The Art Of Dying     “ú–{Œê@‘Ζó@

 

 

Dedication 

Preface  

About S.N. Goenka 

The Passing of the Day 

About This Book 

About Vipassana Meditation

 

My Motherfs Death in Dhamma

The Buddhafs Wisdom 

As It Was / As It Is  

Grahamfs Death   @@@@Graham Gambie@@ Anne Doneman

 

What Happens at Death   -  S.N. Goenka 

Paicca Samuppāda—The Law of Dependent Origination     - S.N. Goenka

Tara Jadhav: An Exemplary Death                        - S.N. Goenka

 

Questions to Goenkaji I  @           Supporting Loved Ones at the Time of  Death

Susan Babbitt: Only the Present Moment  -   Virginia  Hamilton

Kamma—The  Real Inheritance           -   S.N.  Goenka

Smiling All the Way to Death: Rodney Bernier - Evie Chauncey

 

Questions to Goenkaji II               Preparing for Our Own Deaths 

A Life and Death in Dhamma: Ratilal Mehta@        -  Vipassana Newsletter

Equanimity in the Face of Terminal Illness: Parvathamma Adaviappa     S. Adaviappa 

The Flood of Tears                      C.A.F.  Rhys Davids 

 

The Deaths of Our Children                                                 

An Invaluable Gift                                - Gabriela Ionita     

Undying  Gratitude—John Wolford and Laurie Campbell       

 

Work Out Your Own Salvation

Hiding from the Wisdom of  Anicca 

Ambapālīfs Verses  @@@@Amadeo Solé-Leris

 

Questions to Goenkaji III 

Terrell Jones: Facing Death Head-on   - Virginia Hamilton     

70 Years Are Over  S.N. Goenka     

 

Appendix 

The Art of Living: Vipassana Meditation -  S.N. Goenka     

The Practice of Mettā Bhāvanā  in Vipassana Meditation   - S.N. Goenka    

Acknowledgments 

Glossary 

About Pariyatti 

 

 

 

 

 

–ÚŽŸ     

Œ£Ž« 

˜•¶  

S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä 

‚ ‚éˆê“ú‚Ì—¬‚ê

–{‘‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä

 

Dhamma‚É‚¨‚¯‚é•ê‚ÌŽ€ @@@@@ S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

ƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì’qŒd 

‚ ‚邪‚Ü‚ÜA‚È‚·‚ª‚܂ܠ       Graham Gambie @@@

ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ÌŽ€   @@@@        Anne Doneman

Ž€‚ÉÛ‚µ‚Ä‹N‚±‚邱‚Æ   @@  @S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ 

‰‹N‚Ì–@‘¥         @@@@@@ @S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ@@@@@

ƒ^ƒ‰EƒWƒƒƒ_ƒt@–͔͓I‚ÈŽ€ @@S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Ö‚ÌŽ¿–â I  @@@

ň¤‚Ìl‚ÌŽ€‚ðŽx‚¦‚é@@       ƒX[ƒUƒ“Eƒoƒrƒbƒg

‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚µ‚©‚È‚¢@@           ƒ”ƒ@[ƒWƒjƒAEƒnƒ~ƒ‹ƒgƒ“

kamma@^‚ÌŒp³@@@@@@@ @ S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

”÷΂݂ƂƂà‚ÉŽ€‚ÉŽŠ‚é“¹‚ð@@@ @Evie Chauncey

 

ƒS[ƒ“ƒJƒW‚Ö‚ÌŽ¿–âII@@@@@Ž©‚ç‚ÌŽ€‚É”õ‚¦‚é

Dhamma‚É‚¨‚¯‚é¶‚ÆŽ€        ƒ‰ƒeƒBƒ‰ƒ‹Eƒ[ƒ^@@

I––Šú‚É‚¨‚¯‚éɸ‚³          ƒpƒ‹ƒ”ƒ@ƒ^ƒ€ƒ}EƒAƒ_ƒ”ƒBƒAƒbƒp@@S. Adaviappa

—Ü‚Ì^… @@@@@@@@@@@@C.A.F.ƒŠ[ƒXEƒfƒCƒ”ƒBƒbƒY 

 

Žq‹Ÿ‚½‚¿‚ÌŽ€

‚©‚¯‚ª‚¦‚̂Ȃ¢‘¡‚蕨@@@@@@@ ƒKƒuƒŠƒGƒ‰EƒCƒIƒjƒ^ 

•s–ł̊´ŽÓ@@@@@@@@@@@@@ƒWƒ‡ƒ“EƒEƒHƒ‹ƒtƒH[ƒh‚ƃ[ƒŠ[EƒLƒƒƒ“ƒxƒ‹

 

