Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 13 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana
.jpg)
මුල් සිංහල වීඩියෝව සඳහා Play කරන්න
Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 13 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana
Gnanaweera Thero:
[Music] Now, we have been discussing this topic of consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa) for about two weeks, perhaps even longer. So, I thought we should have a brief discussion on how we have understood this, before we proceed to our usual weekly programs. Regarding this matter of consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa) or unestablished consciousness (appatiṭṭhita viññāṇa)—who would like to share their thoughts? You might say, "This is how I understood it." Or, if there is a question, that is fine too. If you can present your views, it will help me understand whether this teaching has been transmitted correctly.
Disciple:
Venerable Sir, regarding that section on consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa), what I feel is that it exists where there is no establishment of consciousness. That is to say, it is in a state devoid of ego or "self-ness" that this consciousness becomes invisible to us. However, it feels like we cannot say there is some other consciousness existing there either. It seems one reaches that state when one is free from "self-ness." My understanding is that this consciousness functions when one departs from the concepts of "I," "mine," or "soul."
Gnanaweera Thero:
There is a slight point about fabrication or preparation there. That means, in the words you used, there is a good idea... but is this unestablished consciousness (appatiṭṭhita viññāṇa) simply a place where fabrication is absent?
Disciple:
What I meant was about an instance where fabrication does not happen... a place where consciousness does not establish or remain.
Gnanaweera Thero:
Can you explain what you understood using a simile or an example?
Disciple:
I feel that it is a state similar to that of an Arahant.
Gnanaweera Thero:
No, saying it is like an Arahant does not help us identify what it actually is. What I am asking is, can you highlight the nature of consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa) through a simile from daily life? When you mention an Arahant, we cannot really grasp the idea, because we cannot simply imagine the state of an Arahant. What exactly do you mean by that?
Disciple:
Venerable Sir, consider a mirage. A mirage does not truly exist. Yet, we have a perception that a mirage exists. That "absence within presence" is what I am referring to. That is to say, there is no truth in it. It is an idea like that. We cannot point it out, yet there is no establishment there.
Gnanaweera Thero:
If that is the case, even "absence" or "non-existence" is itself a mental formation (saṅkhāra). To say "it is not there"—that concept of non-existence—is also a fabrication. That, too, is existence. That constitutes the established nature of consciousness. We are not talking about zero. Even "nothingness" is something.
Disciple:
Venerable Sir, can we then describe it as a place where no designation can be made? Or are we unable to say even that?
Gnanaweera Thero:
No, that is perhaps the only way it can be expressed in words. However, as you were explaining it, what I felt was a nature devoid of mental formations (saṅkhāras). I am not sure if this is the correct way to express it, but the simile that comes to mind is of a mental formation that existed having worn away. It is as if something had been fabricated, and that state of being fabricated simply came to an end. Let me offer an example. We really have to discuss this using examples. Think of it this way: suppose we are coming from our dwelling (kuṭi) to the hall, or let us say we are practicing walking meditation. Let us take the example of walking meditation. I will try to explain it through that, and perhaps you will be able to understand.
Now, as we proceed with walking meditation, sometimes we suddenly lose all recollection. We do not even feel whether we are walking or not; there is no concept, no memory. Sometimes, for ten or fifteen minutes while on the walking path, we have no memory at all. We recall no mental formations (saṅkhāras) or anything else from that time. But then, all of a sudden, we return; it is as if we come back into the body.
Observe how this happens during sitting meditation (pallaṅka) as well. Just as in walking meditation, while sitting cross-legged, sensations may suddenly cease. Everything disappears, and then, abruptly, one is jolted back. One returns to the body. For some, this return sounds like a loud noise. Or perhaps, quite suddenly, the experience of having a body returns.
Consider any such event; it does not even require formal meditation. Sometimes, when walking from our dwelling (kuṭi) to the alms hall, we might not feel the act of walking for the entire duration. We had no awareness that "I walked." Then, suddenly, we come back to awareness. We realize, "Ah, now I am walking," or "Now I am sitting in meditation," or "I am going to the alms hall."
Then, there is that specific moment when awareness arises. However, once that awareness is established—once you realize "I am walking"—observe what happens. Along with that return of awareness, immediately the thought arises: "I feel the ground; I am walking on the sand; my foot is touching the earth." Notice how, the instant this awareness arises, the mind immediately constructs a narrative. It connects the awareness to two things: the ground and the foot.
This is precisely what we mean when we say that this awareness is something fabricated or constructed. Throughout these past few days, while discussing consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa), we have consistently emphasized that this is a nature that is fabricated.
Now, consider what it means to be fabricated. Look here: I am tapping on this microphone. When I tap it, a sound is heard. There is hearing; there is a sensation—the awareness that a sound is being heard. Then, I suddenly ask, "What is this awareness?" Observe closely: once the awareness "a sound is heard" arises, we cannot speak of that awareness as something that exists independently.
If it were independent, then without me tapping this, the awareness of the sound should still exist. But it does not. The awareness of this sound was fabricated. Why? Because that awareness is not something that exists independently. It does not have a solitary existence. If it did, I could go anywhere and find this sound existing in empty space. Does this sound exist somewhere on its own? Does the sound have an independent existence? No, there is no such independent existence. That is why we call this a mental formation (saṅkhāra).
The awareness that hears "this sound" was fabricated. As we have been discussing consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa) continuously, this is what the Buddha points out. Regarding seeing, the Buddha teaches that dependent on the eye and forms, visual consciousness arises. The awareness "I see" is not a singular, independent entity. The awareness of seeing is a fabrication. Let us take a proper example.
Have you not seen how we make octagonal lanterns (aṭapaṭṭam)? When making these lanterns, we construct six square frames. We take those six squares and tie them together. When they are tied, have you noticed that triangular shapes appear? They emerge as a result. But did we make those triangles independently? No. By placing the squares of the lantern at specific angles and tying the structure together, the triangles are formed.
Think about those triangles—perhaps four of them. If we were to actually dismantle the lantern, what we would find are the six squares. So, those triangles... is it six? Or perhaps eight? I believe it is eight. When constructed this way, with a triangle on this side and one on that side... yes, let us say eight triangles appear based on the arrangement of the squares. Now, take this example: do those eight triangles exist independently? Can we detach those eight triangles and set them aside, just as we can with the six squares? No, we cannot.
Therefore, those eight triangles do not have an independent existence. However, do we not see eight triangles? See, there is a quality of being manifest (vidyamāna). When we look at the lantern, we indeed see eight triangles. That is to say, there is a nature of becoming evident or manifest. I am trying as much as possible to use the language of the Pali Tripitaka here, to help you become accustomed to that usage.
When you read books in the future, you will grasp the meaning immediately if you know these terms. Usually, when we read the Tripitaka, we do not encounter the colloquial words we use in daily conversation. Understanding the concept is not the issue, but I will use these specific words because I want to cultivate that familiarity with the Tripitaka vocabulary. So, in that manner, observe how a triangle has a nature of becoming manifest.
