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.

Continued next week: 10 July 2025

Selected excerpts from “Kamma and the end of Kamma” by Ajahn Sucitto

Kalyāṇamitta is the Buddhist concept of “admirable friendship” within community life, applicable to both monastic and householder relationships. One involved in such a relationship is known as a “good friend”, “virtuous friend”, “noble friend” or “admirable friend” (kalyāṇa-mitta, -mitra)

Kalyāṇamitta as a Practice

The direct practice of kalyāṇamitta begins with finding someone who models stability, empathy and clarity. A person who does more than say some well-meaning things, but also has the capacity to listen deeply without getting fazed or reactive. If you resonate with such a person, other qualities flow on: you meet, take in and feel the gist of what the speaker is saying. There is a non-attached engagement. Sometimes this is all that’s needed: to be able to speak, be heard and give deep attention to what occurred as one spoke. A kalyāṇamitta may or may not act as a teacher, but in any case, has the respect to not barge in with lectures and ‘what you need to do is …’ This is because a true kalyāṇamitta understands that the citta can only learn from its own deep attention; that the purpose of wise companionship is to help us to listen to ourselves with dispassion. Kalyāṇamitta is thus about encouraging the Dhamma that’s ‘knowable in oneself’ (paccataṃ) and not about giving lectures.[48]

The trust of another helps us to learn to trust our own capacities. It is an act of faith. Otherwise, becoming and conceit come up with the assumption that there’s something wrong with ‘me’, and I have to do something to make myself other than I am. This self-view can’t succeed. But clearing ignorance and imbalance “doesn’t happen through simply affirming that ‘there’s nothing wrong with me.’ That’s just another self-view. Moreover, conceiving based on fortunate states such as ‘I am a genius/enlightened’ keeps needing more of the affirmation, approval or adoration of others. That’s also imbalanced. Clearing these imbalances only comes through suspending the assumption ‘I am’ for a while, and giving deep attention to qualities and energies that cause or release stress. So, if you want to be a true Dhamma friend to another, encourage this – and model it.

As heart-energy settles, you can extend the quality of that trust and benevolent intent into all the tissues and structures of the body; then extend that into the space around you: ‘May all this be free from harm or stress.’ You can then more specifically extend that to impressions of other people, especially those who mean a lot to you, both good and bad: either friends, or people you have difficulties with. Through meeting the qualities that come up as you attend to self and others, you cultivate value; you appreciate, release and forgive.

The mind that looks out from that fullness of heart can also inquire into any conceit, any notion of ‘I am this’, ‘she is that’. Is the president that commanding entity that we like or dislike when he or she is asleep, or sick? How would we see them if they lost a child? Who is the comedian when they’re in deep stress about their mother’s dementia? How evil is the criminal who acted like that because they were abused by their parents, had little education and felt left behind by the mainstream of society? And, to bring the focus back home, when the mind/heart is conceiving people in critical or stereotyped ways, how deep is the attention?

If we’re brooding over the faults of others, the heart is constricted and it can’t access the energy that supports full awareness. If there is a negative conceit, our hearts narrow and close down. On the other hand, a conceiving that blindly adores other people reduces discernment and sets us up for wanting more contact with the one who will make life perfect. Then again, we may indeed wish to avoid relationship altogether – but that sets up another negative relational quality. After all, we do share the planet with seven billion (and rising) other humans, and there’s only so many dogs, mountain tops and computer games from which you can derive a comfortable relational experience before there are problems with the neighbours, with the weather and with your own mind. The good times alone won’t set you free. What is needed?

A Mutual Life

Any self-view needs some solid ground, some ideological viewpoint or fixed mood or context to stand on; it craves solidity in what changes. And what is the success rate of that search? Do you ever get five stars? Does anyone? Is there such a thing as a self that has become solid? And yet is any self contented with being an ever-changing flow of qualities? The only free space and open ground is in the heart that knows letting go.

What hinders access to that are fetters (saṃyojana) that form a self, where there are only changeable qualities. These fetters come in clusters, of which the first three – ‘personality (or ‘self’) view’ (sakkāya-diṭṭhi), ‘uncertainty’ (vicikiccā) and ‘fixation on systems and customs’ (sīlabbattapāramāsa) – bind the heart to personhood. And personhood is insecure. That is, our personality arises dependent on social interactions that are always subject to change, so we can never guarantee that we’ll arrive at a comfortable and approved-of state in the future. Hence uncertainty and anxiety arise – so, to make our lives predictably “steady, we grab hold of socially-approved systems and customs. The result of this tangle is stress – because all conditions change.