Ž©•ª‚Ì‹~‚¢‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ÅŒ©‚‚¯‚é @@@@S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

anicca‚̉b’q‚©‚ç‰B‚ê‚é @

ƒAƒ“ƒoƒp[ƒŠ[‚ÌŽ  @@@         ƒAƒ}ƒfƒIEƒ\ƒŒEƒŒƒŠƒX

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Ö‚ÌŽ¿–â  ‡V@@@Œ»‘ãˆãŠw‚Ì—Ï—ŠÏ

Ž€‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚Ä@@                   ƒeƒGƒ‹EƒWƒ‡ƒ“ƒY@@@@@ƒ”ƒ@[ƒWƒjƒAEƒnƒ~ƒ‹ƒgƒ“

70”N‚ªI‚í‚Á‚½  @@@@@@@@@S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

•t˜^ 

ƒA[ƒgEƒIƒuEƒŠƒrƒ“ƒO ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z @@@@S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚É‚¨‚¯‚郃bƒ^[ƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H

 

ŽÓŽ« 

—pŒê‰ðà 

ƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒB‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä 

 

 

 

 

 

Dedication

This anthology of stories, discourses, and poems about death, and preparing for death through Vipassana meditation, is dedicated to Mr. S.N. Goenka. He willingly embraced his teacher Sayagyi U Ba Khinfs mission to introduce Vipassana meditation throughout the world, and with open hands joyfully shared the teaching of the Buddha.

This book is also dedicated to those who faced their own deaths or the deaths of loved ones, and whose stories inspire us          to take up and diligently practice the Buddhafs teaching.

 

Œ£Ž«

Ž€‚ƃ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚É‚æ‚鎀‚Ö‚Ì”õ‚¦‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚éŒêA’k˜bAŽ‚ðW‚ß‚½‚±‚̃Aƒ“ƒ\ƒƒW[‚ÍAS.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJނɕù‚°‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ”ނ̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ð¢ŠE’†‚ÉЉ‚邯‚¢‚¤ŽtƒTƒ„ƒW[EƒEEƒoEƒLƒ“‚ÌŽg–½‚ðŠì‚ñ‚Ŏ󂯓ü‚êA•§‘ɂ̋³‚¦‚ðŠì‚ñ‚Å—¼Žè‚ðL‚°‚Ä•ª‚©‚¿‡‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚±‚Ì–{‚͂܂½AŽ©•ªŽ©g‚∤‚·‚él‚ÌŽ€‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚½l‚½‚¿A‚»‚µ‚Ĕނç‚Ì•¨Œê‚ª•§‘ɂ̋³‚¦‚ð”MS‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚·‚邿‚¤‚É“`‚¦‚él‚½‚¿‚É•ù‚°‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B@

 

Preface

While we have tried to keep this book as accessible as possible, at times various Pāli and Hindi words are  used in the text. These terms are defined when they are first presented and included in the glossary at  the end of this book. A few of the important terms are also explained below.

              Pāli is an ancient Indian language in which the texts recording the teaching of the Buddha are  preserved. Historical, linguistic, and archaeological evidence indicates that Pāli was spoken in northern  India at or near the time of the Buddha. The references for the Pāli verses included in this book are from the Vipassana Research Institutefs edition of the Pāli Tipiaka.

              Dhamma (Sanskrit, Dharma) means phenomenon; object of mind; nature; natural law; law of liberation, i.e., teaching of an enlightened person.

              Dohas (poetic rhymed couplets) date back to the beginnings of Indian literature. The dohas  included in this book were composed and are chanted by S.N. Goenka in Hindi. They are often  heard  during the morning break at Vipassana meditation centers in India.

 

 

˜•¶

Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚±‚Ì–{‚ð‚Å‚«‚邾‚¯“ǂ݂₷‚¢‚à‚̂ɂ·‚邿‚¤“w‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚·‚ªA–{•¶’†‚ł͂³‚Ü‚´‚܂ȃp[ƒŠŒê‚âƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚ªŽg—p‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì—pŒê‚ÍAʼn‚É’ñަ‚³‚ꂽ‚Æ‚«‚É’è‹`‚³‚êA–{‘‚ÌÅŒã‚É‚ ‚é—pŒêW‚É‹LÚ‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚¢‚­‚‚©‚Ìd—v‚È—pŒê‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚àˆÈ‰º‚Åà–¾‚µ‚Ü‚·B

ƒp[ƒŠŒê‚ÍA•§‘ɂ̋³‚¦‚ð‹L˜^‚µ‚½•¶‘‚ª•Û‘¶‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚éŒÃ‘ãƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÌŒ¾Œê‚Å‚·B —ðŽj“IAŒ¾Œê“IAlŒÃŠw“IØ‹’‚ÍAƒp[ƒŠŒê‚ªŽß‰Þ‚ÌŽž‘ãA‚Ü‚½‚Í‚»‚̋߂­‚ɃCƒ“ƒh–k•”‚Řb‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½‚±‚Æ‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚Ì–{‚Ɋ܂܂ê‚éƒp[ƒŠŒê‚ÌŽ‚ÌŽQl•¶Œ£‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[Œ¤‹†Š‚̃p[ƒŠŒêƒeƒBƒsƒ^ƒJ”Å‚©‚ç‚Ì‚à‚̂ł·B

