have that luminosity. "Just because you say so, Venerable Sir, you cannot measure me. You cannot measure whether the light of a Buddha has touched me or not. Where am I? You cannot measure it."

So, we do not need to get negative about this. No matter what competition anyone brings, one must be skillful enough to turn it towards one's own luminous side. Instead of becoming negative, instead of becoming sad, instead of becoming someone who suffers... no matter what anyone says, no matter how they speak, one must be skillful.

No matter how much they do... that is where the Dhamma and Discipline (Dhamma-Vinaya) lie. The Dhamma is there. No matter what kind of Dhamma someone preaches, I must be skillful enough to take it in a way that reduces my greed (rāga), hatred (dosa), and delusion (moha). Otherwise, if I take those sermons and increase my suffering, increase my greed, increase my delusion... then that is unrighteousness (adhamma).

"Venerable Sir, no matter in what sense you said it, I will take it positively. I will take it in a way that reduces my greed, hatred, and delusion. I will take it in a way that brings me closer and closer to my luminous side." That is where the Dhamma lies. It is not in what I am saying. Even with what I am saying, how will you take it? Inside, you can take it in a way that increases greed and hatred. What I say enters your interior, and your interior takes it.

The Dhamma is within oneself. Wise attention (yoniso manasikāra) is within oneself. It is not within me. That is how one develops wise attention. Wisely... without taking every word and using it to cry "Oh, I am a sinner" and judge oneself... and without using it to judge others, saying "Ah, you were talking about him, weren't you? I know there's nothing good in him"... do not go and judge another person.

Do not go and judge yourself with those words either. Using the very words used in this sermon, one can condemn oneself, or one can go and condemn the others in the monastery around them. If you do that, you have turned the Dhamma itself into unrighteousness (adhamma). However, even if I speak unrighteousness, it is no problem. If you have brains, you will turn even that into Dhamma. You become skillful in that too.

Through that very thing, make it a reality that increases your energy (viriya) to eliminate greed, hatred, and delusion. "If you said that, Venerable Sir, I will somehow show you! I will show you that I have the luminous nature!" Instead of just saying, "Oh, it's useless, I won't do anything, I'm going to sleep." There is no point in just giving up and saying "I can't."

So, one must look at it like that. Otherwise, when a sermon on the luminous mind is given, we must know... little by little... remember the Serivānija Jātaka? I was told to remember the Serivānija Jātaka [The Story of the Traders of Seriva]. What did the foolish trader (Kacchaputa) do? He saw the golden bowl.

He saw the golden bowl and said, "Oh, this is just... I can't give anything for this. This is just an old, battered bowl." There was a grandmother and her granddaughter in that Serivānija Jātaka. The granddaughter was asking for bangles. When the bangle-sellers were passing by... she asked for bangles. Then, who came to buy? Kacchaputa came. Kacchaputa said, "Oh, this is covered in dust."

That is to say, he saw the gold, but he did not accept it. He saw that it was a golden vessel. But he said, "No, this is junk. This is filth. It's covered in dust; it's a heap of dirt. It's useless. I can't even give a bangle for this." He thought, "I'll come back on the next round and get it for free."

Then came Serivānija. Serivānija was the Bodhisatta. The Bodhisatta came, looked at it, and said, "This is pure gold. Even all my bangles are not enough to pay for this." He said, "Keep everything," took the bowl, and left. When Kacchaputa came back and asked, "Where is it?" [The grandmother said,] "Oh, you liar! An honest man came, told us the true value, took it, and gave us all his bangles."

Then what happened? Kacchaputa ran after him. He went and asked for it. But the Bodhisatta did not give it. If he had given it that day, he would not have become Devadatta [in a future life].

Truly, if he had just said, "Oh, keep it, friend," and left... that was the day the hatred arose. That was the day he decided to take revenge. He decided, "I will take revenge on him life after life, no matter what." Just because of a golden bowl, he got himself into a problem with the Buddha that did not exist before. Without creating a non-existent problem, if he had just said, "Oh, take it," when Kacchaputa asked for it, the story would have ended right there. Ah, that is the issue.

That was the moment... that very day, hatred arose. Hatred arose that day.

