namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammāsambuddhassa

Homage to that Blessed One, the Worthy One, the Fully and Perfectly Awakened One

 

 

 

How Did I Start To Practice?

 

 

by Achan¹Naeb Mahaniranon

 

Excerpt from a Dhamma talk given at Wat Phra Chetuphon, Bangkok, Thailand

on April 25^th, 2519 (1976 CE)

 

 

 

 

[7]Sawat-dii kha—Good day respectful audience.

[23]…Now they would like me to talk about how I started to practice. I just have to say that at that time there was no vipassanā (insight)²practice at all [in Thailand]. The practice back then was just samādhi (calmness/concentration meditation). People repeated [the word] “Sammā-Arahant,” or said “Bud” when inhaling and “dho” when exhaling. It depended on whatever people would use as a means for mental development (bhāvanā), and whatever way in which they used it. The whole lot was samādhi. There was no vipassanāat all. Although samādhi was practiced everywhere, people called it vipassanā. Anyone who went to sit to make himself calm would say, “I went to practicevipassanā.”

All the places, all the centers, in Thailand offered only samādhi [training]. But people didn’t accept [24] that fact because they didn’t understand the difference between samādhiand vipassanā. However, they did know that vipassanāis the primary path of Buddhist practice, and that the development of wisdom is what can put an end to suffering. No one, therefore, would ever admit he was doing samādhi. Everyone always said they were doing vipassanā. But the truth is, there was no vipassanā at all.

I was kind of an unusually curious person: I would ask people who practiced—even the people at my house who had also started doing vipassanā—why they kept sitting with their eyes closed. I felt, “Um? What’s the point? You close your eyes and what do you know? Nothing. Even though they sit with their eyes open they know nothing, and on top of that they go and close them!”

Back then I had no idea what vipassanāwas, either. I only knew that the Lord Buddha had to arise in order to become aware of it, and that vipassanā must see³the three characteristics(ti-lakkhana).⁴Then I went around asking people how they saw the three characteristics, and they said: “Well, quite so, we see impermanence!”

So I questioned them further: “And how do you see impermanence?”

They said that people, once they are born, have to age, get sick and die.

I wondered, “Is that all the Lord Buddha knew?” There’s no need to be a Buddha to know this. Even I could figure that out. Who doesn’t know that once you’re born you have to die?! Is there anyone anywhere who doesn’t know this? [25]But it’s just that we don’t know when we have to die, and we don’t want to [die]. In spite of knowing that we’re going to die, still we don’t want to die. Everyone knows this, and if this is all the Lord Buddha knew, I couldn’t see how he could have been holier than ordinary people. Even without the Lord Buddha’s teachings, anyone can know that once we are born, we have to die. The Dhamma (Teaching) the Lord Buddha taught should not mean merely this, otherwise nobody would praise this Dhammaas the most excellent teaching, and the most difficult for ordinary people (puthujjana) to understand.

At that time I was only 34, but I was interested in the Lord Buddha’s teaching because at home my parents were already fond of it. For that reason, monks and nuns often came to our house to converse about theDhamma. I had the feeling they were delighted when talking about Dhamma. Oh! At that time I was so amused by the things they said, until once the nuns told me they felt pity for me: “We actually feel awfully sorry for you, Ms. Naeb.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, because you are going to go to hell!”

“Really? Is there any such thing?” I would make fun of whatever they said. Very bad (pāpa). I laughed because I didn’t believe at all the things they spoke about—what they said about vipassanā.

But I suspected that I probably had perfections(pāramī) from past lives, because I’dhad an understanding come up; namely, I had a direct experience about something concerning the [immediate] present. What is thiscondition we call the “present moment”(paccuppanna⁵-dhamma)?⁶

At that time, I usually kept one reclining chair on the verandah. At times I would lounge on it, and my eyes would gaze vacantly at the trees. We all see, but I had a direct experience happen in the seeing: I could contemplate [26]what seeing consisted of, and which defilement (kilesa, i.e., mental impurities such as greed, hatred and delusion) occurred while seeing. How is the mind when it’s knowing this condition—that is, the seeing?Well, it seemed to be calm and cool. There was no satisfaction or dissatisfaction at all, and no distracted mind to follow this or that arose at all.

I became confident that the [experience of the] present moment must be this way. This had to be the path to Nibbāna. The Noble Eightfold Path had to be [found] in the present-moment object (ārammaṇa-paccuppanna).⁷That is when I became interested. So I went to every Dhammameeting. Many people knew me because I would ask around about the present-moment object all the time. My goodness! Nobody could answer. Ten years passed and still nobody was able to answer my questions about the present-moment object, about that object which is [happening in] the present. I couldn’t do anything about it. However, I knew for sure that it existed…

Then unexpectedly I had a chance to meet with a Burmese monk. Burmese people are very religious. They make merit regularly. The Burmese always make merit, believing that it helps support life. When they start a new business, at whatever place, with the purpose of making merit they build a Wat⁸near the area and invite monks to come and stay. There were some Burmese people who had a gem mine in the jungle at Kanchanaburi province [Thailand]. They invited a Burmese monk to stay there for a year, and then took him back home. [27]

Later on, because of his reputation, some other Burmese in Talat Noi, Bangkok, invited this monk again. They invited him because he was an expert in the Three Baskets.⁹He was really an expert—it took him fifteen years to complete his studies. It’s not that he merely graduated from studying the Baskets and that was enough. Once he’d completed his studies, he still had to adapt the meaning or substance of everything he had learned to make the different teachings compatible with each other. Sometimes the same thing is described one way in the Basket of Discourses(Suttanta), another way in the Basket of Phenomenology(Abhidhamma), and another way in the Basket of Discipline(Vinaya) [the same thing may be called by different names even though the meaning is the same]. If the whole range of meaning of a particular teaching is not understood, one will not see how the different descriptions are actually consistent with each other.

When one doesn’t understand the meaning or substance, how can one connect the causes with the results? We must understand why something is given a certain name in one of the Baskets and a different name in another, in order to realize that the meanings are not inconsistent. Even though there can be many names [for the same thing], there’s only one real meaning, and this is what should be known.

Therefore, the monk needed two more years to complete his studies. That is how he studied. But even after he’d completed his studies of the Three Baskets, he still wasn’t able to practice. Subsequently, he had to learn more: he had to learn about the practice.