In terms of Dhamma practice, these fetters bring around clinging to the neat structure of one’s ideas rather than penetrating the nature of thought and concepts. This provides the individual with an intellectual standpoint, but far from releasing the mind, it limits the Dhamma to that person’s opinions. If, on the other hand, we disengage from trains of thought and attend to thinking as a process, we notice that ideas dazzle and stir the mind; they are attractive and they do give rise to a sense of certainty – but in themselves they come and go. They only provide certainty if they’re held onto – and that both generates conflict in those who have other ideas, and tightens energy in the head. In the grip of ideas, people can get dogmatic and generally obnoxious.

A deeper sense of confidence in the Dhamma arises through seeing things as they are; that they arise and pass into something wordless and open. Since that experience is peaceful, the restrictive and constructed nature of conceptual experience loses its attraction. Thus, there can be a letting go of fixed positions, and the arising of harmony and balance.

The search for a secure standpoint for the self is also the drive behind bonding to systems and customs. We get to know the ‘right way’ of doing things, and even of practising Dhamma, and the mind hangs onto it and looks down on others. The ‘right way’ is the way I see things; it’s the proper, fair and effective system or custom according to my conditioning – and there’s a self-view in that. This view doesn’t always stand out; it’s not as if we are mentally intoning ‘mine, me, this is my self.’ In fact, it’s often the opposite: as Buddhists, we think: ‘this is not “me” or “mine” – but things should be this way, this is right.’ This is because the way things should be, or seem to be, qualifies how I sense myself – as in touch with the truth or on the winning team. If I uphold that ‘right way’, then I gain value. I may even gain others’ respect by sacrificing my apparent self for the sake of the ideals that I have projected onto the group. But we can get attached to that self-denial view, and then feel affronted when others aren’t as heroic. ‘How come she’s so laid-back and finding it all so easy!’ ‘Why isn’t he practising as intensely as I am!’

For example, from time to time we have people in the monastery who are very diligent in the meditation hall … but difficult to work with in the kitchen because they have to have things done their way. That’s not right, is it? Yet generally their actions are based on what they find to be the most efficient way of operating in order to provide food for the community. So that sounds right. … Then maybe someone talks during times of silence … which is wrong! But they felt that someone needed some contact, or that some light-heartedness was good medicine. … Action based on compassion sounds like a wise point of view – right? Then someone wants to sit when it’s walking time, walk when it’s a sitting. … Maybe that’s what’s right for them. But we might feel: ‘We had an agreement to operate in a certain way to strengthen the group resolve and minimize disturbance, and people are expected to let go of their personal perspectives.’ That’s right too! ‘Right’ carries a very powerful energy, doesn’t it? You can get really convinced and really angry with ‘right’! But when that righteousness rushes in, notice the loss of groundedness, empathy and clarity. We swap relating to our fellow-humans for clinging to views.

Now I’m not saying that matters of behaviour aren’t to be addressed; that’s one of the values of spiritual friendship. But it’s the values of integrity and empathy that have to be steadily practised, not clinging to ‘law and order’. Nor is this about understanding others, or being understood by others: that also is an impossible wish. No one can view another’s kammically conditioned mind-set; it’s difficult enough to get some insight into one’s own. The correct approach is to replace these aspects of self-view with a mutual exploration of what arises in any situation or with any intention. This is right view: it rules out proliferating over a specific piece of behaviour and turning it into the view that ‘only this is right,’ or ‘she’s one of those, or ‘if I follow the rules I’ll be safe and no-one will find fault with me.’ Not so: the fault-finding mind will object to your smile, or to what you didn’t say, or to your non-smile. Believe me, it happens!

All of us like to have things go ‘my way’ because we know how to operate within those parameters. But that isn’t going to get us out of our habits and kammic programs. Sooner or later people and events won’t follow ‘my way’; so, the unawakened mind feels disoriented; then latent ill-will arises, to flavour the heart with blaming ourselves, others, the leader, the past – and so on. Therefore, we practise kalyāṇamitta and develop trust. Otherwise, we can’t get past our attachment to our position, or certainty, or being in control. The heart contracts and clamps down, and the end result is the proliferating program of ‘should be’, which leads to frustration, irritation – and views about self and other.

To be continued