Now, regarding this nature that arises: if we say "there is no triangle," and someone interprets that as a total absence—like discussing the destruction of the lantern where the triangle disappears—that is not quite right. Look at it this way: within the lantern, there is a certain kind of fabrication (saṅkhāra).
Because the squares were arranged in a certain way, a triangle emerged—it became manifest (vidyamāna). It happened due to a specific preparation, a specific nature of fabrication. Do not get confused by this term "fabrication." However, the eight triangles in the lantern represent a nature of mental formations (saṅkhāra). So, do the eight triangles not exist? We cannot say "no," because they are visibly manifest.
Yet, we cannot say they "exist" in an absolute sense either. Why? Because if that specific arrangement had not occurred—if that fabrication had not taken place—we could not say that a triangle appears independently in the lantern. Now, consider this carefully. The Buddha explains this: "The meeting of the three is contact" (tiṇṇaṃ saṅgati phasso). This is a fabrication. Consider the eye, the form, and eye-consciousness (cakkhu-viññāṇa).
Think about it: for awareness to arise... for example, if we were lost in a different thought, we might not even see a person walking right in front of us. Definitely, if someone is to be seen, eye-consciousness is required. Even if the eye is open, if the consciousness is not there, we do not see. The eye is needed. If a form does not pass by, seeing does not happen. It is due to the meeting of the eye, the form, and eye-consciousness—these three—that we "find" a person. We find an "I" who sees that person. We find beauty or ugliness. We find "I like this" or "I dislike this."
We feel it. Do you see that? The entire Five Aggregates of Clinging (pañca upādānakkhandha) describe a nature that is fabricated, just like that triangle. "The meeting of the three is contact." If the eye, form, and eye-consciousness come together—if they are arranged in a certain way, much like the squares of the lantern—then a manifestation occurs. Just like the triangle, there is a manifestation of the Five Aggregates: form (rūpa), feeling (vedanā), perception (saññā), mental formations (saṅkhāra), and consciousness (viññāṇa). It is a fabricated nature.
It is not an inherent nature, nor do we say it is non-existent. I am specifically looking to use the Tripitaka words here. Otherwise, you will lose familiarity with the texts. I could explain this in normal conversation, but I am deliberately choosing these words. Why does the Buddha call the Five Aggregates "formations" (saṅkhāra)?
He calls them that because they are a fabricated nature. It is not to say that form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness do not exist; rather, to say they exist means they are fabricated or constructed. In Pali, we say saṅkhāra. In Sinhala, we say "the nature of being prepared." Sabbe saṅkhārā aniccā—"All formations are impermanent." This means that in any nature that is fabricated, there is no permanent existence.
There is no permanent triangle in the lantern, is there? That is why we say formations are impermanent. This fabricated nature... we cannot speak of a permanent triangle. We cannot speak of the arising or passing away of a triangle, or the birth and cessation of a triangle, from the perspective of the triangle itself. Why? Because the "triangle" is merely something that manifests when the lantern is arranged in a certain way; apart from that, there is no permanent nature there to be born or to die.
It is knowledge regarding this that must arise. Wisdom (paññā) and insight regarding formations (saṅkhāra) must be applied. That is what this teaching on consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa) is about. I was not trying to describe a specific place, nor was I talking about mere non-existence. For weeks, through every simile, I have been trying to impart knowledge regarding formations. It is because there is ignorance (avijjā) regarding formations that this process of fabrication is perceived as a real "thing."
This happens because the wisdom to recognize that fabrication as a fabrication is absent. It is because wisdom (paññā) has not been applied. When we speak of consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa), we are not speaking of the disappearance of something that actually exists.
When this wisdom is applied—when true wisdom is present—the understanding arises that "this is a fabrication." Through that wisdom regarding fabrication, one realizes that the fabrication itself is impermanent (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and non-self (anatta). Note that I am not talking about the thing that was fabricated, but the very nature of fabrication itself being impermanent, suffering, and non-self. This language is a bit difficult.
When a sermon is delivered using the language of the Tripitaka, it feels a bit "Greek" to us. We might feel sleepy or confused because we are unfamiliar with that language. However, when we speak using the exact words of the Buddha, there is a beauty to it. Once we become accustomed to the Buddha's words from the Tripitaka, we feel them deep within our flesh and blood.
When we listen to the direct words of the Buddha and touch that Dhamma, we often give up, thinking, "This is too difficult." That is the issue here. But if you keep listening continuously, that familiarity will develop. Usually, we tend to think, "Oh, I don't understand this." The mind goes into rejection even before listening, thinking, "He is talking about that difficult topic again today." When that happens, you do not experience the essence of the teaching. The mind has already rejected it, assuming, "He is saying something foreign that I cannot understand."
But there is nothing strange about it. Look at the simile of the octagonal lantern (aṭapaṭṭam). When we speak of a formation (saṅkhāra), consider the example of the triangle. When I say the triangle was "fabricated," you understand that I am not saying it does not exist, nor am I saying it truly exists.
I am not saying it arises and then disappears. That is where the wisdom of impermanence (anicca) and the wisdom of non-self (anatta) regarding formations apply. That is precisely what we are discussing as consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa). It is not about some place of establishment, or moving from one state to another.
If there is a "place," then there is craving (taṇhā). There is a settling down. There is an establishment. Wisdom means there is no settling, no location, no establishment anywhere. It is a specific knowledge (ñāṇa). But we are not accustomed to this. We are used to trying to understand this through consciousness itself.
Consciousness only knows how to seek an answer, to land on some "thing," to establish itself on name-and-form (nāma-rūpa). That is why this is difficult to explain. Perhaps this is the very reason the Buddha initially hesitated to teach this Dhamma.
How can one explain this to a world that constantly seeks an experience of consciousness? Try to understand it like this: I mentioned "this sound" earlier. Does "this sound" belong to the microphone? No. Does it belong to this finger?
If the sound existed within the finger, then simply moving the finger like this should produce the sound. If the sound belonged to the microphone, I wouldn't need to tap it; the sound should arise on its own without any tapping. So, the sound does not belong to the microphone, nor does it belong to the finger.
But observe: there is a tap here; there is contact. Does the sound exist within the contact? No. It is through the tapping that the sound is heard, yet the sound does not belong to the contact either. So, is there no sound? There is.
Then, if I assume "the sound exists," there is a flaw in that assumption. It is not that it "exists." You might be thinking, "It exists because of causes, and without causes, it does not exist." See? We are going back to that same old path. We take ownership of the sound. We immediately jump forward to grasp it.
The moment I used the word, you grabbed onto it: "Ah, there is a sound. Okay, as long as causes exist, it exists; when causes cease, it ceases." No. The very concept of "sound" is a construction; it is a fabrication. Once you understand it is a fabrication, do not take hold of the "sound" and then try to build causes for it.
If you do that, you fall into the trap of thinking, "When the causes disappear, the sound disappears." This is a very subtle point. I am not sure how... well, even though it is subtle, it is not impossible to grasp.