He used to say that in Burma there was an awful lot of “vipassanā” too—so many kinds of “isms,” theories and beliefs about it. Mostly it was samatha—much the same asin Thailand. Moreover, this [particular] method of vipassanā¹⁰had just become established two years before [28] he had ordained as a monk; previously he had been a novice. Then the Burmese invited him to come to Thailand. He accepted¹¹and stayed at the deserted Mon¹²temple [in the center of Bangkok], which is near the alley of Wat Don. You walk several kilometers through a cemetery before reaching it. They invited the Burmese monk to stay for one rainy season retreat [Buddhist Lent]—that is, for three months, right?

People needed an interpreter when they wanted to communicate with him, because he couldn’t speak Thai, and so Mr. Praphan, an interpreter from the library, translated between Thai and Burmese. Mr. Praphan had built his house there, at Wat Prok, which was a pretty small temple—nothing big. It was a twelve square rai¹³monastery surrounded for several kilometers by a Chinese cemetery.

In that period there were many Dhammameetings going on at various places—one day here, one day there. I went to every single meeting. I was eagerly searching for the real meaning of the present moment. At that point I could understand only about seeing—what seeing was. About [29]hearing, I knew nothing. I didn’t know if seeing was rūpaor nāma¹⁴—I knew nothing at all.¹⁵I only knew that if the mind is here [present at this moment of seeing], defilement (kilesa)—liking and disliking—would not occur. That was as much as I could observe. But I didn’t know whether it was rūpaor nāma.

One day I met Mr. Praphan at a Dhammameeting in the Brahman temple next to Wat Sutat. Knowing that I was hungry for knowledge about vipassanā, he talked to me about it then, saying: “Look, there’s this Burmese monk who came to teach vipassanā. He’sstaying right here at Wat Prok. When he teaches, hesays not to think, which means, ‘Don’t be interested in the past or the future.’ He’s not interested in thinking about something. He says you should not think or imagine that rūpa-nāma –the five khandhas¹⁶–are impermanent, suffering and not-self. You have to see such truths for yourself, not just think about them.”

My goodness! I became interested, and asked Mr. Praphan how seeing happened. Mr. Praphan really had no idea about this subject, even though he was the interpreter. He told me to look for a chance to meet with the monk and ask him myself. [30]I decided to go with him [Mr. Praphan] to see the monk that same day.

We arrived at the temple in the afternoon. Once I’d made a prostration of respect to the teacher-monk, Mr.Praphan told him I was very interested in knowing about the subject of vipassanā. The monk remained motionless, saying nothing. I asked him, “What I want to know, Venerable Sir, is about the path to Nibbāna, the path to the eradication of dukkha;¹⁷on what is it based?” He answered,“It is based on sati (mindfulness).”¹⁸He never said it was based on the present-moment object; he only said “sati.” I told him I knew that already. However, the sati of the Lord Buddha’s purpose, which is the path, the path to Nibbāna—where is that sati established—on what object? He said, “It is established on the six [sense-] objects.”¹⁹

At that time, despite many years of frequent attendance at Dhamma meetings, I still didn’t know what image, flavour, odour or sound were. But what I hated most: Pali. If anybody were to speak in Pali,I would not listen at all—and I would not learn it, or anything like that. Why? Because once they spoke [it], one understood nothing, so what was the point in speaking it? This Indian language, this whatever language… So I didn’t learn this Indian language. I didn’t understand the point of speaking it.

It’s the same with parrots: parrots can memorize. Some parrots are taught to chant [Buddhist scriptures or prayers], and the birds can go on chanting without understanding a thing. Therefore, don’t speak Pali to me at all.²⁰Umm… I looked down on it, too: “What? Pali? Come on! Did the Lord [31]Buddha speak this language? Or who spoke it? Who knows?! Anyone canwrite a book in Pali, and probably it would have no cause-and-effect consistency conforming to reality.”²¹

And so,when I asked the question, “Where is sati established?” and the teacher said, “At the knowing,” and I asked, “At the knowing of what?” and he said, “At the knowing of the six objects,” I had no idea what the six [sense-] objects—image, flavour, odour, sound, tangible-object, and mental impression—were. But he didn’t admonish me about anything. He saw I was perplexed and uncertain, and he said it would be better to try it for myself. I made an appointment immediately: “Oh!” I said, “I’ll come on Saturday. I’ll be here on Saturday for sure.” And so I went to the temple that Saturday.

I was the kind of person who very much feared ghosts, and having to go to a place that was surrounded by a cemetery…! My goodness! I had heart palpitations! That situation was just enough to make me uncomfortable. The only thing you could catch sight of were Chinese tombs! I closed the windows and the back door—I kept the bath water inside the room. There were five little huts built by the Burmese. I stayed in one of them—alone, which made me feel even worse. No Thai people ever came there to practice, nor were they acquainted with the Burmese monastery. The Burmese themselves didn’t come to practice, either. So there was only me. The other three huts were empty.

I asked Mr. Praphan to take me to see the monk. [After we reached his dwelling] I told the monk I had arrived, and that I was there to practice vipassanā.He asked me whether or not I already knew about nāma-rūpa—given that people who study Abhidhamma must know about nāma and rūpa.[32]I said I didn’t know about it yet.

“Eh! So in Thailand they don’t practice vipassanā,then?”

“They do, sir. In Thailand we definitely have nothing but vipassanā. In every place there is only vipassanā—there’s no one doing any samatha here,” I told him.

Then he said, “Eh! They practice vipassanānot knowing [anything] aboutrūpa and nāma—then what [object of contemplation] do they use in their practice?”²²

He asked me like this, and I said, “I don’t know, I don’t know what is it that they use.But they all practice vipassanā, just as I came here to do.”

He told me I had to understand rūpa and nāmafirst. He asked Mr. Praphan to teach me what rūpaand nāma are. These are called the objects (ārammaṇa) of the practice.

