Fragments of a thought pieced together from associated thoughts, memories of a past time brought into present time, together with things thought about in future time. Words can snatch at things, pin them down and they say what they are. Any ‘new’ experience is assimilated and the actuality of it is filtered, obscured, cloaked.
Then pause for a moment, and everything stops, just the circumstance itself – there is only one moment, only one, going on all the time. I wake up to it every now and then, there and then, here and now in this place and time, but it is always now, the present now, the forever ‘now.’
“Time is in the mind; space is in the mind. The law of cause and effect Is also a way of thinking. In reality, all is here and now and all is one. Multiplicity and diversity are in the mind only.” [Nisargadatta]
I write it in my notebook, in the time taken to do that the thinking sequence seems to have jumped from the thing I’m thinking about, to the next, and then there’s a space … the smallest instant before it becomes something else. In the interval the mind is engaged in ‘thinking it’, everything moves on and I can never seem to catch up. Language is an overlay placed on reality, gives everything an identity, duality, ‘me’ and ‘you.’ Language tells the story, creates a fiction I get lost in. Nothing is what I think it is.
The present moment feels like it’s an immediate event occurring ‘now’, but there’s also a feeling that it comes from some timeless place. What we have is applied time, an agreed-upon measurement that we all apply. Who‘s to say? Maybe this is something that has not happened yet… it happens later, gets reflected upon and what I think is ‘now’ is actually a moment of hindsight that had its origin in future time.
How can I be sure things are what I think they are when I’ve only just started feeling my way through something not experienced yet? Consciousness, the vast present time – the continuing ‘now’ phenomenon enfolding and unfolding, transforming from the future into past in one continuous surging-through movement that cannot be explained. What a strange mystery it is; future time slides into present time, tomorrow becomes today, ‘now’ falls back into yesterday, something ‘remembered.’
Mind creates a structure to explain time; otherwise, how could we understand the enigma of how the past is ‘gone’ and the future is not here yet? Hovering on the brink of the smallest pause before it gets there, the empty space of not-knowing what it is, and held like this for an instant…
“There exists only the present instant… a Now which always and without end is itself new. There is no yesterday nor any tomorrow, but only Now, as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be a thousand years hence.” [Meister Eckhart1260 – 1328]
April 2, 2014: Chiang Mai: I’m awake before it’s light, start the computer and there’s a link to a music file of Gregorian Chant. Click on that…mystical voices and rustle of ecclesiastical robes of 10th Century Christianity. The darkness of the room here and glow of the screen suit the dramatic nature of the performance. It’s the breathlessness of the chant, itself, Wow! Exhaled air pushing through partly closed vocal cords, then an opening for the next breath then closing, and it does it again and again. The absolute physiological miracle of it. Forget the applied ‘meaning’ of Christianity or Islam or Hindu – it’s just the phenomenon of ‘voice. ’ Tone quality created in volume of throat, in void of mouth, intricate cranial cavities generate high frequencies, and the whole bone of skull is resonating like a fantastical musical horn, or a trumpet-like whistling wind-instrument, or acoustic device fixed at the top of the vocalist’s body. The performing ‘harmonic’ of human voice (and gasp of inbreath that follows it), echoing in stone walls of old Europe and holy places a thousand years old – listening to it blows me away…
After a while, there’s some light in the sky and the birds have started their dawn chorus all around me here in tropical South East Asia, third floor, level with the treetops – open all the windows and let the sound in. Switch the digital file to speaker, allow the intermingling Gregorian Chant to overlay on the flow of random exotic birdsong. An extraordinary mix. Birdsong is unstructured, uncreated, unmade – a song ‘unsung’ as is the sound that water makes rushing over the pebbles in a stream, a myriad of small collisions, the incidental harmony of it. I have to go and hear this birdsong performance in natural surroundings. Out of the door, down three floors to street level and there’s an old tree with large root formation noearby. Streets are quiet as dawn light illuminates the sky above the buildings… I stand under the tree and listen. [see image above].
Birdsong is on-going – a story told in a multitude of voices about something that’s always there. It is an event presented for its own sake. The sky is full of it, an abundance floods everything, devastates the scarcity of small mindedness. There is one bird nearby, it pauses to take a bird-size breath of air… a small interval of silence, then it continues. The regular pace of all these incidental pauses sprinkled through the pattern of groupings of sound, forms an almost discernible construct but not really a melody. There’s no beginning or middle, and no end. It’s more like a huge chord played on an instrument with a great number of strings. A phenomenon that’s there all the time, as the planet spins towards the sun, daylight invading national boundaries, mountains and lakes, the narrow line between night and day moves out of darkness into light, the constant herald of birdsong always and forever on the edge of global night.
Chuang Tzu and Hui Tzu were crossing the Hao River by the dam. Chuang said: “See how free the fishes leap and dart: that is their happiness.” Hui replied: “Since you are not a fish, how do you know what makes fishes happy?” Chuang said: “Since you are not I, how can you possibly know that I do not know what makes fishes happy?” Hui argued: “If I, not being you, cannot know what you know, it follows that you, not being a fish, cannot know what they know.” Chuang said: “Wait a minute! Let us get back to the original question. What you asked me was ‘How do you know what makes fishes happy?’ from the terms of your question you evidently know I know what makes fishes happy. “I know the joy of fishes in the river through my own joy as I go walking along the same river.” [xvii. 13] [The Way of Chuang Tzu, page 97, ‘The Joy of Fishes’, Thomas Merton]
Note: I’m interested in these old posts and planning to continue republishing edited forms of some of them for the time being.
First published on March 14, 2015 POSTCARD #115: Chiang Mai: Out of the car and into the shopping mall, colour, lights, people – I feel M’s hand slip into mine, holding on to the ends of my fingers like they were tree branches. That familiar use of my hand as a stabilizing device, an anchor she needs in order to do her little dance (it seems impossible to just walk normally), a few skips to build up the momentum, then a larger hop, reduced to a smaller hop and back to her normal walking pace. The child and the old man; this is how it was for me, long ago and far away. She’s spinning her head around, taking in the surroundings of where we are… always in the here-and-now. The event is forever in present time. A question comes: Toong Ting? (I don’t know why she calls me that) Today is Friday 13th, yes? I stop and look at her small face; Taiwanese Thai with Japanese grandfather – I’m thinking, what day is it today?