ƒ_ƒ“ƒ} (ƒTƒ“ƒXƒNƒŠƒbƒgŒêAƒ_ƒ‹ƒ}) ‚ÍŒ»ÛAS‚Ì‘ÎÛAŽ©‘RAŽ©‘R–@‘¥A‰ð•ú‚Ì–@‘¥A‚‚܂èŒå‚è‚ðŠJ‚¢‚½l‚Ì‹³‚¦B‚ðˆÓ–¡‚µ‚Ü‚·B

ƒh[ƒniŽ“I‚ȉC‚𓥂ñ‚¾‘΋åj‚Ì‹NŒ¹‚ÍAƒCƒ“ƒh•¶Šw‚̉Šú‚ɂ܂ők‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚Ì–{‚ÉŽû˜^‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚éƒh[ƒn‚ÍAS.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJނɂæ‚Á‚Äì‹È‚³‚êAƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚ʼnr¥‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚Å‚ÍA’©‚Ì‹xŒe’†‚ɂ悭•·‚©‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

 

About S.N. Goenka

Satya Narayan Goenka (affectionately called "Goenkaji" by his students) was  a teacher of Vipassana meditation in the tradition of Sayagyi U Ba  Khin of Myanmar.

              Although Indian by descent, Goenkaji was born and raised in Myanmar. While living there he had the good fortune to come into contact with U Ba Khin, and to learn the technique of Vipassana from him. After receiving training from his teacher for 14 years, Goenkaji settled in India and began teaching Vipassana in 1969.  In a country still sharply divided by differences of caste and religion, the courses offered by Goenkaji attracted thousands of people from every part of society.  In addition, many people  from countries around the world came to join courses  in Vipassana meditation.

              Goenkaji taught tens of thousands of people in more than 300 courses in India  and in other countries, East and West. In 1982 he began to appoint assistant teachers to  help  him to  meet the growing demand for courses.  Meditation centers were established under his guidance in India,  Canada,  the United States, Australia, New Zealand, France, the United Kingdom, Japan, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Myanmar, Nepal and other countries.

              The technique taught by S.N. Goenka represents a tradition that is traced back to the Buddha. The Buddha never taught a sectarian religion; he taught Dhamma—the way to liberation— which is universal. In the same tradition, Goenkaji's approach is totally non-sectarian. For this reason, his teaching has had a profound appeal to people of all backgrounds, of every religion and no religion, and from every part of the world.

              In his lifetime, Goenkaji was the recipient of many honors but insisted that th t they were all really for the Dhamma.

              S.N. Goenka peacefully breathed his last  on Sunday evening September 29, 2013, at his home in Mumbai, India. He was in his 90th year and had served half his life as a teacher of Vipassana meditation. His legacy will continue as long as people around the world seek to learn the teaching of liberation.

 

 

 

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä

ƒTƒeƒBƒ„ ƒiƒ‰ƒ„ƒ“ ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ (¶“k‚½‚¿‚©‚爤î‚ðž‚ß‚ÄuƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒWv‚ƌĂ΂ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·) ‚ÍAƒ~ƒƒƒ“ƒ}[‚̃Tƒ„ƒW[ ƒEEƒoEƒLƒ“‚Ì“`“‚ÉŠî‚­ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚Ì‹³Žt‚Å‚µ‚½B