There is [he taught me] nothing apart fromrūpa-nāma,because the ultimate nature of all things is just rūpa and nāma. All dhammas²³are nothing but nāmaand rūpa. So he had Mr. Praphan teach me about rūpa-nāma. It [the instruction] didn’t need to be too long—at the most, Mr. Praphan only spent two days teaching me, because I was already interested in the subject. After I understood rūpa-nāma, the teacher gave me the following practice instructions: “at that time, one should know itthere.”²⁴

What I liked was that the monk didn’t let Mr. Praphan speak to me in Pali. He said that one should only speak Paliwith people who already knew and understood [33]it. This understanding of the language would allow them to reach out to comprehend the intrinsic nature [of a phenomenon] (sabhāva),²⁵that which is real [i.e. nāma-rūpa]. If one only knows names [words, concepts, mental constructs], one doesn’t know anything [real].²⁶Names cannot reach to the intrinsic nature. There can be many names²⁷[for the same intrinsic nature].

At that point the monk said: “I’m not interested in ‘cakkhu-viññāṇaseesrūpa’.²⁸What is the function of cakkhu-viññāṇa? Its function is to see a visual-object. You don’t have to say ‘cakkhu-viññāṇa’, or, ‘itsees rūpa-ārammaṇa’.There’s no need to use those names. Just say ‘seeing,’because seeing is cakkhu-viññāṇa’s function, and that way people can understand immediately. What is cakkhu-viññāṇa’s real nature? Seeing. When practicing, one must be mindful of seeing, because seeing is cakkhu-viññāṇa’s intrinsic nature. When one practices, one works with the intrinsic nature. Therefore one should use the word ‘seeing’ instead of ‘cakkhu-viññāṇa.’” He taught me like this in person for two days.

At first he [the monk] told me to observe the six [sense] objects. And in fact it has to be like that: to teach vipassanāone has to teach about the six objects. My goodness! For the most part I found practicing with the six objects really difficult. Just practicing the four postures is still very difficult; but the six objects are much more difficult to know, and it takes many more days to understand them correctly. Therefore, he let me take [34]the four postures [as objects of contemplation] first, because with the four positions one can also attain Nibbāna and became an Arahant.²⁹

There were a lot of Arahantswho got enlightened by practicing with the four postures. So he taught me only the four postures at first. I was afraid that if I had too many objects (kammaṭṭhāna),³⁰I wouldn’t be able to recall all of them. And we, Thai people, understood Abhidhammaonly a little. In order to practice vipassanāone has to understand the meaning or substance according to the intrinsic natures described in the Abhidhamma [i.e., in vipassanāpractice one must know the intrinsic natures of what is observed asopposed to only knowing names or concepts,so that these intrinsic natures become actual objects of mindfulness].

This monk said we should have mindfulness at the time of seeing. Seeing is nāma [i.e., a mental phenomenon]. At the time of seeing, we should experience that particular moment of seeing as nāma-seeing[as opposed to “we ourselves” seeing]. Nāma-seeing has the specific function of seeing. Since seeing is the present-moment condition (paccuppanna-dhamma) [i.e., the thing happening in the present moment], in order to see the impermanenceof seeing-consciousness(cakkhu-viññāṇa) we must have mindfulness during [the act of] seeing. Or, to see the impermanence of hearing-consciousness (sota-viññāṇa), we must have mindfulness at the moment of hearing, in order to know its permanence or impermanence.

Normally, an intrinsic nature must always consist of arising and passing away. “Seeing-consciousness”as a conceptdoes not arise or pass away (therefore, it lacks the characteristic of impermanence). When we use only the name with no understanding of its meaning, then the intrinsic nature [of the real phenomenon] cannot be experienced. We have to experience nāma-seeing [instead of “ourselves” seeing] in order to know that nāma-seeing is impermanent, because seeing is the intrinsic nature of consciousness, one moment of which lasts only as long as [a single instant of] arising (uppāda), persisting (thiti), and passing away (bhanga).

So the monk taught me that the eye sees and the ear hears. When hearing, we must know [35]that that particular moment (khaṇa) of hearing is [a moment of] nāma-hearing [i.e. nāma is carrying out the hearing, not us; not a self]. We should know the [actual] moment of hearing, rather than knowing according to the book(s). When practicing, we must know at the moment when the object is actually happening. If there is no such object, then there is nothing that can give us the truth.

Ah! I was glad after that first lesson—at that time I hadn’t yet practiced, hadn’t yet seen anything, but I understood, because the teacher told me that the knowing is at the seeing, at the nāma-seeing moment. At that time I understood seeing, but I was not aware that seeing is nāma. It is nāma because it knows by itself.³¹

At that time there was no study of Abhidhamma in Thailand at all. After paying attention in that way, I was glad. I felt that my confidence had increased, and so I became interested in the practice. The teacher tried seriously to help me to know the present-moment object. I practiced for four months non-stop.

First I saw anattā;³²that is, I saw that there was only nāmaand rūpa.Oh! My heart saddened. It was something like, “this body of ours means nothing at all. It has no substance. ‘Self,’ it has none; ‘I,’ it has none; ‘me,’ it has none... something like that. They all resemble each other.” My goodness! I had no refuge anymore. It was the end of all dependence. In other words, [I realized] there is nothing at all in this body that can make us feel at ease or comfortable. My heart sank. I was dismayed.

Seeing any one of the three characteristicsis like seeing into all three. For example, to see not-self (anattā) is to see impermanence (anicca) and suffering (dukkha), too. It’s like in the Discourses, in the Dhamma-cakka,³³when the Lord Buddha asks his first five disciples (Pañca-vaggiya) whether this rūpa[body] is permanent or [36]impermanent—he asks this question regarding all five aggregates, from the corporeality aggregate(rūpa-khandha) to the consciousness aggregate(viññāṇa-khandha).

When the five disciples answered that the body was impermanent, the Lord Buddha continued to question them about whether it was suffering (oppressive) or happiness. They answered that it was suffering. He then asked whether that which was impermanent and suffering should be taken as self or “I.” They said, no. So, according to the three characteristics,when one sees impermanence one also has to see suffering. Whatever is impermanent has to be suffering, too. And whatever is impermanent and suffering must also be not-self, because one cannot control or direct [it]; it has to be that way.

I practiced seriously there. Before I went to practice like that, I had been addicted to all kinds of things: coffee, betel nuts,³⁴cigarettes. I’d take everything—snuff; well, why not, I used snuff. I had all these things available to take with me [to the practice place]. But once I got there and started practicing, [I found] there was no one who would prohibit me from taking them. I myself didn’t want to use snuff. I stopped craving cigarettes. That is, it was as if the heart/mind lifted itself above defilement (kilesa), the defilement that infiltrates [the mind] to feed and sustain us. It’s like a fish that is taken from the water; he’s totally without the water that sustains him. The water is like the defilement.³⁵The heart did not see a thing that could relieve suffering. It did not see a thing it could rely on. There was none of that. Anattā—my goodness!—does not contain anything at all.