We look for a place to sit down, tired of all this walking round to get the escalators one after another up to the movie theatre on the 5th floor. Just at that moment a public seating area appears in the form of different kinds of fruit – I wouldn’t have noticed, except that M asks me if I sit on ‘the tomato’, she will sit on ‘the watermelon’ okay? Yeh.. okay (a seat is a seat) and I lower my weight on to the surface of the tomato – it’s bright red, wobbles a bit, I ask M to sit beside me. She skips over with a hop and a jump, sits down and her weight tips the balance. We take a look at the date on my phone; her view of it is better than mine… See? Toong Ting, it’s Friday thirteenth! Ghost comes, pee, number thirteen sideways, same as Thai word ‘p’. I find a piece of paper in my bag and a pen; can you write it for me? She flops down on her knees puts the paper on the seat and takes up the position of formal writing.
Focused attention, she writes it a couple of times, then scribbles it out after she’s explained to me – because ‘p’ might come if it’s still written. The Thai alphabet p, when turned sideways, becomes the numeral 13. I ask her if she believes in ghosts, and she just looks at me, like… are you kidding? Nearly every people in my class believe ghost is real! So there’s no way I can convince her it must be something to do with holding on too much to identity with body/mind. Okay, let’s go, and we make our way up to the fifth floor, get the tickets for the movie, buy the popcorn and the Coke, sit in our seats.
The movie was “Cinderella” and when it was finished I thought it was the best movie I’d ever seen. Before that, though, I was aware of M looking around in the darkness, attention having shifted away from the huge screen. It’s then I realize; yes I could be aware of ‘p’… what’s happening here? What’s happening behind me, at either side?
‘For life in the present there is no death. Death is not an event in life. It is not a fact in the world.’ [Wittgenstein]
POSTCARD #104: Delhi: 05.00 hrs: The sound of the generator – a power cut, no lights. Holding my phone so it shines like an electric torch I come out from the bedroom and through to the front of the house. Startled by the flashing light reflection in the large glass patio window; light beams swinging over the walls, forwards and back with the movement of walking. My own reflection catches me unawares at this early hour of the day confused by large sound of generator. It triggers a memory from long ago; some time before dawn, me and grandfather on the tractor going over the hill to see the sheep.
When I tell people my grandfather was a shepherd, there’s a moment of… let’s see, no words for it really – kinda Biblical, mediaeval? It helps to think of him like a veterinarian. We’d get down from the tractor and set off on the track across the hill. Grandfather with his huge steps and I must have been only nine or ten years old, holding the big old torch with both hands, aiming the beam along the path to ancient things, ancestors I never knew.
Grandfather had a shepherd’s crook; a long pole he used like a walking stick, but with an iron hook on the end to catch the sheep. On this night we mingled amongst the flock until he saw the one he was looking for, quickly caught its leg with the hook and it fell over on its side. I was then told to quickly hold its head. He was a big man, wore two totally ragged old jackets, one on top of the other. No polyester in those days, no machine-washable hooded shell coats with velcro fastenings and good-looking yellow nylon zipper. No, my grandfather looked like a homeless person.
He’d roll up the sleeve of his right arm, hands like the hoof and horn of the sheep itself; not beautiful hands, birthing hands. Push his fingers into the back end of the sheep, then his whole hand up past the wrist and part the way up the forearm. Quite a long time spent feeling with fingers in the darkness before birth, find the lamb’s feet and nose, and pull the whole thing out with a steaming slither and plop on the grass. I’d be at the other end, holding down the beast’s curled horns, struggling head, a fog of breath in the air, spittle froth, tongue, nostrils, and these wild, wide staring eyes. Then from behind me, there’d be this small bleat: mae….
On Grandfather’s signal I let go of the head, jump back and the sheep is up, turns around and long nose nuzzling the small bundle shivering on the grass. Mae…says the lamb. Baah…says the sheep, licking away the afterbirth around the face of the lamb… mae-ae-ae…baah-baah…mae-ae-ae…baah…mae-ae-ae… (sheep language). The whole thing quite astonishing. An event there on the side of a hill, illuminated in the beam of a torchlight in the long shadows of remembered past.
Fifty years later and I’m here in Delhi, about the same age as grandfather was then. Light the candle by the Buddha on the bookshelf – familiarity of candlewax, oil lamps and no electricity; it’s another day no different from that day then or any other day. Outside, a faint smell of dung; cows and sheep sleeping in some corner of the street, at rest in these urban surroundings as if they were in a landscape of fields and meadows.
“I am not yet born; provide me with water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light in the back of my mind to guide me.” [Prayer Before Birth, Louis Macniece]
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Note: First posted November 24, 2014; this is another reblog during the time I’m away from my desk – as it happens I’m in Scotland, shadows of the ancestors appear in conscious awareness
POSTCARD#73: Delhi: The rain stops around 5am. It’s been going most of the night, rattling down on the atelier roof window. Pleasantly deafening… the novelty of it. Rain! So long since we’ve had rain – the hot season is coming to an end! It’s enough to just lie in bed and listen to it falling in great patterns of syncopated rhythm I feel must have had a beginning somewhere… drifting in and out of sleep until it stops. Stillness, the sense of a sailing ship becalmed. The feeling of the in-breath in the nasal cavities, allowing the universe to enter and pass through this sensory organism. The deep knowledge of it – awareness of these surroundings, these circumstances and this quiet state of at-ease alertness.
Daylight. Time to get up, bare feet on cool stone slabs: pita, pata, pit, pat, pata, pit, pit… stop and look out the window; everything is totally wet out there. Aware, suddenly, of cold feet, consciousness of a physical object, contact with the world. Aware of thought and aware of no-thought. Awareness of the cognitive function and waking up to this pastel coloured pinkish, grey-blue dawn light spreading through the rooms, along the corridor leading to the front and out through glass doors to the tiled patio, shiny with wetness… and up there, a silver sky. In the darkness of the room things slowly begin to be seen, and the memory of the night before returns; objects, a pen, a cup, papers scattered around, left in the position they were in, unmoved. Cup handle sticks out, waiting for fingers to come and hold it… a quiet presence. The silence of inanimate things, neutrality, accepting it all as it is, awareness of objects and non-objects, the motionless space where everything is situated, context and content, awareness of that which normally passes unseen.
Tall buildings all around us, standing there like huge objects placed in a vast landscape… the clouds above, layer upon layer up into the vaulted sky. Their shadows cast over our small house, single storied, old wood-frame windows, thatched structure on top, roof garden and trees at the door… as if we were in a mountain valley surrounded by tall cliffs and the sun reaches us for only a few hours a day. Our perception of the universe is as tiny as it is for micro-organisms that live at the bottom of the ocean, remotely aware that far above them the sun is shining. The slightest change in light conditions in that underwater glimmer, the smallest increase in light calibration enters consciousness and brings with it a great brilliance of illumination. They can contemplate being present to their cold darkness, knowing that this is not the only experience in the world because the sun is shining inside their heart.