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̓Cƒ“ƒhŒn‚Å‚·‚ªAƒ~ƒƒƒ“ƒ}[‚Ŷ‚Ü‚êˆç‚¿AK‰^‚É‚àƒEEƒoEƒLƒ“Ž‚Æo‰ï‚¢A”Þ‚©‚烔ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚̃eƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ðŠw‚Ô‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B 14 ”NŠÔ‚ÌŒP—û‚ðŽó‚¯‚½ŒãAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̓Cƒ“ƒh‚É’èZ‚µA1969 ”N‚Ƀ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ð‹³‚¦Žn‚߂܂µ‚½BƒJ[ƒXƒg‚â@‹³‚̈Ⴂ‚É‚æ‚Á‚ĈˑR‚Æ‚µ‚Ă͂Á‚«‚è‚Æ•ª’f‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ì‘‚ÅAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ª’ñ‹Ÿ‚·‚éƒR[ƒX‚͎Љï‚Ì‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éŠK‘w‚©‚牽çl‚à‚ÌlX‚ð–£—¹‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚Ü‚½Aƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ÌuÀ‚ɂ͢ŠEŠe‘‚©‚瑽‚­‚ÌlX‚ªŽQ‰Á‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÍAƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ⓦ—mA¼—m‚Ì‘¼‚Ì‘X‚ÅA300ˆÈã‚̃R[ƒX‚ʼn½–œl‚à‚ÌlX‚É‹³‚¦‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B 1982 ”N‚ÉA‚‚Ü‚éuÀŽù—v‚ɑΉž‚·‚邽‚߂ɕ╋³Žt‚ð”C–½‚µŽn‚߂܂µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÌŽw“±‚Ì‚à‚ÆAƒCƒ“ƒhAƒJƒiƒ_A•Ä‘AƒI[ƒXƒgƒ‰ƒŠƒAAƒjƒ…[ƒW[ƒ‰ƒ“ƒhAƒtƒ‰ƒ“ƒXA‰p‘A“ú–{AƒXƒŠƒ‰ƒ“ƒJAƒ^ƒCAƒ~ƒƒƒ“ƒ}[Aƒlƒp[ƒ‹‚ȂǂÉáÒ‘zƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚ªÝ—§‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJŽ‚ª‹³‚¦‚éƒeƒNƒjƒbƒN‚Í•§‘ɂ̓`“‚É‘k‚é‚à‚̂ł·B•§‘ɂ͌ˆ‚µ‚ĕ΋·‚È@‹³‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B •§‘ɂ͕•Õ“I‚ȃ_ƒ“ƒ}A‚‚܂è‰ð•ú‚Ö‚Ì“¹‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B “¯‚¶“`“‚ðŽó‚¯‚ÄAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̃Aƒvƒ[ƒ`‚ÍŠ®‘S‚É–³@”h‚Å‚·B ‚±‚Ì‚½‚ßA”Þ‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ÍA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é”wŒiA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é@‹³‚Ì—L–³‚É‚©‚©‚í‚炸A¢ŠE‚Ì‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é’nˆæ‚ÌlX‚É[‚­‘i‚¦‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Ͷ‘OA‘½‚­‚̉h—_‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚ç‚Í‚·‚ׂĖ{“–‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì‚½‚ß‚¾‚Á‚½‚ÆŽå’£‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJŽ‚ÍA2013”N9ŒŽ29“ú“ú—j“ú‚Ì–éAƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃€ƒ“ƒoƒC‚É‚ ‚鎩‘î‚ňÀ‚ç‚©‚É‘§‚ðˆø‚«Žæ‚Á‚½B ”Þ‚Í90΂܂Ål¶‚Ì”¼•ª‚ðƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚Ì‹³Žt‚Æ‚µ‚Ä–±‚߂܂µ‚½B ¢ŠE’†‚ÌlX‚ª‰ð•ú‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ðŠw‚Ú‚¤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éŒÀ‚èA”Þ‚ÌŒ÷т͑±‚«‚Ü‚·B

 

 

The Passing of the Day

Following is an account of how Shri Satya Narayan Goenka faced  his  last m t moments, on Sunday, September  29, 2 , 2013. Sometimes the end of life comes as peacefully as the passing of the  day.

              In the last months of his long life, Goenkaji was confined to a wheelchair and faced increasing pain, yet he strove to carry on with his daily routine. Often he had recalled how  the Buddha served until his  last moments. It was  clear that Goenkaji intended to follow that  great  example.  He continued to meet  with visitors and to take  a  close  interest in the  Dhamma  work.

              On his last day, at breakfast time Goenkaji asked his son Shriprakash how work was proceeding at the Global Vipassana Pagoda. Shriprakash replied that he would be visiting the Global Pagoda that day and would make a full report on his return.

              During the day, Goenkaji worked on a selection of 500 of his dohas (couplets)  for  possible future publication. As always, this was a labor of love for him.

              At  lunch,  Goenkaji  said,  gI  am  relieved  of  the  doctors.h Mataji  attached  no  special  significance  to  these  words;  she thought  he was referring to a particular doctor who had recently visited  him. However, it was obvious that Goenkaji wanted  to  spend the day quietly, undisturbed.

              After  teatime,   Goenkaji   reviewed  major  stories  in  the newspapers, as he was accustomed  to  do  every  day. He then  meditated in a chair in his room. He came to the table for the evening meal but kept silent during it and returned directly to his room afterwards.

              He remained seated there  for some  time  and then asked to be  helped   to   bed.  As  soon   as  he  was  lying   down,  he  started  breathing  faster. Noticing  this when  she entered  the room, Mataji asked  Shriprakash  to  come.  Goenkaji  opened  his  eyes  and recognized his son but spoke no  word. Shriprakash  called  the family doctor, and then a doctor who lived in the same building

and was able  to come  at once. But events moved swiftly to their end. The  breath came  in, the  breath went out and then ceased.

The heart had stopped beating.  There was no sign of pain or stress  on Goenkajifs  face, and the atmosphere in the room was  serene and peaceful. The time was  10:40 p.m.—the end of the day  and  a fitting  close to  a long  life of Dhamma.