That’s when my teacher asked whether I had lost weight. My goodness! I was thin. [37] Normally, I used to be the fussiest person about food. If the dish was missing anything—just one ingredient!—like parsley for example, I would not eat it. The dish had to be complete, perfect. When you are someone as fussy as this, well, you have to cook your own food, and when I had to go to buy fish sauce—even if it was just one bottle—I had to go from store to store trying them all out, and I would not buy anything until I had found the best one. The same with the other condiments.

So I had to prepare many kinds of food before going to practice,just in case I wouldn’t be able to eat the food [cooked by] others.

[During the practice] I only ate one meal a day. Actually, I had never kept this [observance of eating one meal a day] before. The teacher asked: “Which precepts are you going to keep, the Five or the Eight Precepts?”“It’s better I keep the Five Precepts and notthe Eight—soon I’ll get hungry and that would be trouble,” I told him. But I never had supper, although in fact I took only theFive Precepts. I experimented with not having dinner. I abstained from it myself. I refrained from having dinner. I did not have any [food after noon]. And—hey!—there wasn’t much food. But the heart/mind felt relieved. It didn’t have any obstructions: those issues that make us feel unhappy, those issues that compel us to get involved and attached to things. The mind was completely devoid of all that. Here is where the practice went very smoothly. I could pay attention to every object (ārammaṇa-) that was [appearing in the] present moment (paccuppanna). And the food that I myself prepared—I never touched it, since the mind kept itself in the present and never thought: “I have this there, I have that there.” Absolutely never.

Talking was something that was absolutely forbidden by the teacher. No one was allowed to see [38]or visit me. The teacher would sit in his kuti (monk’s hut), from which he had a view of the monastery entrance. As soon as any Thai people walked in, he would quickly inform Mr. Praphan. Mr. Praphan would immediately go to my teacher’s practicehut, where the visitors would declare their intention to see me, and Mr. Praphan would then lead them to my teacher instead. The teacher would ask the visitors whether they had come on an urgent matter, and they would say, no, they just wanted to visit me—I was quite well known at that time, too. The teacher would tell them I was fine and all right, so a visit was unnecessary. Visits were forbidden because talking was forbidden. If they had something important to say, they could leave a message. But they never had anything important to say.

There was one woman who came to the temple to see me, but she said clumsily—I don’t know how [it happened]—that she had come in order to practice [and so the teacher misunderstood her reason for going to the temple]. The teacher, therefore, took her to another hut to practice. That’s when she got mad at me and cried, “My goodness! I’m here already but I can’t see you even for a moment? I don’t know where you are—why don’t you tell me! Oh my! Since I’ve already come here, I at least want to meet you.”

They would put the food outside the door. I’d come out and see it there. “Eh! Whose is this?” But I knew it was for me; that’s all I knew. [39]Regarding this issue of food—when the mind kept itself in the present moment, I still couldn’t tell what the dishes consisted of: if they were meat or fish or pork. I didn’t know at all. If the dish they brought me was vegetarian, I didn’t know that it had no pork or fish. I didn’t know, because the mind couldn’t reach all the way out to there. Anything that was not immediate, it was incapable of reaching. The mind felt trouble-free! It was extremely easy!

Normally we ate by putting the food in our mouths with the fingers.³⁶The teacher said that eating with a spoon [and fork] was not convenient, because the two hands would have to be used [simultaneously]. That would cause us not to observe skilfully, because [the objects] would get mixed up; mindfulness would not be able to follow up [all] the objects. Thus I ate with the hands.³⁷

When I picked up rice, meat and vegetables, I didn’t know what [kind of food] it was—I didn’t want to know anything—not at all. When picking up the rice, meat or vegetables, I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t need to know anything at all. When picking up the food, bringing it to the mouth, putting it in the mouth, etc., the mind had to order [the movement] first before each single action [was carried out]. Just as the hand brings the food up to the mouth, the mind has to give an order first—it has to order the hand to go up to the mouth. As soon as the hand reaches the mouth, the mind has to order the mouth to open. Once [the food] is in the mouth, the mind has to order [the jaws] to chew, then [the throat] to swallow, and so on.

Whatever orders the mind gives, it has to give in advance (before the action itself). And it is doing this while we are totally ignorant, completely unaware of the fact [i.e., it happens automatically].

But when one observes the present moment, it is not like that. When I picked up the food, if the mind didn’t instruct the hand to rise, the hand wouldn’t go up; it would not rise up to the mouth. When the mind instructed [the hand], it moved. It was very obedient. And when the food was in the mouth, the mind had to order the mouth to chew, and then [40]it chewed. Here, as soon as the mind ordered [the mouth] to chew, I would chew, and I could be mindful of the chewing. The chewing became the present object, moment by moment, absolutely every moment. My goodness! It was so easy.

I didn’t eat much, but I wasn’t hungry or anything. So the teacher asked me, “Ms. Naeb, have you been taking betel nut?” I said no. “Have you been smoking?” No. “Taking snuff?” No. He wanted to know the reason [I wasn’t]: “Why? Are you being lazy?” He meant, was I reluctant to [make the effort to] eat, smoke, etc.

“No,” I told him, “I’m not being lazy; by itselfit just doesn’t want to eat.”

“If you are being lazy, that’s not correct.Laziness³⁸is defilement (kilesa),” he said.“If you don’t eat because of defilement,it is not good. But if it’s necessary, please go ahead and do it. You must know the reason why—you must know why you have to take snuff or chew betel nut. You need to know the reason for doing those things. If we are lazy, that’s incorrect.” And here he asked, “Is the food not good?” I said it was all right. It wasn’t that the food wasn’t good. I mean, I could eat it—but I could only have a little. But I was fine, I was not tired or anything at all.

“It’s likely you have become thin because you have been eating just a little bit,” he said, “very thin.” Yet I did not feel my body was that thin. But he said that was good, because it meant rūpa-kammaṭṭhānahad occurred.³⁹[But] I didn’t feel [I had obtained] anything [special], so I continued practicing the way he had already taught me.