“If you want to awaken all of humanity, then awaken all of yourself, if you want to eliminated the suffering in the world, then eliminate all that is dark and negative in yourself. Truly the greatest gift you have to give is that of your own self-transformation.” [Lao Tzu]
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Note: this post contains excerpts from an earlier post titled Spaciousness of Being. Image: Francisco de Zurbarán, Bodegón or Still Life with Pottery Jars, 1636
[The second part of last week’s reblogged post titled ‘Consciousness’ taken from a chapter in ‘Intuitive Awareness’ by Ajahn Sumedho]
Buddha-Dhamma, when you look at it, is not a cultural teaching. It’s not about Indian culture or civilization. It’s about the natural laws we live with, the arising and ceasing of phenomena. Dhamma teachings are pointing to the way things are – things that aren’t bound by cultural limitations. We talk about anicca, dukkha, anattā. That’s not Indian philosophy or culture; these are things to be realized. You are not operating from some basic belief system that’s cultural. The Buddha’s emphasis is on waking up, on paying attention rather than on grasping some doctrinal position. This is why many of us can relate to it, because we’re not trying to become Indians or convert to some religious doctrine that came out of India.
The Buddha awakened to the way it is, to the natural law. So, when we are exploring consciousness, these teachings like the five khandhas are skilful or expedient means in order to explore and examine our experience. They are not, ‘You have got to believe in the five khandhas and believe that there is no self. You cannot believe in God any more. To be a Buddhist you have to believe that there is no God.’ There are Buddhists who do have this mentality. They want to make doctrinal positions about being Buddhist. To me that teaching is not based on a doctrine, but on this encouragement to awaken. You are starting from here and now, from awakened attention rather than from trying to prove that the Buddha actually lived. Somebody might say, ‘Maybe there was never any Buddha; maybe it was just a myth,’ but it doesn’t matter because we don’t need to prove that Gotama Buddha actually lived; that’s not the issue. We are not trying to prove historical facts, but to recognize that what we are actually experiencing now is like this.
When we allow ourselves just to rest in conscious awareness, this is a natural state; it’s not created. It’s not a refined conditioning that we are after, where we are moving from coarser conditions to increasingly more refined ones, where we experience a bliss and tranquillity that comes from refining conscious experience. That is very dependent. This world, this conscious realm that we are a part of, includes the coarse and the refined.
This is not a refined realm that we are experiencing. In terms of human or planetary life, this is not a devaloka or a brahmaloka, those divine or highest celestial realms which are more refined. This is a coarse realm where we run the gamut from that which is coarse to that which is refined. We have got to deal with the realities of a physical body, which is quite a coarse condition. In deva realms they do not have physical bodies, they have ethereal ones. We would all like to have ethereal bodies, made out of ether rather than all these slimy things that go on inside our bodies – bones, pus and blood, all of these yucky conditions that we have to live with. To defecate every day – devatās don’t have to do things like that. Sometimes we like to create the illusion that we are devatās. We don’t like these functions; we like privacy. We don’t want people to notice, because the physical conditions that we are living with are actually pretty coarse. But consciousness includes all that, all the gradations from the coarse to the most refined.
Ajahn Sumedho
[The second part of last week’s reblogged post titled ‘Consciousness’ taken from a chapter in ‘Intuitive Awareness’ by Ajahn Sumedho]Buddha-Dhamma, when you look at it, is not a cultural teaching. It’s not about Indian culture or civilization. It’s about the natural laws we live with, the arising and ceasing of phenomena. Dhamma teachings are pointing to the way things are – things that aren’t bound by cultural limitations. We talk about anicca, dukkha, anattā. That’s not Indian philosophy or culture; these are things to be realized. You are not operating from some basic belief system that’s cultural. The Buddha’s emphasis is on waking up, on paying attention rather than on grasping some doctrinal position. This is why many of us can relate to it, because we’re not trying to become Indians or convert to some religious doctrine that came out of India.
The Buddha awakened to the way it is, to the natural law. So, when we are exploring consciousness, these teachings like the five khandhas are skilful or expedient means in order to explore and examine our experience. They are not, ‘You have got to believe in the five khandhas and believe that there is no self. You cannot believe in God any more. To be a Buddhist you have to believe that there is no God.’ There are Buddhists who do have this mentality. They want to make doctrinal positions about being Buddhist. To me that teaching is not based on a doctrine, but on this encouragement to awaken. You are starting from here and now, from awakened attention rather than from trying to prove that the Buddha actually lived. Somebody might say, ‘Maybe there was never any Buddha; maybe it was just a myth,’ but it doesn’t matter because we don’t need to prove that Gotama Buddha actually lived; that’s not the issue. We are not trying to prove historical facts, but to recognize that what we are actually experiencing now is like this.
When we allow ourselves just to rest in conscious awareness, this is a natural state; it’s not created. It’s not a refined conditioning that we are after, where we are moving from coarser conditions to increasingly more refined ones, where we experience a bliss and tranquillity that comes from refining conscious experience. That is very dependent. This world, this conscious realm that we are a part of, includes the coarse and the refined.
This is not a refined realm that we are experiencing. In terms of human or planetary life, this is not a devaloka or a brahmaloka, those divine or highest celestial realms which are more refined. This is a coarse realm where we run the gamut from that which is coarse to that which is refined. We have got to deal with the realities of a physical body, which is quite a coarse condition. In deva realms they do not have physical bodies, they have ethereal ones. We would all like to have ethereal bodies, made out of ether rather than all these slimy things that go on inside our bodies – bones, pus and blood, all of these yucky conditions that we have to live with. To defecate every day – devatās don’t have to do things like that. Sometimes we like to create the illusion that we are devatās. We don’t like these functions; we like privacy. We don’t want people to notice, because the physical conditions that we are living with are actually pretty coarse. But consciousness includes all that, all the gradations from the coarse to the most refined.
Another thing to notice is compulsive feelings of having to do something, having to get something that you don’t have, having to attain something or get rid of your defilements. When you’re trusting in ‘your real home’, then you can have perspective on this conditioning of the emotions. For example, we come from competitive goal-oriented societies, so we’re very much programmed to always feel that there is something that we have got to do. That we’re always lacking something and we have got to find out what it is, and we’ve got to get it. Or that we have got to get rid of our weaknesses, faults and bad habits. Notice that this attitude is just something that arises and ceases. It’s the competitive world, the world of a self.