Our mind immediately jumps to establish something. Even as I speak, I cannot do so without mentioning "sound." These are words, after all. But understanding this limitation is what wisdom (paññā) is about. Did you notice? Just now, you immediately thought, "Ah, as Amma said, as long as causes exist, the sound exists; when causes cease, the sound ceases." You turned the sound into a result (phala) again and then spoke of its cessation.
See how quickly consciousness works? Even when the Venerable monk was speaking earlier, what I felt was that he was trying to describe consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa) in a similar way—as if it were a place.
When you put it like that, it appears as though "when causes cease, this sound ceases." That means you have accepted the "sound." There is nothing inherently wrong with accepting the sound in a conventional sense. This is what we call "ownership of action" (kammassakatā sammā diṭṭhi). "There is a mother, there is a father, there is a world"—that is fine; that is kamma. However, this is not the supramundane wisdom (lokuttara ñāṇa). Why?
Because it goes beyond the Dhamma of cause and effect. It accepts existence. It assumes that existence arises and ceases dependently (paṭicca samuppanna), or that existence is conditioned by causes. But there is ignorance (avijjā) in that view.
Even though it is ignorance, thinking "there is a mother" is better than thinking "there is no mother." Why? Because you accumulate merit (puñña) or wholesome kamma (kusala) through that view. Merit is accumulated; wholesomeness is accumulated. But that is not what we are discussing here.
When one sees this "formation" (saṅkhāra), that very seeing is wisdom. It is the direct realization that the formation never truly came to be.
When we say "formation," the mind usually thinks, "Oh, these things are made up of preparations." That thought comes up, doesn't it? When we say "a chair is a formation" or "a sound is a formation," the moment we hear it, we have already accepted "sound" as a reality in front of us. But wisdom must arise there. That is the tricky part. It is a knowledge that lies beyond.
The moment I use language, as the language flows, the thing has already become a "thing." Then the mind tries to understand it: "The cessation of sound is Nibbāna," or "Sound never existed at all." You see? We end up with a pile of interpretations about a "thing."
Now, regarding the triangle in the lantern—do not focus too much on the "triangle" itself. Do not go there. The point is not whether the triangle exists or does not exist. What has happened there is a certain kind of fabrication. A fabrication.
Saying "it is a fabrication" does not mean the triangle exists, nor does it mean the triangle does not exist. It is a fabrication. That is precisely where consciousness cannot land. Consciousness cannot grasp the Dhamma of cause and effect there. Why? Because consciousness cannot move from the result back to the cause.
Consciousness always establishes itself by grabbing the result (phala) and then trying to find the cause. It grabs onto the "triangle" as the result and then thinks, "This triangle is made because six square frames came together." It tries to see the cause from the perspective of the triangle. It tries to see the cause from the side of the result. By then, consciousness has already found a footing. It is no longer "without surface" (anidassana). Consciousness has become established (patiṭṭhita) right there.
That is the issue. When we say "formation" or "fabrication," we are not talking about the fabrication of the triangle. We are not talking about the fabrication of the mother. "Mother" is a nature that has been fabricated.
"Mother" is a formation (saṅkhāra). "Father" is a formation. "The world" is a formation. No. "Mother" and "Father" are results that have arisen precisely because of the lack of understanding regarding formations. Yes, even saying "formation" implies a misunderstanding of formation if one sees it as a "thing."
The difficulty here is that the mind cannot grasp this discussion anywhere. That is why it is called wisdom (ñāṇa). When wisdom arises—when insight (paññā) is present—consciousness loses its existence. Consciousness is about "knowing" [an object]. But wisdom is realization (avabodha). Realization is not just another "knowing." It is not just another experience.
So, all I can do is offer a simile like that. I can only explain this story using a simile, whether it is the lantern or the sound.
Now, consider this: if we designate this hearing as "a sound," does that sound exist as an independent thing? The moment we say "a sound," it implies an independent existence. To say "there is no sound" is just another way of thinking that grasps onto the sound itself.
However, without this finger or these conditions, the discussion of "sound" would not arise, nor would the awareness of sound. Yet, the awareness called "sound" is neither the finger nor the microphone.
Look closely there. If wisdom is applied right at that point—if you go right to that spot—it is not that an existing thing disappears. Wisdom must penetrate right there; it must be brought to that very point. If wisdom is applied there, you cannot say that the sound arises and ceases even for a brief moment. Such a view cannot be maintained. It is purely the wisdom of impermanence (anicca). It is purely the wisdom of non-self (anatta).
The problem is, when we say "wisdom of impermanence" in language, the mind interprets it as "something that changes." It creates a duality again. That is not it.
So, think of it like this: this Dhamma we speak of, this consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa), goes far beyond our ordinary thinking and far beyond the conscious experiences we imagine. Otherwise, we might think it is a state where "I-ness" disappears, or where "I" cease to exist.
We might assume it is some kind of annihilation or disappearance. The issue is that the similes used to demonstrate this have a slight tendency towards that interpretation. We have a set of similes to explain consciousness without surface. Every one of those similes comes dangerously close to the view of annihilation (uccheda diṭṭhi). Why? Because similes operate within the duality of "existence" and "non-existence."
If wisdom is not applied correctly, as time goes on, the listener might feel that this consciousness without surface refers to reaching a state of non-existence. You might wonder, "Why does he speak about this so earnestly?" Look at all the similes we have used over these past weeks regarding consciousness without surface.
Every simile is very close to a state of "nothingness." It is very close to the idea that "such and such thing does not exist," or "formations do not exist." It treats formations as "things" and then speaks of their disappearance, or the disappearance of consciousness, or the non-existence of the self. That is why the view of "existence" (atthitā) has its merits. At least people accept kamma and the results of kamma.
Before listening to the ultimate teachings (paramattha desanā), they protect their virtue (sīla) properly. They develop shame (hiri) and fear (ottappa) regarding sin. They develop shame and fear regarding unwholesome actions. They gain some faith in the cycle of samsara.
The problem arises when we start talking about Nibbāna. When discussing Nibbāna—which is the ultimate teaching—if one falls into the realm of consciousness without reaching wisdom (paññā), without reaching true knowledge (ñāṇa) and realization (avabodha), one falls into the side of "non-existence." If one falls back into the world of consciousness with this, it is very dangerous. The Buddha says one could become a fixed wrong-viewer (niyata micchā diṭṭhika).
Listening to the ultimate truth to that extent is like licking honey off a razor's edge. The honey is sweet; it is the only truth in the world. One must hear it; one must realize it. But it is dangerously close. For years, one might grasp onto something like "non-existence" and engage in practices trying to eliminate something, or trying to reach a place where nothing exists. It is extremely close to that.
See, that is where we might fall. Having listened to this talk on ultimate truth repeatedly, we might have fallen into that trap without even knowing it. We might be trying to realize "non-existence." We might be searching for a state of nothingness without realizing it.
That is why we still feel exhaustion; why we feel a burden. Why do we feel a burden, exhaustion, and suffering? Because we are still using craving (taṇhā) to try and touch a place of non-existence. The suffering comes from not being able to truly reach that state, or the suffering of the "I" not having fully disappeared yet. We might get stuck in a place like that.