During the interview period, it took him the whole day to interview the practitioners one by one, since there were so many of them. But [41]he didn’t let us meet with each other. He called either them or me first. When the last one had finished, he would have that practitioner return to his hut, and then he would call me. He never let us see each other at all, because he definitely didn’t want us to talk.

Also, there was a pair of twin huts linked by a verandah in the middle. If anybody was practicing kammaṭṭhānain those huts, at night the monk would ask a disciple to go and ‘spy’ on them to see whether the two practitioners were talking to each other or not. He took this subject of talking very seriously. Talking is unlikely to be an unwholesome action (akusala-kamma), but it has no present moment [i.e., when talking we cannot stay in the present moment, knowing only nāma and rūpa, because we have to conceptualize, and concepts are not realities occurring in the present]. For instance, if we spoke in such a way as to limit the present moment to a single word only, we would not understand each other. As soon as we finished one word, we would have to speak again [and utter a different word]. One must think, and only then can one speak intelligibly.

For that reason, the teacher used to say that the subject of talking was really very important. At that point he called me for an interview and ask how I was feeling (“How’s your heart/mind doing?”), only that. Oh! I would almost burst into tears. I had to force myself not to cry. I thought it was humiliating since I was an adult. My goodness! I had to put up with trying not to let the tears run out. But I thought he noticed all the same. So I asked him, “When you, venerable teacher, practiced, did you felt like crying?”

He said, “Oh yes! I also cried like that.” I felt relieved.

[42]In the practice we first have to stop defilement (kilesa)from coming in, and then we’ll have the present moment. It’s like when planting a tree: the grass around it needs to be uprooted, weeded out, so that the tree will grow successfully. If not, the grass will eat everything. With the practice it’s same. It’s not about focusing only on practicing—if we don’t make an effort to weaken defilement, we cannot achieve wisdom (paññā).

And why is this? Because defilement has ruled us for many lifetimes. It is very strong. So it has penetrated to become the owner. It has ownership of our minds. The heart/mind is under the power of defilement.

We also need to have a method of preventing new defilements from arising and entering the mind. Therefore, when we practice we have to be very careful not to do things that are unnecessary [distinguishing what is necessary from what isn’t is carried out by yoniso-manasikāra, skilful attention]. And whenever we do something, we must be aware of what we are doing [that awareness is mindfulness].

For example, was I allowed to clean my room? I asked the teacher if I could clean my room—it was messy and dirty. “Yes, you can,” he told me. “But be aware of why you have to clean it.” That means that whatever we do—raising the hand or whatever—is done [for the sake of] ease, in order to relieve suffering. Please be aware of the truth that if we don’t feel comfortable because the room is dirty, it means the mind isn’t clear.⁴⁰

So if I swept and mopped, I had to be aware that I was doing it in order to relieve suffering. It’s not that we sweep and then as soon as things are clean we feel comfortable (happy or satisfied)—no, it cannot be that way. Whenever we think we are going to obtain [43]happiness, it is a perversion[of view (vipallāsa)] right away. The perversion of happiness⁴¹has entered the mind right away. We must realize that everything we do is only done in order to relieve suffering. We can do anything, but we must understand it according to reality. Then such understanding will not be a supporting condition for [the arising of] defilement. We must have yoniso-manasikāra(proper consideration or skillful attention).

Skillful attention is very important for the practitioner. It means that our understanding of direct experience corresponds with reality. In that way, wise attention becomes food [i.e., becomes a supporting condition] for wisdom (paññā). When practicing, we should bring wise attention in line with reality [so wise attention can know in accordance with the nāma or rūpa that is actually taking place at that moment]. Only then can wisdom arise and enable us to know the truth. We should always have wisdom know the truth. On the other hand, unskillful attention (improper consideration, ayoniso-manasikāra)is food for defilement, and wisdom therefore cannot arise. That’s why we should use skillful attention—so it can serve as an aiding condition for wisdom. In other words, let’s feed wisdom to make it strong so that defilement cannot fight back. When defilement doesn’t get any food, its power must surely weaken. Only then can wisdom destroy defilement.

Therefore, we must teach the vipassanāpractitioner to have skillful attention:How are we to know the sitting [posture]? Why should we change posture, such as when we are sitting and dukkha [stiffness, aching, the need to evacuate, hunger, etc.] arises?

When we sit, we are knowing sitting-rūpa. We [44]must know where we know sitting-rūpa, where sitting-rūpais. For the most part, people have no understanding about kammaṭṭhāna[the object of contemplation] at all.

For example, I ask them, “Right now, are you sitting or lying down?” They say they are sitting. But when I ask where the sitting is, they don’t answer correctly. Where is the sitting—is it in the coccyx [i.e. the buttocks], or in the leg, or in the feet? The sitting is not in any of those places. So I have to let them know that when we sit, we have to know sitting-rūpa. Where do we know the sitting-rūpa? Where is sitting-rūpa? It’s like satipaṭṭhāna. I mean, suppose we take a photograph: we can figure out from the picture whether the bodyis sitting, lying down, standing, or walking. We [should] know in the same way as if taking a picture, because the posture is the mode (ākāra)⁴².

[Now] this rūpais sitting—the body is sitting: the awareness goes to the sitting mode (ākāra) toknow [the object] there—or to the lying down, standing, or walking modes. So one must directly experience it at the mode [i.e., one must experience the current positionor attitude of the body]. One doesn’t take the awareness here and then there—such as to the legs or the buttocks. Eh! Walking has buttocksand lying down has buttocks, so is there any sitting mode there? No, there isn’t. If the mode is in the buttocks, then during lying down there must be sitting, too. This has to be understood. We have to make the knowing (i.e., the awareness) correct according to reality.

When we are already stiff or sore, what do we do? When having sat for some time, we feel stiff or sore. From what we have studied, we know that such stiffness, unpleasant bodily feeling, is dukkha-vedanā.So when stiffness occurs, what should we do? We must know!—must know that dukkha has arisen. Know who [or what] suffers, and at which rūpa or nāma dukkha has occurred. When dukkhaoccurs at sitting-rūpa, we must have direct awareness of that fact. If we are not aware that dukkha has occurred with the sitting-rūpa, that the sitting-rūpais dukkha, then we are bound to take the self as dukkha, thinking, “it is me who suffers [45] thestiffness or aching” (or “it is me who isthestiffness or aching”).