We can always see ourselves in terms of what’s wrong with us as a person. As a person there are always so many flaws and inadequacies. There is no perfect personality that I have ever noticed. Personality is all over the place; some of it is all right and some of it is really wacky. There is no personality you can take refuge in. You are never going to make yourself into a perfect personality. So, when you are judging yourself on a personal level, there seem to be so many problems, inadequacies, flaws and weaknesses. Maybe you are comparing yourself to some ideal person, some unselfish and superlative personality. That which is aware of personality is not personal. You can be aware of the personality as a mental object. The conditions for personality arise and cease. Suddenly you can find yourself feeling very insecure or acting very childish because the conditions for that personality have arisen.
When my parents were alive, I went to stay with them for about three weeks, because they were really sick. I was abbot of Amaravati, a fifty-five-year-old Ajahn Sumedho going home and living in the same little house with my mother and father. It brought up all kinds of childish emotions, because the conditions were there for that. We were all born through our parents, and our memories and connections are from infancy onwards. A lot of the conditions that arise in families are conditions for feeling like a child again – even when you’re a fifty-five-year-old Buddhist monk and abbot of a monastery! [Note, at the time of publication Ajahn Sumedho is 89.] My mother and father would easily go back to seeing me as a child. Rationally they could see, ‘He’s a middle-aged man,’ but they would still sometimes act like I was their child. Then I would feel this rebelliousness and adolescent kind of resentment about being treated like a child. So don’t be surprised at some of the emotional states that arise. Throughout your life, as you get old, kamma ripens and then these conditions appear in consciousness. Don’t despair if you find yourself feeling very childish at fifty years old. Just be aware of that for what it is. It is what it is. The conditions for that particular emotion are present, so then it becomes conscious. Your refuge is in this awareness rather than in trying to make yourself into an ideal man or woman – mature, responsible, capable, successful, ‘normal’ and all the rest – these are the ideals.
Here at Amaravati, I am not looked at as a child. I’m the oldest person here! You may see me in terms of a father figure, because an old man like me brings out the sense of authority. I’m an authority figure, a patriarch, a father figure, a male figure – a grandfatherly figure to some of you. It’s interesting to see this state when the conditions are there. Rationally you can say, ‘He’s not my father,’ but emotionally you may feel like that, acting towards me like I’m a father. It’s an emotional habit. When the conditions for that kind of male authority figure are present, then this is what you are feeling, it’s like this. There is nothing wrong with it, just notice it’s the way it is. Trust your refuge in this awareness, not in some idea that you shouldn’t project fatherly images onto me, or that you shouldn’t feel disempowered by a male authority figure and things like this. If you feel disempowered by me, then simply recognize it as a condition that has arisen, rather than blaming me or blaming yourself, because then you are back into the world you are creating – your personal world – and believing in that as your reality.
I used to get really angry when women would get bossy. When any woman would show any kind of bossiness, I would feel rage. I wondered why even a tone of voice would make me so upset, why I could get so enraged over a bossy attitude. I could see it was like when I was a boy, trying to get my way against my mother. If that has not yet been fully resolved, if the conditions for that rage are present, then this is what will arise. It’s through “awareness of it that you resolve it. As you understand it and see it in terms of what it is, then you can resolve it or let it go, so that you are not just stuck with the same old reactions all the time.
Our refuge is in this awareness, rather than in trying to sustain refined experiences in consciousness as our refuge, because you can’t do that. Maybe you can learn to increase your experience of refinement through developing skilful means, but inevitably you have to allow the coarse to manifest, to be a part of your conscious experience. Resting in this conscious awareness is referred to as ‘coming home’ or ‘our real home.’ It’s a place to rest, a home. The idea of a home is a place where you belong. You are no longer a foreigner or an alien. You begin to recognize this through a sense of relief, of just being home at last, of not being a stranger, a wanderer out in the wilderness. Then the world of Ajahn Sumedho arises and it’s like I’m not at home anymore, because Ajahn Sumedho is an alien, a stranger. He never feels quite at home anywhere. Am I American now? Am I British or am I Thai? Where do I feel at home as Ajahn Sumedho? I don’t even know what nationality I am anymore, or where I feel most at home. I feel more at home here than in America because I’ve lived here for so long. In Thailand I feel at home because it’s a paradise for Buddhist monks and they treat you so well, but still you have to get visas and you’re always a phra farang (foreign monk). Here in England, no matter how many years I have lived here, to most people I am still an American. But when I go back to America, I don’t know what I am; people say: ‘You don’t look like an American anymore. You’ve got a funny accent; we don’t know where you are from!’ That’s the world that is created. When all that drops away, what’s left is our real home.
Continued same time next week. Note: I am still away from my desk and reblogging some older posts on the theme of consciousness
In terms of this moment, right now, this is consciousness. We are reading words on a page – pure consciousness before you start thinking. Just make a note of this: consciousness is like this. I am reading, I am with this present moment, being present, being here now. I’m taking the word consciousness and making a mental note: ‘consciousness is like this.’ It’s where thought, feeling and emotion arise. When we are unconscious, we don’t feel, we don’t think. Consciousness, then, is like the field that allows thought, memory, emotion and feeling to appear and disappear.
Consciousness is not personal. For something to become personal you have to make a claim to it: ‘I am a conscious person.’ But there’s just awareness, this entrance into noting the present, and at this moment consciousness is like this. Then one can notice the sound of silence, the sense of sustaining, being able to rest in a natural state of consciousness that is non-personal and non-attached. Noting this is like informing or educating oneself to the way it is. When we are born, consciousness within this separate form starts operating. A new-born baby is conscious, yet it doesn’t have a concept of itself being male or female or anything like that. Those are conditions we acquire after birth.
This is a conscious realm. We might think of a universal consciousness, and consciousness as it is used in the five khandhas: rūpa (form), vedanā (feeling), saññā (perception), saṅkhārā (mental formations), and viññāṇa sense-consciousness). But there is also this consciousness which is unattached, unlimited, Deathless. In two places in the Tipiṭaka, there is reference to viññāṇaṁ anidassanaṁ anantaṁ sabbato pabhaṁ – a mouthful of words that point to this state of natural consciousness, this reality. For myself, I find it very useful to clearly note: ‘Consciousness is like this.’ If I start thinking about it, then I want to define it: ‘Is there an immortal consciousness?’ Or we want to make it into a metaphysical doctrine or just deny it, saying, ‘Consciousness is anicca, dukkha, anattā.’ We want to pin it down or define it either as impermanent, unsatisfactory and not-self, or raise it up as something we hold to as a metaphysical position. But we are not interested in proclaiming metaphysical doctrines, or in limiting ourselves to an interpretation that we may have acquired through this tradition. Instead, we are trying to explore consciousness in terms of experience. This is Ajahn Chah’s pen paccattaṁ – that is, ‘something that you realize for yourself.’ What I am saying now is an exploration. I’m not trying to convince you or convert you to ‘my viewpoint.’