So, look closely at this point. We must understand this. I will take that simile again, but notice that the simile I am about to use is very close to "non-existence," yet it does not fall into it. Please apply your wisdom; do not get caught in the trap.
I mentioned the simile of walking meditation and sitting meditation (pallaṅka). I said that in daily life, there comes a time when we suddenly do not feel the walking.
I mentioned that there comes a point where we do not feel anything. Now, notice that I used the words "a place where we do not feel." It sounds like a disappearance. But go to that actual moment and observe: in that state, there is not even a sense of "disappearance." Do you see? If the mind grasps this simile superficially, it thinks, "Oh, I just sat there without feeling anything for about half an hour."
It thinks, "Reaching that state is like Nibbāna." But look closely—there is a difference. That "disappearance" or "feeling nothing" is merely a simile. It is only a simile; do not grasp it with consciousness in that way.
Now, let us return to the simile. Suddenly, we are jolted back. While meditating, we are suddenly startled. Suddenly, while on the walking path, we begin to feel our leg again. Then, once the awareness "I feel the leg" arises, what happens to that awareness? Along with the arrival of that awareness, we immediately think, "My leg has touched the ground. I can feel my body; the cushion is there."
Just like we explained with the sound, we immediately connect another thing to it to interpret it. "Ah, this feeling is because my finger went and hit the microphone." Do you see? We instantly constructed causes to turn that sound into a "thing." We took the finger and the microphone as causes. "Ah, the sound came from this microphone. It came because you tapped it with your finger." Do you see? We accepted the result (phala) and then discussed the causes.
Look closely. We immediately accepted the awareness. "Ah, my leg is touching the ground." Instantly, that awareness became a "thing." "I came back to the body; I feel this body. Oh, now I feel the ground; I am walking." How do you feel it? "Well, my two legs are touching the ground."
So, look at that awareness. For that awareness to be felt, it relates to a leg and the ground. However, without a leg and the ground, we cannot even speak of such a thing. That is the issue. Can we talk about awareness without assuming a leg and a ground?
But consider the leg and the ground. Right now, we do not see the ground, do we? In the act of seeing right now, there are no legs or grounds. There is only seeing. So, even though I say, "I feel the leg on the ground," that is not entirely true either. Why? Because even though it appears this way to us, is there a "ground" within this seeing? Is there a "leg" within this seeing?
Therefore, although we say, "This awareness is the ground and the leg," that is not the absolute truth either. If we say "this ground," who is to say "this is the ground"? Is it the leg that says, "the leg has touched"? No.
Now, go to that point for a moment. Direct your wisdom there and observe. Then you will understand that the evidence supporting this "awareness" is not entirely true. However, without the leg touching the ground—without the concepts of "ground" and "leg"—we cannot designate or talk about such an awareness either. This awareness is just like the triangle in the lantern simile. Let us go back to the triangle story.
Now, think about this carefully. As you listen to this, your mind might jump ahead: "Ah, he is going to explain how this awareness was fabricated." That is exactly where this teaching gets tangled. Or you might think, "Are you going to say that awareness was not fabricated?" Do you see? The mind has already accepted it: "Okay, feeling is there. Awareness is there."
Now, the listener hears this sermon as, "Ah, he is going to give a description about this awareness." Do you see? The mind has jumped ahead, accepted the result (phala), and is waiting. "You are going to explain to me how I feel this walking, or how this awareness happens, right?" No, you won't catch it that way.
The mind instantly assumes, "This is what you are trying to say." Or it thinks, "Are you trying to say that awareness has not been fabricated?" Either way, it is still holding onto "awareness." That is not the point. The Buddha is not asking whether awareness exists or does not exist.
This nature called "awareness" is a fabrication. We are discussing how it is fabricated. Again, when discussing the manner of fabrication, do not let the mind make "awareness" permanent and then try to understand it. We are discussing the mechanism.
When we discuss the mechanism, we might think, "Ah, you are talking about the mechanism of a clock." But then we have already gone to the "clock." When the mechanism is truly realized, the story of the "clock" no longer applies here.
If it is fabricated, then the story of the clock is understood as "where does this come from?" It is a nature that exists precisely where it cannot arise. That very arising is suffering (dukkha). That is why it is suffering.
The problem is that the teacher is trying to say one thing, but we are listening while turned in the opposite direction. That is why this discussion feels like this; that is why we always get stuck. We get stuck in one place—you and I and all of us.
Why? Because we do not align ourselves with the method (pariyāya) or the perspective the teacher is trying to highlight. That is why they say that even when ordaining and shaving the head, one must listen to the teacher a little. One must acquire the quality of alignment or compliance. Otherwise, there is no virtue of surrender or humility. One goes everywhere but does not align with that teacher.
Without alignment... well, one's whole life is just about one's own constructions. There is no quality of surrender regarding what one has built up. There is no virtue of alignment. One does not proceed by aligning with it. Wisdom arises when one aligns with it.
Now, is there no wisdom? Look, wisdom is needed in this context (sāsana). So, why do we discuss the Dhamma? It is for that knowledge (ñāṇa) to arise. That knowledge arises when I take the simile given by this teacher, align myself with it, and carry my wisdom along with it.
But there is no "thing" called wisdom either. One does not find a "thing" called wisdom. What happens is de-construction or non-fabrication (visaṅkhāragata). When one understands formation (saṅkhāra) as merely formation, one does not find a "thing."
When a "thing" is not found, there is nothing left to grasp as "formations," nor is there anything to say "does not exist." It does not become a "thing." Crossing over happens right there. That is the point. To reach direct realization (paccakkha) of this discussion, one must continuously align. When someone speaks of that nature, one must be able to join with that nature.
That is the issue, Madam. We realize our foolishness only later. We have something we have already constructed. We think about everything relative to that construction. That is what I am trying to say: please, try to align a little. Surrender a bit. Take that simile... then, it is not an analysis for you. Instead, wisdom is applied according to it. Wisdom is applied according to the point being made.
It is not something done called "wisdom." It happens entirely within oneself. That is when the function of crossing over is fulfilled.
Disciple:
It becomes realized (sacchikata).
Gnanaweera Thero:
Yes, if wisdom is applied there. Otherwise, if you go by your own feelings—"Ah, does this mean what is seen does not exist?"—if you go into those interpretations, instantly we accept the result (phala). "Now, awareness is accepted." Then, when explaining how awareness was fabricated, the whole thing is ruined.
When looking at how this nature called "awareness" is fabricated, it is entirely different from that. It is not about accepting "awareness" and then asking how it was fabricated. Just like when looking at "who am I," we usually accept the "I" and then search for who I am. But when we say "the manner in which the nature called 'I' is fabricated," we have neither accepted the "I" nor rejected it. There is a subtle difference there.
That implies... well, even though it seems small, that piece is the most important part. You might think, "What are these few little words you are saying?" But it is with those very two words that we tangle up the entire word of the Buddha. We try to understand the fabricated thing by asking how it was fabricated. But we should be discussing how fabrication happens using the word "thing." It is not the "fabricated thing."