 

 

‚ ‚éˆê“ú‚Ì—¬‚ê

2013 ”N 9 ŒŽ 29 “ú“ú—j“úAƒTƒeƒBƒ„ ƒiƒ‰ƒ„ƒ“ ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJEƒVƒ…ƒŠ‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚ÉÅŠú‚ÌuŠÔ‚ðŒ}‚¦‚½‚©‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚Ìà–¾‚Å‚·B

l¶‚ÌI‚í‚è‚ÍAˆê“ú‚ª‰ß‚¬‚é‚̂Ɠ¯‚¶‚­‚ç‚¢‚ɉ¸‚â‚©‚É–K‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÍA‚»‚Ì’·‚¢l¶‚ÌÅŒã‚Ì”‚©ŒŽŠÔAŽÔˆÖŽq‚Å‚Ì¶Šˆ‚ð—]‹V‚È‚­‚³‚êA’ɂ݂̑‘å‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Å‚à“úí¶Šˆ‚𑱂¯‚悤‚Æ“w‚߂܂µ‚½B ”Þ‚Í‚µ‚΂µ‚Ε§‘É‚ªÅŠú‚ÌuŠÔ‚܂łǂ̂悤‚É•òŽd‚µ‚½‚©‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ª‚»‚̈̑å‚Ȗ͔͂ɕ키‚‚à‚è‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Ƃ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚µ‚½B ”ނ͈ø‚«‘±‚«–K–âŽÒ‚ƉAƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì“­‚«‚É[‚¢ŠÖS‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ÅI‚Ì“úA’©H‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ɃSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Í‘§Žq‚̃Vƒ…ƒŠƒvƒ‰ƒJƒVƒ…‚³‚ñ‚ÉAƒOƒ[ƒoƒ‹ ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ ƒpƒSƒ_‚Å‚Ìì‹Æ‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚Éi‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©q‚˂܂µ‚½B ƒVƒ…ƒŠƒvƒ‰ƒJƒVƒ…‚ÍA‚»‚Ì“ú‚̓Oƒ[ƒoƒ‹EƒpƒSƒ_‚ð–K‚ê‚é—\’è‚ÅA–ß‚Á‚½‚犮‘S‚È•ñ‚ð‚·‚é‚‚à‚肾‚Æ“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

“ú’†AƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÍA«—ˆ‚Ìo”łɌü‚¯‚Ä 500 ŒÂ‚̃h[ƒn (‘΋å) ‚̃ZƒŒƒNƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ÉŽæ‚è‘g‚݂܂µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚͔ނɂƂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚‚à‚̂悤‚Ɉ¤î‚Ì‚±‚à‚Á‚½ŽdŽ–‚Å‚µ‚½B

’‹HŽžAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÍuˆãŽÒ‚ª‚¢‚È‚­‚ĈÀS‚µ‚½v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ}ƒ^ƒW‚Í‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÌŒ¾—t‚É“Á•ʂȈӖ¡‚ðŽ‚¿‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ—‚Íŋߔނ̂Ƃ±‚ë‚ð–K‚ꂽ“Á’è‚̈ãŽt‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ðŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚¾‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ªÃ‚©‚ÉA’N‚É‚àŽ×–‚‚³‚ꂸ‚Ɉê“ú‚ð‰ß‚²‚µ‚½‚¢‚Æ–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚邱‚Ƃ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚µ‚½B

ƒeƒB[ƒ^ƒCƒ€‚ÌŒãAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Í–ˆ“ú‚̂悤‚ÉV•·‚ÌŽå—v‹LŽ–‚ðŒ©’¼‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚©‚ç”Þ‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ì•”‰®‚̈֎q‚ÅáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚Í—[H‚Ì‚½‚߂Ƀe[ƒuƒ‹‚É—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ÌŠÔ‚Í–Ù‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚ÄA‚»‚̌シ‚®‚ÉŽ©•ª‚Ì•”‰®‚É–ß‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚Í‚µ‚΂炭‚»‚±‚ÉÀ‚Á‚½‚܂܂łµ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚©‚çƒxƒbƒh‚É“ü‚é‚Ì‚ðŽè“`‚Á‚Ăقµ‚¢‚Æ—Š‚Ý‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނ͉¡‚É‚È‚é‚Æ‚·‚®‚Ɍċz‚ª‘¬‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B •”‰®‚É“ü‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«‚É‚±‚ê‚É‹C‚¢‚½ƒ}ƒ^ƒW‚ÍAƒVƒ…ƒŠƒvƒ‰ƒJƒVƒ…‚É—ˆ‚邿‚¤‚É—Š‚Ý‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Í–Ú‚ðŠJ‚¯‚Ä‘§Žq‚ð”Fޝ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‰½‚à˜b‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ƒVƒ…ƒŠƒvƒ‰ƒJƒVƒ…‚Í‚©‚©‚è‚‚¯ˆã‚É“d˜b‚µA‚³‚ç‚É“¯‚¶Œš•¨‚ÉZ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½ˆãŽt‚É‚à“d˜b‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚µ‚Ä‚·‚®‚ɈãŽt‚Í—ˆ‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAŽ–‘Ô‚Í‹}‘¬‚ÉIà‚Ö‚ÆŒü‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‘§‚ª“ü‚Á‚Ä‚«‚ÄA‘§‚ªo‚ÄA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ~‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