Consciousness is like this. Right now, there is definitely consciousness. There is alertness and awareness. Then conditions arise and cease. If you sustain and rest in consciousness, unattached, not trying to do anything, find anything or become anything, but just relax and trust, then things arise. Suddenly you may be aware of a physical feeling, a memory or an emotion. That memory or sensation becomes conscious, then it ceases. Consciousness is like a vehicle; it’s the way things are.
Is consciousness something to do with the brain? We tend to think of it as some kind of mental state that depends on the brain. The attitude of Western scientists is that consciousness is in the brain. But the more you explore it with sati-sampajañña, you see that the brain, the nervous system, the whole psychophysical formation arises in this consciousness; it is imbued with this consciousness. That is why we can be aware of the body and reflect on the four postures – sitting, standing, walking and lying down. Being aware of the body’s posture as it is being experienced now, you are not limited to something that is in the brain, but the body is in consciousness. You are aware of the whole body in the position it’s in at this moment.
This consciousness is not personal. It’s not consciousness in my head and then consciousness in your head. Each of us has our own conscious experience going on. But is this consciousness the thing that unites us? Is it our ‘oneness’? I’m just questioning; there are different ways of looking at it. When we let go of the differences – ‘I am Ajahn Sumedho and you are this person’ – when we let go of these identities and attachments, then consciousness is still functioning. It’s pure. It has no quality of being personal, and no condition of being male or female. You can’t put a quality into it. It’s like this.
When we begin to recognize that which binds us together, that our common ground is consciousness, then we see this is universal. When we spread mettā to a billion Chinese over in China, maybe it’s not just sentimentality and nice thoughts, maybe there is power there. I don’t know myself; I am questioning. I am not going to limit myself to a particular viewpoint that has been conditioned by my cultural background, because most of that is pretty flawed anyway. I do not find my cultural conditioning very dependable. Sometimes Theravada Buddhism can come across as annihilationism. You get into this ‘no soul, no God, no self’ fixation, this attachment to a view. Or are the Buddha’s teachings there to be investigated and explored? We are not trying to confirm somebody’s view about the Pali Canon, but rather we use the Pali Canon to explore our own experience. It’s a different way of looking at it. If we investigate this a lot, we begin to see the difference between pure consciousness and when self arises. It’s not hazy or fuzzy, ‘Is there Self now?’ It’s a clear knowing. So, then the self arises. I start thinking about myself, my feelings, my memories, my past, my fears and desires, and the whole world arises around ‘Ajahn Sumedho.’ It takes off into orbit – my views, my feelings and my opinions. I can get caught into that world, that view of ‘me’ that arises in consciousness. But if I know that, then my refuge is no longer in being a person, I’m not taking refuge in being a personality or my views and opinions. Then I can let go; the world of Ajahn Sumedho ends. When the world ends, what remains is the anidassana viññāṇa – this primal, non-discriminative consciousness. It’s still operating. It doesn’t mean Ajahn Sumedho dies and the world ends, or that I’m unconscious. Talking about the end of the world, I remember somebody getting very frightened by this, saying, ‘Buddhists are just practising meditation to see the end of the world. They really want to destroy the world. They hate the world and they want to see it end’ – this kind of panic reaction. To us the world is seen in physical terms – this planet, the world of continents and oceans, North Pole and South Pole. But in Buddha-Dhamma, the ‘world’ is the world we create in consciousness. That’s why we can be living in different worlds. The world of Ajahn Sumedho is not going to be the same as the world you create, but that world arises and ceases. That which is aware of the world arising and ceasing transcends the world. It’s lokuttara, transcendent, rather than lokiya, worldly. When we are born into physical birth, we have consciousness within a separate form. This point of consciousness starts operating, and then we acquire the sense of ourselves through our mothers and fathers and cultural background. We acquire different values or sense of ourself as a person that’s based on avijjā, not on Dhamma – based on views, opinions and preferences that cultures have. That’s why there can be endless problems around different cultural attitudes. As with living in a multicultural community like this monastery is, it’s easy to misunderstand each other because we’re conditioned in different ways of looking at ourselves and the world around us. But remember that cultural conditioning comes out of avijjā, ignorance of Dhamma. So, what we are doing now is informing consciousness with paññā – which is a universal wisdom rather than a cultural philosophy.
Continued same time next week Editor’s note: I’m away from my desk until 14 August, visiting family in Scotland. I’ve set it up so the posts will continue on the usual dates, hopefully.
The word atammayata literally means ‘not made of that.’ It can also be rendered as ‘non-identification,’ focusing on the subject side of the equation. Other translators have it as ‘non-fashioning’ or ‘unconcoctability’ – thus hinting more at the object dimension of it. Either way, it refers primarily to the quality of experience prior to, or without, a subject/object duality arising. This insight leads us into a contemplation of the relationship of the apparent subject and object – how the tension between the two generates the world of things and its experiencer, and more importantly how, when that duality is seen through, the heart’s liberation is the result.
“In the seen there is only the seen, in the heard, there is only the heard, in the sensed there is only the sensed, in the cognized there is only the cognized: This, Bahiya, is how you should train yourself.”
“When, Bahiya, there is for you in the seen only the seen, in the heard, only the heard, in the sensed only the sensed, in the cognized only the cognized, then, Bahiya, there is no ‘you’ in connection with that. When, Bahiya, there is no ‘you’ in connection with that, there is no ‘you’ there. When, Bahiya, there is no ‘you’ there, then, Bahiya, you are neither here nor there nor in between the two. This, just this, is the end of suffering.” [ ~Ud 1.10]
In more recent times, Ajahn Buddhadasa outlined three qualities which describe the upper reaches of spiritual refinement: sunnata– voidness or emptiness; tathata – thusness or suchness; atammayata – nonidentification or ‘not-thatness. When the qualities of emptiness and suchness are considered, even though the conceit of identity (self) might already have been seen through, there can still remain subtle traces of clinging; clinging to the idea of an objective world being known by a subjective knowing even though no sense of ‘I’ is discernible at all. There can be the feeling of a ‘this’ which is knowing a ‘that,’ and either saying “Yes” to it, in the case of suchness, or “No” in the case of emptiness. Atammayata is the closure of that whole domain, expressing the insight that “there is no ‘that.” It is the genuine collapse of both the illusion of separateness of subject and object and also of the discrimination between phenomena as being somehow substantially different from each other.