It is about how fabrication happens. Okay, let us go to that point. I will return to the simile of walking meditation. If we go there, it cannot be described. We move forward again. I keep coming forward because I know... that simile is dangerously close to grasping "non-existence." But since there is nothing else to say...
So, I said there comes a point in walking meditation where we do not feel anything. But look closely at this next point. Afterward, I say, "Venerable Sir, I walked for fifteen minutes, but I didn't feel it. I was in the hall for half an hour. I was in the hall for an hour, but I didn't feel anything; I only started feeling it in the last minute."
Look at the meditation reports (kammaṭṭhāna) written for fifty minutes of walking or sitting.
The monk says, "Venerable Sir, I didn't feel anything for fifty minutes. Suddenly, I was startled and turned around. I only felt it when I arrived at the hall from my room. I only felt it when I got close to the table." Do you understand the way he expresses it?
Look at this point carefully. He says he felt nothing for fifty minutes. Observe closely: this analysis he is making is not a truth (sacca). It is a fabrication (saṅkhāra).
What is the reason? It becomes a fabrication—it becomes a construction—because if he truly felt nothing for fifty minutes, there would not have been any thought or feeling that "I am not feeling anything" at that time. So, how can he say, "I didn't feel anything for fifty minutes"? Even that statement, "I didn't feel anything," is something I am fabricating after the fact. Do you see? You cannot fabricate a fabrication [about a state where fabrication was absent].
That is the issue. So, see how this simile is dangerously close to "non-existence." But that is not what I am saying.
When discussing this matter, what should be seen is the deceptive nature of fabrication itself—the very nature of being constructed. You should not go to a place of thinking, "I was in a state where I couldn't even think," or "I was in a place where I didn't even exist." Do not turn "feeling nothing at the end" into a result (phala) again. If you do, you fall into annihilationism (uccheda).
Then this simile has not worked properly. If we truly felt nothing for fifty minutes until we were suddenly startled, look: we cannot fabricate that event. That means we cannot say "I existed," nor can we say "I did not exist," nor "non-arising," nor "born and then ceased." No such fabrication happens there.
However, when I describe it now, I am turning it into a formation. By expressing it, I have already turned it into a "thing"—a formation. That is where the problem lies. When it comes to language, it is entirely impure. "Ah, then Venerable Sir, are you saying something that cannot be said?" By saying that, you have already made it into a "thing." It is impure.
So, this implies that this entire sermon is impure. Yes, this entire discussion is completely impure. Because through this discussion... that is why I say, if you grasp it as, "Ah, that's it! There was absolutely nothing for fifty minutes; I didn't exist, the world didn't exist"—every such analysis leads to a place like "I do not exist." "I was not there; I didn't feel anything for fifty minutes; I wasn't in this world for fifty minutes."
Do you see? All of that analysis is extremely confused right there. It involves fabrication. It is constructed by intention (cetanā). Intention leads the way. Otherwise, there wasn't even an intention, nor was there a thought that "intention did not occur."
If I say, "I was in a state where I couldn't even think," or "I was without any thoughts"... have we ever found a moment where we were without any thoughts? Was there ever a discussion at that time saying "there are no thoughts"? We only feel that we felt nothing. Have we ever experienced a moment in life where we felt nothing? Never.
Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. That is why even this simile is confused. But observe the fine line between annihilationism and the truth we are discussing. That is why many people... this accusation was often leveled against the Buddha in his discourses. "Is the Buddha talking about some kind of annihilation, or non-establishment? Is he talking about a place where one does not establish?"
"Is he talking about a place where the existing 'I' is absent?" That is why the Buddha does not answer certain questions, calling them undeclared or set-aside questions (ṭhapaniya pañha). "Does the Tathagata exist after death? Does he not exist? Does he both exist and not exist? Does he neither exist nor not exist?" He does not answer any of these; he remains silent. Why? Because every one of those positions is rooted in mental attention (manasikāra). Every one of them is based on intention (cetanā), turning a formation into a "thing" to discuss it.
Okay, now look at this point. Right now, we say, "Now I feel the breath again."
"I feel the walking well again; I feel the ground." Look closely at this "feeling." We know every experience only after a feeling or awareness has occurred. We know everything—"I felt the walking again," "I felt the breath again," "I felt the body," "I started remembering again"—only after the awareness has arisen.
But what is the basis upon which this awareness has become real to us? Based on what do we fabricate every awareness? Regarding every awareness... now, I am not trying to turn "awareness" into a "thing" here, even though it might sound like that to you.
But look: does awareness have an independent existence? When I say "based on awareness," do not rush to accept awareness as an entity. That is the tricky part; it sounds like that. But that is not what I mean. I want to highlight a point, not establish awareness there.
Look, I am using the word "feeling" (dænenavā). But do not take that as a "thing." Do not take it as "non-existence" either. Do not take it like that.
When a certain feeling arises—when we say, "I came back to the walking," "I came back to the body," "I came back to the breath"—what is my basis for saying "I felt it"? What do I base the statement "I felt it" on? It is based on the idea that "I was not feeling it before."
Look right there. "I was not feeling it; for this long, I was without feeling." But consider this: when, at what moment, and where did you experience this "not feeling"?
That story of fifty minutes never actually occurred [as an experience]. Then, how can you take something that was never felt as a basis for what is felt? To base the formation "I feel" on "I didn't feel" is a huge confusion. That is essentially annihilationism (uccheda).
If I call something that never occurred—neither as existence nor non-existence—a "nature," then every word I say becomes a "thing" again. Every word I say falls into the extreme of annihilation.
That is why I say a wisdom beyond this is needed. Because if you grasp the words, you think you are going to some place and getting stuck there.
So, it is like this: look at how we have taken "not feeling," "not seeing," "not hearing" as the basis for saying "I see," "I hear," "I feel," "I think." We say, "I didn't hear for this long, and now I heard."
We have based it on that. But that is precisely where we cannot base it. If we have never found "not feeling," then that "not feeling" is a fabrication (saṅkhāra). "Feeling" is a fabrication. It is a fabrication. But do not grasp "feeling" and "not feeling" and call them formations [as if they are objects]. Then the mind goes to a place like, "Ah, neither of those two exist."
Do you understand? It is the point where neither of those two can be designated. The point where designation is impossible is what we call a formation (saṅkhāra).
That is what these 84,000 sections of the Dhamma are explaining. It is not about this sound. I keep coming up to the surface again and again to speak. Then you might think, "If he comes up, is there a bottom?" That is another one. "You are speaking by coming up from the bottom; are you in a place at the bottom?" No, there is no such thing.
Look at everything I am saying: it creates pressure on the mind that tries to grasp. Or rather, it is the place where the mind tries to grasp.
So, that is it. Now you know that whether you say "I didn't feel anything" or "I felt something," it is a formation. It is something fabricated through conditions. Apart from being a fabrication, saying "I don't feel" or "I see"—this duality of seeing and not seeing, existence and non-existence—is annihilationism. "Non-existence" is based on "existence," and "existence" is based on "non-existence."