In regard to the four postures—sitting, lying down, standing and walking—we must realize that we adopt them because we have to, not because we want to. To “want to” is defilement (kilesa)—wanting tolie down, to sit, etc. Defilement is that which conceals the truth. We cannot penetrate the truth because defilement is strong. Therefore, in order to cut off defilement’s food, we should cease to desire. Desiring to lie down shows that defilement wants the lying-down-rūpa,because it understands it as comfort or happiness. Perversion of view has entered into the comfort.⁴³Defilement always wants a comfortable position. Once greed (lobha) has entered [the mind], then wrong view (diṭṭhi) follows. Greed is the root-cause (mūla).⁴⁴Wrong view can arise because greed is a cause that has entered before.

[But we should understand that]oncedukkhaoccurs, we mustlie down. We should know that we are lying down because we have to—not because we want to. Becausewanting to lie down is not in accordance with reality. Why not? Because if we desired not to lie down, could we then refrain from lying down? If it were possible to lie down, sit or walk whenever we wanted to, then it should also be possible to refrain from lying down, sitting, or walking according to our desire. But is that possible? No, it’s definitely impossible.⁴⁵

The truth is that we have tosit, we have tolie down, we have tostand, and we have towalk. But if we don’t pay attention or consider things according to the truth, then we will say that we sit because we want to [sit], eat because we want to, take a shower because we want to. That means that everything we do [46]is done entirely with defilement [i.e., with wrong view and therefore with desire present in the mind].

Regarding walking, it is the same. Every step is carried out with defilement, every single step. Whenever we are going to walk somewhere, see someone, buy something, etc., every single step of that walking is done with defilement. Then we do not know the truth of who walks or who suffers. And so we are bound to put selfinto the walking [“I am walking,” “It is me who is walking”]. When we sit, we don’t know who sits. Consequently, we are bound to put selfinto the sitting [“I am sitting”]. When dukkhaoccurs, we don’t know who is [experiencing the] dukkha. Consequently, we are bound to put selfinto the dukkha [“I am suffering,” “I am oppressed”].

When we study [theoretically] about paramattha(ultimate truth), about the Abhidhamma, we learn that vedanā (feeling) is namā⁴⁶—we don’t learn about the subject of relieving dukkha. So, it’s true, dukkhais vedanā(feeling) and vedanāis namā(a mental phenomenon). But such dukkha⁴⁷is avedanāthat arises from sitting, right? If we sit too long, we get dukkha. Therefore, because it arises at the rūpa, we have to relieve it at the rūpa. If the nāma has dukkha,⁴⁸then we have to relieve it at nāma. Dukkha is a feeling (vedanā), so then we have to relieve it at nāma,[that’s what makes sense,] right? [I.e., it is a mental phenomenon, and therefore it makes sense we would have to relieve it at the mind.] [But] why are we then relieving it at the rūpa?

The truth is that it arisesat the rūpa: If we didn’t have the body (rūpa), would there be any pain and aching? Even though there would be feeling[referring to mental, not bodily, feeling], there wouldn’t be the dukkha of stiffness, aching, or sickness. Thus we have to relieve it at the rūpa.

Like when we are sick and go to the hospital – would the doctor treat the vedanā (feeling) or would he treat the sickness? He would treat the sickness, right? He would give some kind of medicine to treat the body, right? This shows us that truth is always here. Actually, we are doing absolutely nothing unusual here. We are simply allowing ourselves to know as much truth as is normally here already.

As I mentioned, [47]we must be careful about the walking posture. When we enter the practice of kammaṭṭhāna, we tend to walk in an unusual way—ordinarily we don’t walk like this—we change it into “walking-kammaṭṭhāna.” It is notwalking to relieve dukkha. When walking, we walk sort of slowly. In some places—my goodness!—they even walk doing a three-, five-, or six-interval exercise for each step! For what reason do they do it?

We have to have a reason for whatever we are going to do. Otherwise we will be following defilement, and wisdom (paññā)will not be able to know the truth of the present-moment object at all, because defilement will have entered and gained power over the object already. We should walk in a normal way, without feeling that we are “doing kammaṭṭhāna” [i.e. that we are practicing vipassanā]. When we sit, we [only] sit to relieve stiffness or aching, as we normally do [in daily life]—we don’t sit to “do kammaṭṭhāna.”⁴⁹

Some people are not aware of this. When I ask them if they sit kammaṭṭhāna or not, they say they do, but I have already told them not to sit kammaṭṭhāna. Some already know, so they don’t do it. Several days later when I ask the same question again they tell me they don’t, but they are not aware that they’re still doing it. I ask them how they sit, and they show me by adopting the concentration (samādhi) posture and hand gesture [sitting cross-legged with the hands in the lap]. I ask them, “Like that? That’s not sitting-kammaṭṭhāna? Are you sitting to relieve dukkha?Then why do you have to sit like that?” Whatever way we sit is fine—with the feet stretched out, or however—it depends. Whatever posture we adopt that allows us to relieve the stiffness, aching, or suffering is already correct.

Sometimes when people who have been practicing meditation (samādhi)⁵⁰in the past come to do [48]vipassanā, concentration or calmness disturbs them too much. They need vigorous energy [not to delight in the pleasant feeling arising from strong concentration], and they must have observation, too. They should use many [different] objects, too, but they shouldn’t use them for too long. When they stay with an object for some time, concentration arises.

For those who have not practiced concentration before, who have not practiced at all—like me, who, before practicing at Wat Prok, hadn’t done any at all—it’s easier. I’d never liked any of the practices around, mainly because you couldn’t know the present-moment object. They made you quiet, and you knew nothing—therefore, I never practiced them. Because I’d done absolutely no practice in the past, things went smoothly, easily.

But for former concentration practitioners, a lot of observation is needed, especially in being aware when concentration occurs. People may loose awareness when concentration occurs; this can cause them to have different kinds of mental images(nimitta), which can even frighten them. That’s why people say, “don’t go to practice vipassanā. After just a minute you’ll go crazy, you’ll have hallucinations.” Sometimes people see frightful things, such as images that happen from the power of concentration.So we have to observe whether we are aware when concentration occurs. If we know nothing, only calmness, we have to begin a new observation immediately.

Some people ask me whether they should think (recall) often about what position they are in. I say, “no!”[49]We must really understand that to thinkand to be awareare different things. Awareness reaches to the present-moment object. Thinking can only be [about the] past or the future. We can make it up, though—think it up—but that’s not [being with] the present-moment object.