The ninth of the Ten Fetters is uddhacca – restlessness. The restlessness to which this refers is the subtlest of feelings that there might be something better over there or just in the future; a feeling that ‘that’ (which is out of reach) might have more value in some way than ‘this.’ It is the ever-so-insidious addiction to time and its promises. Atammayata is the utter abandonment of this root delusion: one sees that in ultimate truth there is no time, no self, no here and no there. So rather than “Be here now” as a spiritual exhortation, perhaps instead we should say: “Let go of identity, space and time,” or: “Realize unlocated, timeless selflessness.”
6.4) [I]n the Vedanta … to be wholly and exclusively aware of Brahman (Hindu Godhead) was at the same time to be Brahman… The origins of this idea seem to lie in a theory of sense perception in which the grasping hand supplies a dominant analogy. It takes the shape of what it apprehends. Vision was similarly explained: the eye sends out some kind of ray which takes the shape of what we see and comes back with it. Similarly thought: a thought conforms to its object. This idea is encapsulated in the term tanmayata, ‘consisting of that’: that the thought of the gnostic or meditator becomes con-substantial with the thing realized. ~ Richard Gombrich, ‘Metaphor, Allegory, Satire,’ in ‘How Buddhism Began: The Conditioned Genesis of the Early Teachings,’ pp 86-7 That is to say, with the opposite quality, a-tammayata, the mind’s ‘energy’ does not go out to the object and occupy it. It neither makes an objective ‘thing’ or a subjective ‘observer’ knowing it; hence ‘non-identification’ refers to the subjective aspect and ‘non-fabrication’ mostly to the objective.
The reader should also carefully bear in mind the words “The origins of this idea…” and not take the Vedic concept and imagery as representing the Buddhist use of the word entirely accurately. In the state of atammayata, in its Buddhist usage, there is no actual ‘becoming con-substantial’ with the thing that is being known; it is more that the deluded identification of the mind with the object is being dispelled (see also §6.7)
One helpful way of understanding atammayata’s role and significance is to relate it to the other two items in the final triad of the nine insights as outlined by Ajahn Buddhadasa. These three qualities describe the upper reaches of spiritual refinement: sunnata – voidness or emptiness; tathata – thusness or suchness; atammayata – nonidentification or ‘not-thatness.’ The three qualities speak to the nature of experience when many of the coarser defilements have fallen away. When the qualities of emptiness and suchness are considered, even though the conceit of identity might already have been seen through, there can still remain subtle traces of clinging; clinging to the idea of an objective world being known by a subjective knowing even though no sense of “I” is discernible at all.
There can be the feeling of a ‘this’ which is knowing a ‘that,’ and either saying “Yes” to it, in the case of suchness, or “No” in the case of emptiness. Atammayata is the closure of that whole domain, expressing the insight that “There is no ‘that.'” It is the genuine collapse of both the illusion of separateness of subject and object and also of the discrimination between phenomena as being somehow substantially different from each other.
Perhaps one of the simplest, clearest and most practical expressions of the principle of atammayata – ‘not-made-of-that-ness’ – has come down to us from the teachings of Luang Pu Dun, a direct disciple of Ven. Ajahn Mun and one of the great lights of Dhamma in Asia in recent years. Here is his reformulation of the 117 Four Noble Truths, based on the depiction of ignorance (avijja) as the fundamental error of the mind attempting to ‘go out’ and pursue ‘thatness’ in the form of perceptions, feelings and ideas. In reflecting on these four formulae, it might be helpful to recollect the analogy of the grasping hand, mentioned in §6.4, reaching out to become con-substantial with its object and then returning with it. 6.6)
The mind that goes out in order to satisfy its moods is the Cause of Suffering (II); The result that comes from the mind going out in order to satisfy its moods is Suffering (I); The mind seeing the mind clearly is the Path Leading to the Cessation of Suffering (IV); The result of the mind seeing the mind clearly is the Cessation of Suffering (III).
~ Luang Pu Dun, ‘Atulo,‘ collected teachings compiled by Phra Bodhinandamuni
Selected excerpts from “The Island: An Anthology of the Buddha’s Teachings on Nibbana” by Ajahn Amaro and Ajahn Pasanno.
One of the most subtle and invaluable aspects of the Buddha’s teaching is the way in which it illuminates the conundrum of selfhood, together with its treatment of the age-old questions of being and non-being, existence and non-existence. The main thrust of the Buddha’s insight into this area is hinted at by the title of this chapter; that is to say, much of the confusion and strife in the conceptual realm over these issues seems to have come from asking the wrong questions – questions based on axioms and unconscious presuppositions which do not accord with reality. If one adopts the world view embedded in the wording of such biased questions, then no response which accords with reality can come forth.
Central to the path of insight into this area is a recognition that the sense of self is a conditioned, natural quality. Neither eternally self-existent nor essentially non-existent, it arises and passes away dependent on causes and conditions. 5.2) “Bhikkhu, ‘I am’ is a conceiving; ‘I am this’ is a conceiving; ‘I shall be’ is a conceiving; ‘I shall not be’ is a conceiving; ‘I shall be possessed of form’ is a conceiving; ‘I shall be formless’ is a conceiving; ‘I shall be percipient’ is a conceiving; ‘I shall be non-percipient’ is a conceiving. Conceiving is a disease, conceiving is a tumour, conceiving is a barb. By overcoming all conceivings, bhikkhu, one is called a sage at peace. And the sage at peace is not born, does not age, does not die; they are not shaken and are not agitated. For there is nothing present in them by which they might be born. Not being born, how could they age? Not ageing, how could they die? Not dying, how could they be shaken? Not being shaken, why should they be agitated?” ~M 140.31
There is some controversy as to the view tentatively expressed by Acariya Buddhaghosa in the ‘Visuddhimagga’ that the dependent origination teachings can refer to both the microcosm of the present moment and present life, and the macrocosm of the span of several lives [Note: this is a subject we can examine some other time… let’s return to the present discussion.]