S‘Ÿ‚̌ۓ®‚ªŽ~‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÌŠç‚ɂ͒ɂ݂âƒXƒgƒŒƒX‚Ì—lŽq‚ÍŒ©‚ç‚ꂸA•”‰®‚Ì•µˆÍ‹C‚͉¸‚â‚©‚Å•½˜a‚Å‚µ‚½B Žž‚͌ߌã10Žž40•ª‚Å‚µ‚½Bƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì’·‚¢¶ŠU‚ɂӂ³‚킵‚¢ˆê“ú‚ÌI‚í‚è‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

 

 

About This Book

For many years my husband and I were editors of the Vipassana Newsletter.  This afforded us a unique opportunity to hear and see many inspiring stories about meditators who had died bravely and  peacefully,  filled  with  the   wisdom  of  their  meditation practice.  We  have  read   accounts  of  the  deaths  of  parents, partners, children  and  friends. Often, as they  witnessed  their beloved   die  with   contentment  and   equanimity,  those  present were filled with an unexpected happiness on an occasion of irreplaceable  loss. 

              The Buddha said, gTwo things only do  I teach: misery  and  the way  out of misery.h  This  collection  of writings—Goenkajifs explanations  of  the   teaching  of  the   Buddha,  the   Buddhafs scriptural verses, poetical stories  of monks  and nuns  from the time of the Buddha,  accounts from fellow meditators—is born of the acceptance of the truth of suffering.  It  contains inspiring examples  of  people   gaining  strength  and  a   taste   of  freedom through  their  practice,   and  demonstrates  convincingly  the efficacy of the  Path, the  way out of misery.

              I  have gathered these  stories not only to help sustain and strengthen established Vipassana meditators  in their quest, but also to encourage  others searching for peace  and understanding to take up the practice of getting to gknow thyselfh truly,  on an experiential level—to develop  their own  wisdom.

              May you experience the fruits of the Path taught by the Buddha: freedom from the suffering and sorrow that we face throughout o t our  lives.

 

Virginia Hamilton

              January 2014

 

 

 

‚±‚Ì–{‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä

’·”N‚ɂ킽‚èA•v‚ÆŽ„‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[Eƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[‚Ì•ÒW‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚ê‚É‚æ‚èAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍAáÒ‘zŽÀ‘H‚Ì’mŒb‚É–ž‚¿‚Ä—EЏ‚©‚ˆÀ‚ç‚©‚É–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½áÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚ÌA‘½‚­‚ÌŠ´“®“I‚È•¨Œê‚ð•·‚«AŒ©‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚Ü‚½‚ƂȂ¢‹@‰ï‚𓾂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í—¼eAƒp[ƒgƒi[AŽq‹ŸA—Fl‚ÌŽ€‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚é‹LŽ–‚ð“Ç‚ñ‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‘½‚­‚Ìê‡Aˆ¤‚·‚él‚ª–ž‘«‚Æ•½Ã‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä–S‚­‚È‚é‚Ì‚ð–ÚŒ‚‚µA‚»‚Ìê‚É‚¢‚½lX‚ÍA‚©‚¯‚ª‚¦‚̂Ȃ¢‘rޏ‚Ì‹@‰ï‚É—\Šú‚¹‚ÊK•Ÿ‚É–ž‚½‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

•§‘ɂ͂±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½AuŽ„‚ª‹³‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚é‚͓̂ñ‚‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B‚»‚ê‚ÍA”ߎS‚³‚ÆA”ߎS‚³‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·•û–@‚Å‚·Bv ‚±‚Ì’˜ìW‚ÍAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚É‚æ‚é•§‘ɂ̋³‚¦‚Ìà–¾A•§‘ɂ̌o“T‚̈êßA•§‘ɂ̎ž‘ã‚Ì‘m—µ‚â“ò‘m‚ÌŽ“I‚È•¨ŒêA’‡ŠÔ‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚Ìà–¾‚Ȃǂ©‚ç\¬‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¨‚èA‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚©‚ç¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚Ì–{‚É‚ÍAlX‚ªŽÀ‘H‚ð’Ê‚¶‚Ä‹­‚³‚ÆŽ©—R‚Ì–¡‚ðŠl“¾‚·‚銴“®“I‚ȗႪŠÜ‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚¨‚èA”ߎS‚³‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·•û–@‚Å‚ ‚铹‚Ì—LŒø«‚ðà“¾—Í‚ð‚à‚Á‚ÄŽÀØ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Ž„‚ª‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì•¨Œê‚ðW‚ß‚½‚Ì‚ÍAŠm—§‚³‚ꂽƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚Ì’T‹‚ðŽx‚¦A‹­‰»‚·‚邽‚ß‚¾‚¯‚ł͂Ȃ­A•½˜a‚Æ—‰ð‚ð‹‚߂鑼‚Ìl‚½‚¿‚ÉA”ނ玩g‚Ì’qŒd‚ðˆç‚ÝAŒoŒ±‚̃Œƒxƒ‹‚ÅuŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð^‚É’m‚évŽÀ‘H‚ð‚·‚é‚æ‚¤§—ã‚·‚邽‚ß‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BB@@