But neither of the two things we have based this on has ever been found by us. Therefore, that basis is a formation. It is a delusion. "Conditioned by ignorance are formations" (avijjā paccayā saṅkhārā). That basis is a fabrication.
Why? Because saying "what cannot be known does not exist" requires foolishness. Since one cannot know what cannot be known, to say "it does not exist" is ignorance. It is avijjā paccayā saṅkhārā. To derive an assumption from the non-existence of something that was not felt... how can you say "what was not felt does not exist"? What are you basing it on? You cannot even base it on "I didn't feel." There is nothing to touch there; there is no story of non-existence.
So, if one creates a formation from such a place, that is the unknown condition itself. Not knowing the true nature of it—not knowing that it is a formation, not knowing that it is a fabrication—is ignorance.
There is no separate "thing" called ignorance (avijjā). Do not think of ignorance as some entity sitting somewhere, from which formations arise due to foolishness. It is not like that.
Do not take it that way. When dependent origination (paṭicca samuppāda) is operating, it is not something we understand in a linear fashion. "When this exists, that comes to be" (imasmiṃ sati idaṃ hoti) does not mean two separate things, nor does it mean one thing. Ignorance and formations are neither one nor two.
This is the story of fabrication. So, you might ask, "Venerable Sir, are you saying that awareness will never arise in this world for me again?" Awareness will arise; non-awareness will also be spoken of.
However, there is wisdom there. You will know that "awareness" and "non-awareness" are relative concepts, not absolute truths. They are relative formations; they are natures that are fabricated. This is what the Buddha points out regarding "existence" and "non-existence."
So, as I mentioned earlier, if you feel some sense of "non-existence" at any time, that "place of non-existence" is also existence. It is also a fabrication. It is a nature that is being fabricated. To say "it does not exist"—to turn the absence of experience into a state of "non-existence"—is essentially to say "it exists."
That is why it is said, "All formations are impermanent; all formations are suffering" (sabbe saṅkhārā aniccā, sabbe saṅkhārā dukkhā). This fabrication into "existence"... the very feeling that something is being fabricated where it cannot be fabricated, the sense that something is happening—that birth (jāti) itself is suffering.
Yes, these bodies, these existences... "birth is suffering" (jātipi dukkhā). So, these formations... "all formations are impermanent, all formations are suffering." In a reality where neither "existence" nor "non-existence" can be fabricated, the very act of finding or encountering something through "existence" or "non-existence"—the very nature of encountering—is suffering. The struggle to go from existence to non-existence, or to come from non-existence to existence—that striving itself is suffering. Even this path is suffering.
This Noble Eightfold Path (ariya aṭṭhaṅgika magga) is a formation (saṅkhāra). When cultivating the Noble Eightfold Path, one thinks one is trying to go from some state of existence to non-existence. Thus, the path itself is a noble truth of suffering (dukkha sacca). That is why the Buddha says the Noble Eightfold Path is a formation. However, it leans towards the reduction of suffering. Therefore, it is called "good."
Even though it is good, the Noble Eightfold Path is a formation; it is suffering. The path shown by the Buddha is not Nibbāna itself. The path itself is suffering; the path is samsara; the path is a formation.
I am using the Tripitaka words as much as possible today to create familiarity. Otherwise, we might get caught up in words like ariya aṭṭhaṅgika magga. It is also called a formation. But the Buddha calls it a "functional formation" (payoga saṅkhāra). It is still called a formation. But there is a function to it. There is a slight... well, a supportive condition (upanissaya) where formations help one reach Nibbāna.
It is loosely called payoga saṅkhāra. In the Tripitaka, formations are described as conditioned formations (saṅkhata saṅkhāra) and volitional formations (abhisaṅkharaṇaka saṅkhāra). Abhisaṅkharaṇaka saṅkhāra refers to this nature of constructing or fabricating. Payoga saṅkhāra means... well, let us think of it this way.
I hope you understood that earlier part about payoga saṅkhāra. Let us go back to the beginning. Imagine if our entire life is situated in a place where walking cannot be known, where eating cannot be known, where moving cannot be known...
If we are in a place where "meditating" cannot be experienced, yet we say, "I meditated, I felt this, I felt nothing"—that very story is suffering. Refining or reporting one's meditation experience (kammaṭṭhāna suddha kirīma) is itself suffering. Saying this is an act of fabrication.
Perhaps that is why those with realization do not report their meditation experiences! Either they have fully realized that reporting meditation is just another formation... well, no one easily refrains from reporting their meditation.
Why? Because they realize it is suffering. One has to fabricate again. One has to speak from "existence" or "non-existence." However, the reason we say one must report meditation is that it is only when the person opens their mouth and speaks that we can see if they are clinging to the extreme of existence or the extreme of non-existence.
Until then, the teacher cannot know; they just look like a Buddha! It is only when the fellow keeps talking and refining their report that the teacher realizes, "Ah, this person's practice has unknowingly leaned towards annihilationism (uccheda) or eternalism (sassata)." Or towards one of the extremes. Then, their entire practice is based on wrong view (micchā diṭṭhi).
So, if they don't talk about it, how can it be resolved? They need discussion. If they don't refine their meditation report (kammaṭṭhāna suddha kirīma) and discuss it, they won't understand it themselves. They are constructed from the two extremes. I am here for the cessation of formations (saṅkhāra nirodha).
But "I" cannot understand this cessation of formations on my own. For that, association with a noble friend (kalyāṇa mitta) is needed. For that, Dhamma discussion is needed.
For that, one must take hold of one's practice and explain the internal interpretation given to that practice to the teacher. "I must express my view." That is when it gets caught. "This person is trying to reach a state of non-existence." Or, "He is trying to become everything."
Why does this come out? Because the interpretation given to the practice is revealed when he speaks.
When he tries to explain his spiritual path to the teacher—stuttering and struggling to express it—the teacher realizes, "This person is putting in an immense amount of effort." He is trying to do something beyond mere mindfulness (sati). He is trying to distance himself from something, or trying to make some nature become void (suñña).
But here is the thing: there are those who have listened to this talk. For someone who knows this teaching (desanā), while cultivating the Noble Eightfold Path, formations wear away.
Even though they wear away, it does not become a wrong view (diṭṭhi). The happiness of the calming of formations (saṅkhāra samatha) arises. Little by little, formations wear away, bit by bit. There is a joy in that wearing away. That joy is good. However, it does not become clinging (upādāna). Why? Because he cultivates these functional formations (payoga saṅkhāra) with Right View (sammā diṭṭhi).
He cultivates the Noble Eightfold Path with Right View as the forerunner. Wisdom is foremost; his vision is clear; he has wisdom.
So, the meditation that is cultivated... well, one must meditate. That is when the journey becomes faster. One must cultivate the Foundations of Mindfulness (satipaṭṭhāna). Satipaṭṭhāna is what we call functional formations (payoga saṅkhāra). Let me give you an example.
Just listening to this talk and staying at home won't work, will it? One must make a dedication to this. Otherwise, we live like slaves every day.