“5.11) Now the Ven. Sariputta went to visit the Blessed One… As he sat at one side the Blessed One said this to him:
“Sariputta, you must train yourself thus: In this body together with its consciousness, there shall be no notion of ‘I’ and ‘mine,’ no tendency to conceit. Likewise in all external objects there shall be no such notion or tendency. We will abide in the attainment of the heart’s release, the release through insight, so that we have no notion of ‘I’ and ‘mine,’ no tendency to conceit. That is how you must train yourselves. “Insofar as a bhikkhu has no such notions, no such tendency… and abides in such attainment… he is called ‘A bhikkhu who has cut off craving, broken the bond: one who, by perfect comprehension of conceit, has made an end of dukkha.’ “Moreover, in this connection, Sariputta, I spoke thus in the chapter on The Goal in (the sutta called) The Questions of Udaya: “The abandoning of lust and grief, both these, and sloth’s destruction too, restraint of mental restlessness “and pure tranquility of mind, the equipoise of wholesome thought these I call ‘Release by knowledge’ and ‘The breaking up of ignorance.'” ~ A 3.32
Or the conceits of identity can be quite clumsy and coarse: 5.12) “People get stuck on ‘this was made by me,’ equally they attach to ‘made by someone else.’ Those who haven’t seen this, don’t know it as a barb. 91 “One who truly sees it, has taken out the hook, ‘I do this,’ doesn’t rise in them; nor ‘Another does…’ “Humanity is possessed by conceit – fettered, bound by it and spiteful speech spews from their views: “they don’t escape samsara.” ~Ud6.6 5.13) “This is how they attend unwisely: ‘Was I in the past? Was I not in the past? What was I in the past? How was I in the past? Having been what, what did I become in the past? Shall I be in the future? Shall I not be in the future? What shall I be in the future? How shall I be in the future? Having been what, what shall I become in the future?’ Or else they are inwardly perplexed about the present thus: ‘Am I? Am I not? What am I? How am I? Where has this being come from? Where will it go?’ “When they attend unwisely in this way, one of six views arises in them. The view ‘self exists for me’ arises in them as true and established; […] or else they have some such view as this: ‘It is this self of mine that speaks and feels and experiences here and there the result of good and bad actions; but this self of mine is permanent, everlasting, eternal, not subject to change, and it will endure as long as eternity.’ These speculative views, bhikkhus, are called the thicket of views, the wilderness of views, the contortion of views, the vacillation of views, the fetter of views. Fettered by the fetter of views, the untaught ordinary person is not freed from birth, ageing, and death, from sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair; they are not freed from suffering, I say.” ~ M 2.7-8 92
Sometimes the Buddha responded to suchlike dilemmas and confusions with careful explanations – e.g., the exquisitely framed example at §11.2 On other occasions his response was silence, but perhaps just as explicit: 5.14)
The wanderer Vacchagotta approached the Blessed One… and said to him: “How is it, Master Gotama, is there a self?” When this was said, the Blessed One was silent. “Then, Master Gotama, is there no self?” A second time the Blessed One was silent. Then the wanderer Vacchagotta rose from his seat and departed. Not long after the wanderer Vacchagotta had left, the Venerable Ananda said to the Blessed One: “Why is it, venerable sir, that when the Blessed One was questioned by the wanderer Vacchagotta, he did not answer?” “If, Ananda, when I was asked by the wanderer Vacchagotta, ‘Is there a self?’ I had answered, ‘There is a self,’ this would have been siding with those samanas and brahmins who are eternalists. And if, when I was asked by him, ‘Is there no self?’ I had answered, ‘There is no self,’ this would have been siding with those samanas and brahmins who are annihilationists. “If, Ananda, when I was asked by the wanderer Vacchagotta, ‘Is there a self?’ I had answered, ‘There is a self,’ would this have been consistent on my part with the arising of the knowledge that ‘all phenomena are not-self?'” “No, venerable sir.” “if, when I was asked by him, ‘Is there no self?’ I had answered, ‘There is no self,’ the wanderer Vacchagotta, already confused, would have fallen into even greater confusion, thinking, ‘It seems that the self I formerly had does not exist now.'” ~S 44.10
In the very first discourse of the Middle Length collection, the Mulapariyaya Sutta, ‘The Root of All Things,’ the Buddha makes “a very thorough analysis of this error of conceit. He begins: 93 5.15) “Here, bhikkhus, an untaught ordinary person, who has no regard for noble ones and is unskilled and undisciplined in their Dhamma, perceives earth as earth. Having perceived earth as earth, such a one conceives [themself as] earth, they conceive [themselves] in earth, they conceive [themselves apart] from earth, they conceive earth to be ‘mine,’ they delight in earth. Why is that? Because they have not fully understood it, I say… He then continues the theme, applying it to the rest of the Four Elements, through ‘beings,’ ‘gods,’ ‘Pajapati,’ the Brahma gods of the Abhassara, Subhakinna. and Vehapphala realms (representing the second, third and fourth jhanas), the ‘Overlord’ (Abhibhu), the realms of the four formless jhanas, the ‘seen,’ the ‘heard,’ the ‘sensed,’ the ‘cognized,’ finally reaching ‘unity,’ ‘diversity’ and then, to complete the picture: “They perceive All as All. Having perceived All as All, they conceive [themselves as] All, they conceive [themselves] in All, they conceive [themselves apart] from All, they conceive All to be ‘mine,’ they delight in All. Why is that? Because they have not fully understood it, I say. “They perceive Nibbana as Nibbana. Having perceived Nibbana as Nibbana, they conceive [themselves as] Nibbana, they conceive [themselves] in Nibbana, they conceive [themselves apart] from Nibbana, they conceive Nibbana to be ‘mine,’ they delight in Nibbana. Why is that? Because they have not fully understood it, I say…” The Buddha then goes on to repeat the entire pattern seven times … He concludes with: “Bhikkhus, the Tathagata, accomplished and fully enlightened, directly knows earth as earth. Having directly known earth as “earth, he does not conceive [himself as] earth, he does not conceive [himself] in earth, he does not conceive [himself apart] from earth, he does not conceive earth to be ‘mine,’ he does not delight in earth. Why is that? Because he has understood that delight is the root of suffering, and that with being [as condition] there is birth and that for whatever has come to be there is ageing and death. Therefore, bhikkhus, through the complete 9i destruction, fading away, cessation, giving up and relinquishing of cravings, the Tathagata has awakened to supreme, full enlightenment, I say.” “He directly knows water as water… the All as All… Nibbana as Nibbana, he does not conceive [himself as] Nibbana, he does not conceive [himself] in Nibbana, he does not conceive [himself] apart [or coming] from Nibbana, he does not conceive Nibbana to be ‘mine,’ he does not delight in Nibbana. Why is that? Because he has understood that delight is the root of suffering, and that with being [as condition] there is birth and that for whatever has come to be there is ageing and death. Therefore, bhikkhus, through the complete destruction, fading away, cessation, giving up and relinquishing of cravings, the Tathagata has awakened to supreme, full enlightenment, I say.” ~M 1.3-194 (abridged)
Here are a few selected excerpts from “The Island: An Anthology of the Buddha’s Teachings on Nibbana” by Ajahn Amaro and Ajahn Pasanno.