So, through that story, what I tried to say is this: anyone who wants to understand this can judge themselves by thinking about these external defilements. They can judge another person. They say, "You are sinners. You can never attain Nibbāna. You are doing terrible things."

However, the one who sees the luminous mind does not judge me. Even if someone comes having committed a sin, he knows, "You too possess the luminous mind. If you meditate today, you too can see that Nibbāna." A teacher never asks what you have done before coming. There is no judgment.

Look closely at the Aggikkhandopama Sutta [The Discourse on the Mass of Fire]. In the Aggikkhandopama Sutta, the Buddha says, "Monks, rather than using the robes and requisites given by the people without protecting your virtue (sīla), it is better to eat a ball of fire and die."

He says, "Because then, you only die in this life. You will not have to pay for kamma in samsara." Because wearing a robe is not easy. Regarding wearing a robe... I told someone... A lady spoke to me and said she wanted to offer alms. She said that in Italy, she works for six hours until evening, and then to earn enough to offer alms to us, she works another three hours until 11 or 12 at night.

Because what she earns normally is not enough, she works extra to give a small donation monthly. So I said... well, the Buddha has said this. When a person suffers like that [to give alms], if one wears the robe and eats that rice without being worthy of it, without fitting the purpose... the Buddha says, "Monks, it is better that you eat a ball of fire and die." Then you are finished; the kamma ends with this life.

Beyond that, you will not have to pay. In this life, you die from the ball of fire. Similarly, rather than sleeping on a bed provided by a person who suffered and worked hard for it, without having virtue, it is better to sleep on a burning bed. He says to sleep on a burning bed. Because then, you are burned and finished in this life. That monastic life taken wrongly is not easy. That is to say, if taken wrongly, the result (vipāka) is not light.

The subject of kamma is not easy for us. After hearing that sermon by the Blessed One, many monks disrobed. Some even vomited blood. After disrobing... a few who had truly entered the practice developed faith. That is to say, there are those who have ordained truly from the heart, aren't there? Without falsehood, entering this sincerely with dedication to increase virtue, develop concentration (samādhi), and cultivate wisdom (paññā)... those monks attained Arahantship quickly after that sermon.

Then, as the Buddha was returning after delivering that sermon... he was walking back, and there were not many monks in the monastery. He asked, "Ānanda, why is this? The residence was full of monks, but now they are not to be seen in this monastery." "Lord, after your sermon on the simile of the mass of fire, about half of them disrobed. Because they realized this is not easy; what we have touched is dangerous. Although we took it lightly, this is not a game."

"A significant group of people are suffering on behalf of another group of people, thinking that these monks will fulfill this task. They are undergoing considerable pain and suffering." Then he said, "Lord, knowing this, some even vomited blood and died." There must have been some who were playing games deep down. No matter how much they showed on the surface, those who were playing games underneath... once they felt the impact of your sermon, they started vomiting blood.

They started vomiting blood and died internally, it is said. Some just left. This is not an easy task. This is an unnecessary thing... they tried to grasp something they couldn't handle. In the wrong way. Afterwards, some attained cooling; they saw Nibbāna. Ah, at that moment, the Buddha preached the Ācārasaṅghāta Sutta. "Monks, even so, there may be weaknesses. Confess them."

"If you confess your faults and unite with that experience (avadhi) for even a moment... for a moment, become that loving-kindness (mettā), become that mindfulness... even for the duration of a finger-snap. If you settle into that experience, sincerely from the heart, it is said that all those sins committed will be nullified." That is to say, do not grieve. He said to confess them all. Do not regret what has happened.

Confess them. But then, come back to mindfulness, even for the duration of a finger-snap. He says to come back to that internal experience, to practice that experience. If you do that even for the duration of a finger-snap... then all that kamma—the kamma of using the robes and requisites provided by people who suffered to earn them, using them for one's own sensual pleasure without practicing the path—will be paid off.

Why? Because if one becomes that experience, becomes that luminosity, then one realizes this illusion (māyā). Then, there is no one left there to pay off kamma. In front of that wisdom, in front of the luminous mind... in front of what we call the luminous mind... Therefore, we cannot judge anyone and say, "There are sinners here; what are they doing?" We cannot say that.