Some people are not aware, so they ask me how to do it: “Should I be thinking often, ‘sitting-rūpa’ or ‘lying-down-rūpa,’ like that?” I tell them it’s not like that, that awareness is like listening to what I am saying right now.

I ask, “Are you aware that you’re listening to what I’m saying? Whoever it is that you are listening to, are you aware of that? I’m sure you are aware that you’re listening to Achan Naeb, right? And there’s no need to keep thinking that you’re listening to Achan Naeb, right? Do you have to keep thinking like this or not? No, you don’t have to, right? Because we are already aware of who’s talking, right? Even though I might speak for one hour, two hours, or you listen for a few hours, you don’t need to be thinking, you don’t need to label or murmur like that. Awareness has to be there continuously, on and on.”

This is something difficult—some people don’t understand it at all, because they lack observation. Observation is to study [to learn; train oneself; probe; examine]. In Pali,we call it “sikkhati”: sīla-sikkhā, samādhi-sikkhāor paññā-sikkhā, that is to say, the training or study of morality (sīla), concentration (samādhi)and wisdom (paññā). Sikkhatiis nothing but observation.People who study well, or do anything well, must be people who have good observation in order to do things effectively or do things right. If that’s not the case, [50]then it’s impossible.

I tell people who have practiced in otherplaces before—my goodness! some people come after having practiced in so many places!—I talk to them like this, “People of old had to charge a lot of money for teaching. If a person came without knowing anything at all, the teacher would charge a little, just six baht. However, if he or she [the student] already knew something or had any previous experience, the teacher would ask for twelve baht. Why? Because the teacher had to charge for repairing, too. The students had to pay the price of repairing.” It’s like with clothing: if you have the tailor cut a new shirt, it’s cheaper than having him fix an old one, because he doesn’t have to undo any seams, doesn’t have to be careful not to damage it, etc. He doesn’t have to waste time repairing it.⁵¹

It’s the same with this. Some people are so attached to concentration (samādhi) that I have to move them outdoors, have to let them rest for a while until they get free of the concentration, and then, slowly, let them come back in to practice again.This is no game—once they get attached to concentration, oh my, they reallyget attached to it!

In my case, I practiced for four months. At that time there still wasn’t any Abhidhamma[being taught] in Thailand. Nobody studied or knew anything about it at all. Whoever recited the Abhidhammahad no idea what it all was (nor did the people who listened). But they believed that [reciting or listening to] it made merit, and that [buying a copy of an Abhidhamma text and] offering it [to the Saṅgha] was like repaying, and showing gratitude to, your parents.

Supremely holy these words, “cit, ce, ru, ni,”the holiest of the Abhidhamma.⁵²By [writing them on a piece of paper and] placing them in the mouth of the dead, people believed that [the body of] the deceased would not stink.⁵³My goodness! They really held on to such “holiness,” and so truly offered it according to this belief, but they had no idea whatsoever about what the Abhidhamma[51][actually] talked about. My teacher became aware of this as soon as I told him that I didn’t know about rūpa and nāma, but wanted to practice vipassanā. The fact that Thai people wanted to practice vipassanāwithout knowing rūpa-nāmamade him understand immediately that we had no study ofAbhidhamma—which means that there was no Abhidhamma in Thailand.

So when I completed my practice, my teacher wanted me to set my mind to studying. I already knew a bit about vipassanā, such as the order of the various kinds of insight-knowledges (ñāṇa),like anuloma-ñāṇa and gotrabhū-ñāṇa.⁵⁴One time [when I had just come to practice] I asked him [my teacher] what the meaning of anuloma-ñāṇa and gotrabhū-ñāṇa were. He raised his hand to stop me from asking, and said that it was not time to know about that yet. Later on I would know. He meant that these knowledges should not be known through someone telling us about them. They have to be known by means of our own work, through our own correct practice. If he were to talk to me about that now, he told me, I would lose [awareness of] the present moment, because the mind would be thinking about ñāṇa.

He asked me to set my mind on studying with determination, because he had the intention to teach me with the purpose of having me become a master in preaching the Dhamma(desanāpātihāriya),which means teaching others to make them understand [how to practice].

I told him I could not do it because I couldn’t teach. When he asked why not, I said that because I didn’t know anything about the scriptures(pariyatti), it would be impossible to teach others. He said that that [having prior knowledge of the Buddhist scriptures] was unnecessary, and then told me his story.

He had turned to this practice because of his [own] teacher, a layman who had practiced for ten months. The layman’s teacher was [in turn] a 70 year-old novice. In Burma, if you are elderly, you would normally ordain as a novice instead of a monk. They think you might be unable to keep [52]the monk’s discipline(vinaya)pure. Just because you’re over 20 doesn’t mean you should necessarily ordain as a monk. Those who ordain as monks must be people with the ability to uphold all the rules of the Dhamma-Vinaya.

So the layman’s teacher became a novice when he was 70. However, he had studied the scriptures (pariyatti) very well—the Burmese are generally very good in the study of pariyatti.He had carried a book, the “Foundations of Mindfulness Discourse”(Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta), with him into the forest. He stayed in a cave, and because he could read Pali, he practiced every subcategory [from the “Foundations of Mindfulness Discourse”]—he was skillful with Pali; he could translate anything. So he practiced every subcategory (pabba), and succeeded [in attaining wisdom] when practicing with the postures and clear comprehension subcategories, which are pure vipassanā. Satipaṭṭhāna, the foundations of mindfulness,consists of 44 subcategories within the four [main] categories.⁵⁵Each category has it’s own particular group of subcategories, which add up to 44.

In the “Contemplation of the Body as a Basis for Mindfulness” category (kāyānupassanā-satipaṭṭhāna), we find two or three subcategories that are pure vipassanā, for which it is not necessary to develop samatha (concentration). These subcategories are: the “Four Major Postures” (iriyā-patha), the “Minor Postures” (sampajañña), and then the four elements [earth, air, fire, and water] belonging to the “Elements”(dhātu) subcategory, in which we contemplate the entire body as [nothing but] elements.

But [in this category, “Contemplation of the Body as a Basis for Mindfulness”] there are also subcategories that have to be practiced by way of samatha [i.e., in which concentration has to be developed first], like the 32 parts of the body, consisting of hair, body hair, nails, teeth, skin, and so forth (when a monk has just ordained, it is traditional to practice this kammaṭṭhāna).