We often feel that there is a me in here that’s experiencing a world out there, and we can even experience thoughts and feelings as part of the world that ‘I’ am aware of. However, one of the most profound and liberating insights of the Buddha was that the feeling of I-ness (ahamkara) was just as much of a causally created construct as any other perceptual object. He saw that the solidity of the world of things, and of the ‘I’ that apparently experiences them, were both equally illusory, both void of substance.
This insight leads us into a contemplation of the relationship of the apparent subject and object – how the tension between the two generates the world of things and its experience and more importantly how, when that duality is seen through, the heart’s liberation is the result.
Probably the clearest and most often quoted of the Buddha’s teachings on this is that given to a wanderer called Bahiya Daruciriya. According to the scriptures, Bahiya was a well-respected religious teacher who lived in northern India, somewhere on the seacoast. He was an ascetic of some spiritual accomplishment and he assumed that he was a fully enlightened being. One night a devata, who had been a relative of his in a former life, came to him and informed him that: “No, you are not an arahant and you are not on the way to becoming one either.” Bahiya was disturbed by this announcement and asked then, if there were any genuine arahants in the world. He was told: “Yes indeed,” and his celestial visitor described both the Buddha and where he was residing. Bahiya is said to have started the walk of several hundred miles then and there. Some days later, having reached the district capital of Savatthi, he encountered the Buddha and a group of his monks as they walked on their morning alms round through the narrow, dusty streets of the town. He strode right up and bowed before the Buddha, stopping him in his tracks – and asked to receive teachings on the Dhamma. The Buddha pointed out that this was not a convenient time to teach him, as they were in the middle of collecting their alms food and around them was all the surge and bustle of an Indian market town at the start of the day; however Bahiya was undeterred and responded by saying “Life is a very uncertain thing, venerable sir, it is unknown when either you or I might die, please therefore teach me the Dhamma here and now.” As often occurs in Buddhist scriptures, this exchange was repeated three times. Finally, both because the Buddha could see the truth of Bahiya’s assertion (he himself regularly used the fact of such uncertainty in encouraging a sense of urgency in his students) and because when pressed up to the third time on any question a Buddha has to respond, he then relented and gave Bahiya this brief but pithy teaching: “In the seen there is only the seen, In the heard, there is only the heard, in the sensed there is only the sensed, in the cognized there is only the cognized: This, Bahiya, is how you should train yourself. When, Bahiya, there is for you in the seen only the seen, in the heard, only the heard, in the sensed only the sensed, in the cognized only the cognized, then, Bahiya, there is no ‘you’ in connection with that. When, Bahiya, there is no ‘you’ in connection with that, there is no ‘you’ there. When, Bahiya, there is no ‘you’ there, then, Bahiya, you are neither here nor there nor in between the two. This, just this, is the end of suffering.” Bahiya realized full enlightenment even as he heard the few words of this teaching, kneeling in the dust and clamour of Savatthi that morning; and furthermore, true to his own sense of the fragile nature of existence, moments later he was impaled by a runaway cow and breathed his last.
It was customary of the Budd ha to honour those of his disciples who excelled in particular ways, for example: Sariputta was declared by him to be the keenest in wisdom, Dhammadinna as the nun most skilled in expounding on the Dhamma – and to Bahiya he (posthumously) accorded the honour of being the one to gain the swiftest full understanding of his teaching.
This instruction to Bahiya bears a close relation to the Kalaka.ra.ma Sutta, A 4.24, (at §6.8) and is well worth contemplating in connection with that teaching. In addition, this discourse to Bahiya, particularly in its references to non-locality, is comparable to Ud 8.1 (at §9-2), while it also has resonances with the brief comment made by Ajahn Maha Boowa, included at §9-1. This abandonment of subject/object dualities is largely contingent upon the correct apprehension of the perceptual process, and thus the breaking down of the apparent inside/outside dichotomy of the observer and the observed. A bhikkhu should so investigate that, as he investigates, his consciousness is not distracted and diffused externally, and internally is not fixed, and by not grasping anything he should remain undisturbed. If his consciousness is… undisturbed, then there is no coming into existence of birth, ageing, death and suffering. ~ Iti 94 This passage is comparable to one spoken in reference to the nun Jatila Bhagika, A 9-37, (included at §7.7). It is also reminiscent of the following commentary on a sutra of the Northern Buddhist tradition, given by a contemporary meditation master and scholar.
3.8) Using your inherent wisdom, observe inwardly the mind and body and outwardly the world. Completely understand both, as you would look through a pane of glass: from the outside seeing in and from the inside seeing out. Inwardly, there is no body and mind, and, outwardly, there is no world. But, although there is no body nor mind nor world, the body and mind and the world function in accord with one another. Although they function together, they are not attached to one another. This is called, “recognizing your own original mind.” The original self-nature, the true mind, clearly penetrates within and without. The recognition of your original mind is liberation. When you are not attached to sense objects or false thought, you obtain liberation. ~ Master Hsiian Hua, ‘The Sixth Patriarch’s Dharma Jewel Platform Sutra,’ p149.
A spectacularly thorough analysis of the perceptual process and the inability to find oneself anywhere within it (as demonstrated in the brief teaching to Bahiya) is to be found in the Surangama Sutra, a key text on meditation for the Ch’an school of China. This passage revolves around the Buddha’s pressing of Ananda, his closest disciple and ever-watchful attendant, to describe exactly where his mind is: 3.9)“It is the fault of your mind and eyes that you flow and turn. I am now asking you specifically about your mind and eyes: where are they now?” ~ The SMrangama Sutra, 1.169, p7 (BTTS 2003 edn).The investigation is scrupulous in the extreme, with the trusty Ananda repeatedly being confounded by the Buddha’s wisdom – as he regularly was. Every nuance of object, sense organ and sense consciousness, every possible dimension of subject and object, are explored and demonstrated to be no abiding place for an independent identity. At its conclusion the analysis arrives at the same conclusion as the teaching to Bahiya: any clinging whatsoever to this/that, here/there, subject/object, inside/outside or anything in between is synonymous with dukkha; abandon such clinging and dukkha necessarily ceases.
"To me, photography is an art of observation. It’s about finding something interesting in an ordinary place. . . I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them." – Elliott Erwin (Documentary photographer)
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