•§‘É‚ª‹³‚¦‚½“¹‚̬‰ÊA‚‚܂莄‚½‚¿‚ª¶ŠU‚ð’Ê‚¶‚Ä’¼–Ê‚·‚é‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚â”ß‚µ‚Ý‚©‚ç‚̉ð•ú‚ð‘ÌŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚¾‚¯‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

 

 

—ƒo[ƒWƒjƒAEƒnƒ~ƒ‹ƒgƒ“

2014”N1ŒŽ

 

 

 

 

 

About Vipassana Meditation 

 

Vipassana, which means to see things as they really are, is one of Indiafs most ancient techniques of meditation. It was rediscovered by Gotama Buddha more than 2,500 years ago, who taught it as a universal remedy for universal ills—an gart of living.h This nonsectarian technique aims for the total eradication of mental impurities and the resultant highest happiness of full liberation. Its purpose is not the mere curing of disease, but the essential healing of human suffering.

 

Vipassana is a method of self-transformation through self-observation. It focuses on the deep interconnection between mind and body. This mind-and-body connection can be experienced directly by disciplined attention to the physical sensations that form the life of the body, and that continuously condition the life of the mind. It is this observation-based, self-exploratory journey to the common root of mind and body that dissolves mental impurity, resulting in a balanced mind full of love and compassion.

 

The scientific laws that underlie onefs thoughts, feelings, judgments, and sensations become evident. How one grows or regresses, how one produces suffering or frees oneself from suffering, is understood through direct experience. Life becomes characterized by increased self-control, awareness, non-delusion, and peace.

 

www.dhamma.org

 

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä

Vipassana, which means to see things as they really are, is one of Indiafs most ancient techniques of meditation. It was rediscovered by Gotama Buddha more than 2,500 years ago, who taught it as a universal remedy for universal ills—an gart of living.h This nonsectarian technique aims for the total eradication of mental impurities and the resultant highest happiness of full liberation. Its purpose is not the mere curing of disease, but the essential healing of human suffering.

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Æ‚ÍA•¨Ž–‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚邱‚Æ‚ðˆÓ–¡‚µAƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÅÅ‚àŒÃ‚¢áÒ‘z–@‚Ì 1 ‚‚ł·B ‚»‚ê‚Í 2,500 ”NˆÈã‘O‚ɃS[ƒ^ƒ} ƒuƒbƒ_‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄÄ”­Œ©‚³‚êA••Õ“I‚È•a‹C‚ɑ΂·‚é••Õ“I‚ÈŽ¡—Ö@A‚‚܂èu¶‚«‚épv‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‹³‚¦‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚Ì–³@”h‚ÌŽè–@‚ÍAƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚È•sƒ•¨‚ðŠ®‘S‚ɪ₷‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAŠ®‘S‚ȉð•ú‚Æ‚¢‚¤Å‚‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·‚±‚Æ‚ð–Ú“I‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚Ì–Ú“I‚Í’P‚È‚é•a‹C‚ÌŽ¡—Âł͂Ȃ­AlŠÔ‚̋ꂵ‚݂̖{Ž¿“I‚ÈŽ¡–ü‚Å‚·B

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Æ‚ÍAŽ©ŒÈŠÏŽ@‚É‚æ‚鎩ŒÈ•ÏŠv‚Ì•û–@‚Å‚·B S‚Ƒ̂Ì[‚¢‘ŠŒÝŠÖŒW‚ÉÅ“_‚𓖂ĂĂ¢‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ÌS‚Ƒ̂̂‚Ȃª‚è‚ÍA‘̶̂–½‚ðŒ`¬‚µAS‚̶–½‚ðŒp‘±“I‚ÉðŒ‚¯‚ég‘Ì“IŠ´Šo‚É‹K—¥³‚µ‚­’ˆÓ‚𕥂¤‚±‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚Ä’¼Ú‘ÌŒ±‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·BŠÏŽ@‚ÉŠî‚­S‚Ƒ̂̋¤’ʂ̪Œ¹‚Ö‚ÌŽ©ŒÈ’T‹‚Ì—·‚±‚»‚ªƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚È•sƒ•¨‚ð‰ðÁ‚µAŒ‹‰Ê‚Æ‚µ‚Ĉ¤‚ÆŽœ”߂ɖž‚¿‚½ƒoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ÌŽæ‚ꂽS‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚·B