Slaves to some man, slaves to a woman, slaves to a girlfriend. The entire life is slavery. What we call "living" is often just bowing down to another person and acting as a slave. But the person who has heard this Dhamma... what does he do? He decides, "I don't want to be a slave to anyone. I don't want to form relationships and be anyone's servant."
So, he steps into this work. He steps into the solitary journey. When he does that... well, we don't come here looking for palaces, do we? Think about it: we don't come to a place like this looking for pizza or KFC. We eat whatever is given. We stay in the dwelling (kuṭi) that is provided.
Then, little by little, we become ready to say "it is enough" regarding whatever we receive.
That is the path where formations gradually wear away. That is what we do by ordaining. That is what we do by coming to a place like this. We keep a few small formations—these functional formations—to wear away the big formations. In a way, this is also a kind of grasping. But even though we grasp, we know wisdom is applied. Having heard the Dhamma, having associated with noble friends, we know why we are here.
"This food I received is enough. This place I stay is enough." I don't build a private world for myself. Think about it: if someone listens to this and then maintains a relationship inside here... then he is living a complete lie.
He is using what we call "functional formations" to play a trick—finding a way to exist through the very means meant for ceasing. He came to stop, but instead of stopping, he plays a subtle game to remain inside. Those are the cunning ones.
We call them "game-players" or "frauds." We say we don't need liars. If one takes the support of monkhood to wear away formations—to cool down little by little from what exists—but then clings to that and lives a secret, underground life... that means he has no heart (bokkak næhæ). He doesn't belong to the Sangha. Even if he is in the Sangha, the Buddha says he eats the country's alms as a debt (iṇa paribhoga).
That means they are eating like thieves; they are eating dishonestly. They are playing a game underneath. My dear son, you will have to pay those debts until your neck breaks. The Buddha says that when you go to pay for those debts—after eating on credit—it doesn't just stop when you die. You are eating on credit.
That means living a different life underneath, falsely enjoying the respect given to the Sangha and the food provided. You are using the four requisites (sivpasa) offered to the Sangha—to those dedicated to wearing away formations—while living a lie. That is ugly.
Truly, when someone offers alms (bat ekak), they do so with the faith that "this person has dedicated themselves to wearing away formations." It is based on faith. Everyone does everything based on that faith. If you are leading a life that does not match that—if you are continuing a relationship like this without saying "enough"—then pay the debt!
"Pay the debt! Go and pull carts in Puttalam or wherever, it doesn't matter. Drag the load through samsara, you ox! What did you do?" You might say, "Oh, it's due to past kamma." What was that song? "If you carry the burden of past sins in the cart..." Well then, pull! Now you have done something unnecessary.
If you came to wear away formations—if you came to realize Nibbāna—you don't need to do other nonsense. You must realize Nibbāna. Then you must live the life relevant to that. There is a way of living relevant to that. There is a journey where one balances formations, protects one's family, and proceeds without completely voiding formations [as a layperson].
But you made a promise: "I am stepping into this to wear away formations, to speed up the journey, for this cooling, for this path of liberation, for the cessation of formations." That is why I need the robe. Not to live a secret family life again.
Do not forget that. From the moment we forget that, we jump off the track. "Why did I come?" If you forget, then pull the cart! It's your kamma.
Then, little by little, we begin to understand: "Okay, what Venerable Sir says is true. We made a promise."
We didn't ordain because we had nothing to eat. We didn't ordain out of laziness to do a job. We didn't come to the monkhood because we couldn't go out and work, or because we were too lazy to wake up in the morning.
Little by little, we realize that this path of monkhood was praised and authorized by the Buddha. This practice of renunciation was authorized by Him. "Monks, to quench this suffering, to calm these formations, practical training in this very life is needed." A practice (paṭipadā) must be cultivated. But through that very practice, the practice itself must eventually become void.
So, that heart must be there. If nothing else, if the original mind with which I came has become impure, I must confess (pāpocāraṇa) before the teacher and purify that original mind again. Cleanse it again. The Buddha... well, that harshness isn't there.
"You are a sinner; there is no salvation for you ever again." The Buddha never did anything like that. He has given everyone the opportunity to confess. To declare one's offenses (āpatti). "I came for this, but I slipped a little; please forgive me." Come and say that innocently. Express it.
Be honest with your life. That is what we call honesty of heart. "I came for this, but my old habits came back a little; please forgive me."
Asking for forgiveness is not so that you can continue doing it. Someone asked me, "Does asking for forgiveness mean you give us a license to keep doing these things inside the monastery? When you tell us to confess, are you giving us a license to continue?"
Didn't you understand anything I said? I am not asking you to confess to get a license! It is so that we don't fall into offense (āpatti), so that we can pay it off and somehow... well, this is a difficult task in this life.
It is to reduce that habit and somehow lean towards cooling down, little by little.
But let's assume... well, there is a danger here too. Even though we have abandoned sensuality (kāma) and come to a place like this, sensual perceptions (kāma saññā) might increase by a hundred or two hundred times. It might feel like, "I didn't have this much madness even when I was at home!"
At that point, my teacher taught me something. He said, "Be happy about this as much as possible."
Why? Because from morning till night, feelings start getting stirred up. Feelings get stirred up even more than when you were at home. Why is that? He said, "Rejoice, because you have abandoned sensuality."
Look at it from the perspective of sensuality. We have more [pressure] than animals. Why? Because when animals are in the world of desire... well, take an animal. If it feels like having sex, it does it. If it feels like doing whatever, it does it. It has no morality.
It has no concept of crossing over (etara vīma). So, it has no pressure. It doesn't feel any pressure. This difficulty comes only to those who have made a promise to this path. Animals haven't promised to realize Nibbāna in this life. They live according to whatever feelings arise. So, animals don't get depression. They don't get severe mental tension. Why? Because they haven't made a promise like this.
We didn't just jump into this; we made a promise and put on the robe. Based on that promise, the mind now thinks, "You won't have another chance in life." Then the perception system (saññā paddhati) gets stirred up.
Generally, for those who have come to this practice, it is more difficult than for people living a normal lay life in the world. Why? Because the idea of "no" is constantly reminded to them. Once inside, it says, "You don't have this; you don't have that; you can't enjoy this now; you don't have this, you don't have that."
So, my teacher taught me: "Rejoice greatly." Why? Because your address is lost to the world of sensuality (kāma loka). Now, only the sensual perceptions (kāma saññā) are struggling.
However, he warned me right there: "Do not sleep! Do not just stay idle. Keep applying Satipaṭṭhāna continuously. Keep the mind fixed on a form object (rūpa ārammaṇa), like the breath or the body. Keep mindfulness (sati) established in a posture."
But the funny thing is, while dragging this on and on, sleepiness comes. I would go, get up halfway... well, you have given me a dwelling (kuṭi).
I mean, I start yawning; my eyes get heavy. Then I go... but I feel ashamed to report this during the meditation interview (kammaṭṭhāna suddha kirīma). I can't say it! How can I say, "I'm getting terribly sleepy," after coming here like a hero, acting as if I've given up everything to realize Nibbāna? I never slept during the day at home!