Truly, if someone feels in their heart, "I have committed sins"... well, the Buddha did not say, "Everyone who sinned will go to hell." However, the Buddha did say, "Rather than hiding this and continuing to do it, it is better to die." But if someone, without becoming negative upon hearing these words of the Buddha, listens to this and thinks, "Oh, I won't vomit blood! What I must do is confess. If I have been hiding my actions, I will reveal everything, become pure, and return to this practice (paṭipadā)."

"I will return to this..." If someone comes to that point, then no one can say they cannot attain Nibbāna. Again... just think about it. Truly, how much strength must one have had in samsara to enter the monastic life? How many bonds (bandhana)? That is to say, to become a monk, how much strength must a person have had to break away? Breaking bonds is not easy.

So, after breaking so much... they do not need to play hide-and-seek games now. Reaching the point of thinking, "After breaking so much, what is this to me?" Think of how many people struggle, unable to break their bonds and enter the monastic life. While so many struggle unable to break these bonds, the fact that you entered the monastic life means you broke them. That means you have guts; you are a lion. So, do not let yourself become negative because of this sermon. "I do not need to disrobe or anything for such a small thing."

"I will openly confess this and take strength." Ah, that means... the moment you say that and stand in that experience (avadhi), it is all over. You only need to take that strength. You only need to have guts; you only need to move to the perception "I can." If you say "I can," you can. It is only when you say "I can't." "Oh, I can't. I don't know what happens to me at that time."

If you say that... then tomorrow also, you will say, "Oh, I don't know what happened," and grasp onto it again. That is all. One must be skillful in awakening to one's own luminosity. "A luminous mind is right here. If I generate the volition 'I will become a Buddha,' I will inevitably end up becoming a Buddha." But if one thinks, "Oh, one cannot become a Buddha in this era; I am just a wretch," then he will fail every day.

Therefore, if you tell your mind firmly, "No, I will become a Buddha; I will finish this," then nothing can stop you from going to that luminosity. Because the Buddha says that these defilements of ours are adventitious things. They are just like dust; once you blow them away, they are gone. It is only if you make them big... "Oh, it is difficult for me, I feel like I'm going crazy." No. The luminosity is the powerful thing. Give a little strength to that. Generate the volition. Give your vote (chanda) to the wholesome (kusala).

If you give your vote only to the unwholesome (akusala) and keep talking about that... that is why it becomes a huge thing for us. "When I see that, when I see the powder [drugs], I get a stomach ache. I feel like going there. When I see this, I tremble." Just give your vote to the wholesome side for a bit. Then the bear becomes like a lion. No need for such weak talk. No need for the howl of a jackal. Be like a lion and put yourself there. Otherwise, "I can't look at a woman."

"I can't look at a man. I can't bear that. I can't bear sexual feelings." If you keep wailing like that... the moment you make those into volitions, truly, you won't be able to bear it afterwards. You won't be able to bear seeing it. The moment you put it to the other side—the moment you direct your wholesome desire (kusala-chanda) to that side—nothing can stop it. Because we all have the same luminosity. So, it is the same whether one has sinned or not.

It is the same whether one has refrained from sinning. Whether a good person or a sinner... both have only the luminous mind. It is not less for anyone, nor more for anyone. That is why the Buddha never put us down. He never condemned us. He never even labeled us as "sinners." From the very beginning, the Buddha has said... he has said that we are already in Nibbāna. "You have already seen Nibbāna; just undertake that." That is all.

"Do not undertake those external things. You got screwed because you went to undertake the defilements. You are people who have seen Nibbāna from birth. Undertake that." That is what is meant by taking refuge in the Triple Gem. Undertake that... Buddha...

Original Source (Video):

Title: අනිදස්සන විඤ්ඤාණය - 11 |Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ

https://youtu.be/x9teAtcGxlc?si=lgolohJbnJwjQdef

Disclaimer

The translations shared on this blog are based on Dhamma sermons originally delivered in Sinhalese. They have been translated into English with the help of AI (ChatGPT & Gemini AI), with the intention of making these teachings more accessible to a broader audience.

Please note that while care has been taken to preserve the meaning and spirit of the original sermons, there may be errors or inaccuracies in translation. These translations are offered in good faith, but they may not fully capture the depth or nuance of the original teachings.

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