There are only three subcategories of purevipassanā. Apart from these, in the remaining subcategories, although one also practices the Four Foundations [of Mindfulness] to reach Nibbāna, one must do samathafirst. One needs to have concentration (samādhi) first, and one should attain absorption(jhāna) first, too. Only then can one switch to vipassanā.Otherwise one cannot do it: [in regard to these latter subcategories] if one succeeds in samathabut develops no jhāna, thenvipassanācannot happen.

[53]Once the teacher of the layman had become a novice and had [gained] the knowledge of vipassanā,he didn’t know who he could teach, because in Burma it was the same thing [as in Thailand]: there was only samādhi, not vipassanā.⁵⁶The wealthy Burmese would make merit by building small huts (kutis) in the forest and leaving them there for [the use of] anyone who wanted to meditate. But here again, there was no vipassanā.My teacher said, “The novice had it, but he didn’t know who to transmit it to, so he thought he would transmit it to the wealthy man who supported the monks in that temple.”Every Burmese temple always had to have a rich man as a benefactor. For that reason the government had nothing to do with the temples or the running of them. The English administration was not concerned. Then how would the temples support themselves? Impoverished or not, they had to take care of themselves. A rich man would be the benefactor of a temple, supplying the four requisites(paccaya) according to his means.

The novice really had no idea who to turn to, because nobody would be able to understand anything. But since he intended to teach some monks who were under a layman’s support, he decided to talk to and explain everything to that layman. The layman, having some knowledge about pariyatti(theory),said, “No, sir, I cannot force the monks [54]to practice what you say. I don’t yet know whether or not it is correct or justified. I have to try it myself first.” If he was to disseminate this knowledge to the monks, he had to prove its worth by practicing it himself first, to see to what extent it was true.

So the novice took the layman to practice, and he [the layman] practiced the postures (iriyā-patha) and the clear comprehension (sampajañña) categories for ten months. After ten months, the layman gained the wisdom that penetrates [ultimate] truth. [Since] he knew that he [now] had right view, he wanted the monks to practice, too—in particular the monks who were keen on pariyatti. Only then, by also including the knowledge derived from paṭipatti, would their knowledge become broad.

Someone advised the layman to see my teacher, who had completed the study of the Three Baskets, and at that time was teaching [a number of] monks and novices at the same temple. So he [the layman] went to see him, but in the status of a student. He went to ask questions, because he was told that my teacher was an expert in the Three Baskets. Therefore, he had some challenging question to ask. When he asked about pariyatti, my teacher could answer everything, but as soon as he started to ask about paṭipatti (practice) he [my teacher] could not answer, because he had never practiced.

Then the layman said that since he had been studying, he would like my teacher to ask himsome questions, and he would try to answer them. My teacher did so, and the layman answered all the questions easily. My goodness! That layman had no difficulty with the path of practice! My teacher then realized that the layman’s way of practice must be correct, must be right view, otherwise there’d have been no way he could have answered all the questions, no matter what means he used. The layman then asked my teacher to [55]practice [vipassanā]. So my teacher went to practice with the layman. He, too, practiced for four months. After four months he [my teacher] quit, meaning, he had succeeded [attained insight].

The layman also wanted my teacher to become an instructor himself. However, although my teacher actually understood the practice [from firsthand experience], he still didn’t know how to teach kammaṭṭhāna [i.e., he didn’t know how to explain it to others]. Each practitioner makes his or her own particular mistake(s),⁵⁷which is an obstacle in developing vipassanā. So my teacher had to stay there first to listen to how the layman interviewed and taught other practitioners, and how he corrected their mistakes. Then, unexpectedly, he [my teacher], a Burmese instructor, was invited to come and teach kammaṭṭhāna[in Thailand].

After I finished my four months of practice, my teacher, knowing that in Thailand there was no study of Abhidhamma(with which I myself wasn’t even yet familiar) said to me, “Ms. Naeb, if it’s not yet necessary [for you to go home], could you postpone your return?”

Oh! I wondered what other duty he could have for me. But I said, “Okay. Is there anything else the venerable teacher wants me to do, or…?” He said he wanted me to learn Abhidhamma—he said it like that, straight away—he said he would teach me himself.

The reason [he wanted to teach me] is because the intrinsic natures are very [56] clear to practitioners who have just finished kammaṭṭhāna [i.e., who have just finished their practice]. That’s because, in vipassanāpractice we work with intrinsic natures rather than concepts (paññatti) or names. He said that the intrinsic natures were still clear [to me] then, meaning that it hadn’t yet been long enough for me to forget them. So he had me learning.

My goodness! It wasn’t easy. It all had to be translated from Burmese. When my teacher finished writing it in Burmese, he would have Mr. Praphan come and write it in Thai, and then it would be my turn to read it and commit it to memory. Then, when it was time, he would examine me to see whether I had already memorized what he had written down or not, if I understood it yet or not.

He taught me and I studied for a long time. Later I went back home, but that didn’t mean I had completed my studies. I still had to return twice a week to study, every Wednesday and Saturday. I would go to see my teacher on Wednesday and come back home on Thursday. I would go again on Saturday, spent a night, and return home on Sunday. I studied for a long time. But even after ten years of having studied both Vipassanāand Abhidhamma, people would listen [to what I said] but understand nothing. I didn’t talk about it at all. And why did I not teach Abhidhamma? Because they were all utterly mystified!⁵⁸They had absolutely no idea about what consciousness-and-mental factors (citta-cetasika)and materiality(rūpa) were. They understood nothing. They had never learned or heard about them before, not even the monks. For those first ten years the people I taught could understand a bit about vipassanā,[57] but not about Abhidhamma. Ten years later it was better. So twenty years passed.

I first taught Abhidhammaat one temple only, Wat Rakhang [in Bangkok]. There were about twenty students—that is all I wanted for a start, or so I thought. I also started teaching vipassanāthere, in a deserted sermon-hall with many bats flying around. The wooden door had been hammered shut with nails. I asked permission from the abbot to have it opened. We cleaned and fixed up the hall, then divided it into small rooms for practicing vipassanā. There were about twenty students the first day. I continued teaching there…

Translated by Rodrigo Aldana

Edited by Cynthia Thatcher