But here, incredible sleepiness comes. I can't even say it; I'm ashamed. Why? Because I came here jumping up and down, saying, "I've given up everything! I'll show you! I'm not attached to these things like you guys!"
Then... then the advice I received was this: "Look at the reason right there." The reason is that now sensuality is absent. As you keep meditating, even the sensual perceptions are gone.
The strange thing is, if sensual perceptions were present, you would be thrilled, thinking about this and that like a madman. But once that wears away... imagine, sensuality has worn off. The memories of sensuality have faded. You don't remember the old girlfriend; you don't remember the boyfriend. All that nonsense disappears.
Once all that is gone, consciousness has nothing to hang onto. So, it just stays there... just floating.
Then, it doesn't fabricate further formations. The other [past] formations have also worn away. Now, no memory of the old girlfriend, no memory of the food eaten. Nothing is remembered. No girl, no boy... as they say, "no girl, no nothing." Everything is gone now.
Just sitting there like this. With nothing... once it wears away even at the level of perception (saññā), what I was told is: "Just find a little peace in this."
At that point, if you think even a little bit... you start thinking, "What kind of life is this? Is this even a life? Good grief!"
You feel like going back to sensual perceptions. The mind starts looking... it's like when someone says, "No sermon today; nothing today." We feel as if we've been released from everything! "No meditation, no sermon today. We can go here, we can go there. If we want, we can sleep today." You get a massive thrill, don't you?
Like that... then the biggest happiness is going and playing a song. Just listening to a song on the phone. All the weight of the sermon is gone! Put on some music, do a little dance... oh, it feels amazing!
Ah, this is it! Nibbāna! Then you think you attained Nibbāna not through meditation, but by abandoning meditation. "Once I played a song and relaxed a bit, I found Nibbāna!"
When that kind of feeling starts to come up, what I was told is: "Wait a little. Yes, there is a bit of monotony in the practice. But compare this happiness to the nagging, the trouble, the complaining, and the crying of that woman [or partner]."
"There is no nagging here; no complaining. Compare it relative to that." That formation [of lay life] versus this formation [of monastic life]. This formation is better.
However, this formation is a bit boring. Why? Because there is nothing here. It is like a "plain white bread" formation. The other one wasn't like that; it had taste, it had stomach-filling stuff, it had other things. But unlike today—where you ate and it was fine—with that one, you had to go and strain in the toilet. It was exhausting just to live.
Compared to that... oh my! Not eating feels like happiness for six days. It's not like the day you ate and then your face swelled up and you felt sick until the next day. Oh my goodness! Even though not eating is a bit boring, it is happiness. No headache, no nothing.
So, little by little, observe that. See it in this way. As you proceed, as this formation wears away, the approach to Nibbāna and dispassion (virāga) will inevitably appear as loneliness and solitude.
But look closely. When viewed relatively... oh, we forget! We came here because we were fed up with that suffering. We came because we decided the rat race out there was enough. We forget all of that and think, "Oh, I should just go and stay there for a bit and come back."
You devil! You jumped into this because you saw the exhaustion of that! You realized from that very day that there was no meaning in it. Now what is this?
See, we don't understand what is happening to us.
We cannot see this calming down, this wearing away of formations and defilements (kilesa), in a positive light. We see dispassion (virāga) negatively, with aversion (dosa). That is why, throughout the meditative life, there is aversion.
Look, from the day we ordained, our anger has increased, hasn't it? It hasn't gone down. We get incredibly angry. If a person speaks, we snap at them. If a person smiles, we snap at them.
We snap; it's a terrible snapping. It is dangerous; one cannot even get close to that person. That loving nature is gone. That affection is gone. They don't smile when looking at another person.
Then, people coming from outside think, "Oh, look at these nuns/monks; they don't smile, they don't talk." You just wait for another year! People will say the same thing about your son/daughter [who ordained]: "Oh, that nun is also like that."
Everyone came with a beautiful smile. Everyone came in such a lovely way. But as time goes on, the smile fades away. Why? Because they are living in aversion.
Why? Because they do not value solitude. They are constantly looking for when and how to escape solitude. "When can we get a little interval from the teacher?" The day we hear "He is not here" is a great day!
The moment we hear "He is not at the monastery," oh my, we are like birds! "If there's no one here to watch us, it's great!" The mind constantly says, "Oh, they don't let us live in peace; they don't let us sleep."
Little by little, there is a subtle aversion towards the whole thing. Why do we get angry in a place like this? It is our hatred towards Nibbāna. Although we promised to embrace solitude, we didn't know it would be like this when formations started wearing away.
We thought "wearing away formations" would mean floating in the air! We never imagined we would feel such a sense of isolation. "Is this what happens?"
At some point, relative knowledge (sāpekṣaka ñāṇa) must arise there. Thinking of the suffering we endured, we must realize: "Even if loneliness arises here, this is better than that suffering. That was pure suffering; this is good." You must see that.
Having seen that again and again, then you sink deeper and deeper into it. Without calling it "loneliness," as you sink into it... eventually, we fall into a state where we can wear away even more formations.
We don't know if we existed or not. Then, suddenly, we are startled and turn around. We feel again.
If you can refrain from fabricating that... "I knew I wasn't feeling; I didn't understand anything; what should I do now?" Who knows about that "not feeling"? That very analysis is the "I."
Trying to fabricate a place where fabrication is impossible—that is exactly what "ego" or "I-ness" is.
Understand that little by little. Whether it is felt or not felt, it is the same. Apply the wisdom that both are formations (saṅkhāra). That both feeling and not feeling are formations. Then, little by little, consciousness cannot find a footing (patiṭṭhā).
It does not grasp "not feeling." Otherwise, some people, when reporting meditation, seek only "not feeling." Then they are grasping a formation.
Some say, "Oh, that is too difficult for me," and they seek only "feeling." Whether you seek feeling or not feeling, it is a formation. For the one who has wisdom regarding formations, little by little, nothing is grasped. Why? Because they know "not feeling" is a formation, and "feeling" is a formation.
They do not seek "not feeling," nor do they say to reject "not feeling." They do not seek "feeling," nor do they say to reject "feeling."
Then, no experience whatsoever is labeled as "I" and analyzed. It is not described. Then, little by little, complete cessation (nirodha) occurs.
The problem is, when describing this path, it sounds like going from something that exists to a place that does not exist. That is the problem. When we speak of the path... how does the path operate? The path is anyway a formation.
So, when we speak of the path, we are actually going towards something that "exists" [in a conventional sense]. However, realizing the extremity (antatā) of both "the place that exists" and "the place that does not exist" is the truth (sacca).
It is regarding both of those that we discuss the story of consciousness without surface (anidassana viññāṇa).
Let us stop here. May the Triple Gem bless you all.
Original Source (Video):
Title: අනිදස්සන විඤ්ඤාණය - 13 |Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ
https://youtu.be/sKAgOJKjVsI?si=re3rHmOui9sSjfxf
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.
This blog does not seek to promote or endorse any specific personal views that may be expressed by the original speaker. The content is shared solely for the purpose of encouraging reflection and deeper understanding of the Dhamma.
Comments
Post a Comment