 

l‚ÌŽvlAŠ´îA”»’fAŠ´Šo‚ÌŠî‘b‚ƂȂé‰ÈŠw“I–@‘¥‚ª–¾‚ç‚©‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B l‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚ɬ’·‚·‚é‚©‘Þs‚·‚é‚©A‚ǂ̂悤‚ɋꂵ‚Ý‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·‚©A‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚é‚©‚ÍA’¼Ú‚ÌŒoŒ±‚ð’Ê‚µ‚Ä—‰ð‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B l¶‚ÍAŽ©§S‚ÌŒüãA”FޝA–Ï‘z‚̉ðÁA‚»‚µ‚Ä•½˜a‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä“Á’¥•t‚¯‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

www.dhamma.org

 

 

 

 

My Motherfs Death in Dhamma

In 1985 a student asked Goenkaji whether it is possible to feel sensations at the time of death. In reply, he related the following story about his adoptive motherfs death (previously published in the April 1 1992 issue of th f the Vipassana Newsletter).

 

              I am one of six sons. I was adopted at a young age by my uncle and aunt, Mr. Dwarkadas and Mrs. Ramidevi Goenka, who at the time had six daughters but no son. My adoptive mother was a devoted student of my teacher Sayagyi U Ba Khin. She made great progress in her years of practicing Vipassana under Sayagyifs guidance, and Sayagyi was quite fond of her. As far as is known, she was the only student of Sayagyi to die in his presence.

              In 1967, when my mother was about 70 years old, she was diagnosed with an advanced stage of liver cancer. We in the family did not know how long  she had suffered because she never complained. It was only a week  before her death  that she casually spoke about some pain in the area of her liver. When her daughter-in-law (my wife, Mrs.Goenka) asked her to describe the pain,  she replied,  gWell, the pain is similar to what a mother suffers  when she gives birth—except this has no break.h

              By then she had been meditating very seriously for seven years. She went to the meditation  center every time there was a course, whether for 10 days, one month, or any other period. Her bag was  always packed. She also did self-courses at home. Although she came from a devout Hindu background, she was no longer interested in rites and rituals; she had left them behind.

 

              From the time she was diagnosed with cancer until she died seven days later, she would not allow anyone to talk to her about her disease. She gave strict orders that only  Vipassana meditators were to come into her room, and then only to meditate. They could meditate for a half  hour, an hour or many  hours, and  then  were to leave quietly.

              In our Hindu community it was customary for the friends of a dying person to come to the house to  pay  respects. My mother was very popular and she had many people wishing to visit her in her final  illness.  For those who were not meditators, she gave instructions that they were welcome to visit but not  come into her room. They could sit quietly  outside her door.

              My mother was not interested in receiving treatment, but as her son it was my duty to arrange it for her. Every day our family doctor and a specialist visited her. When they questioned her about her pain she said, gYes, there is pain.  So what? Anissa, anissa (the Burmese pronunciation of the Pāi word anicca— impermanence).h She attached no importance to it.

              One morning the specialist was concerned that the pain of the cancer might be  interfering with her sleep. When he asked, gDid you sleep soundly last night?h she answered, gNo, I had no sleep.h He wrote a prescription for some sleeping pills that she took that night.  The next day the doctor came and asked if she had  slept, and  she replied, gNo.h Again on the third day he asked, and again she responded, gNo.h

              Even though she did not complain, the doctor was worried that she was not sleeping because she was suffering so much. Not knowing, because of drug shortages, which particular medicine would be available, he wrote prescriptions for three different strong sleeping pills intending that only one pill be purchased. However, all three were available and bought, and by mistake she was given a triple dose.  Once more the next morning she reported that, although her eyelids had become heavy, she had not slept all night.

              It then occurred to me that the doctor did not understand. To a Vipassana meditator sleep is unimportant, especially on onefs  deathbed. Despite sedation, my motherfs strong determination had kept her alert. She had been practicing Vipassana every moment. I explained to the doctor that sleeping pills would not help, but he couldnft comprehend. He said, gI have given her this strong medicine and even it does  not help her sleep. That must mean that she is in great pain.h gItfs not the pain,h I replied. gIt is Vipassana that is keeping her awake, aware of her sensations.h

              As we came out of her room he remarked, gThere is something special about your mother. A woman of the same age in a neighboring house also has liver cancer.  She is in great misery and cries out in pain. We feel so sorry to see her in this wretched condition, but cannot console her. And here is your mother who, when we come, just smiles.h

              The night she died, some family members were meditating with her. About 11 pm she said to us, gItfs  late. All of you go to sleep now.h About midnight the nurse who was on duty noticed that there was no pulse in her wrists.  She became worried and,  thinking death was near, asked, gMay I awaken your children?h

gNo, no,h my mother answered. gMy time has not yet come. When it does, I will tell you.h At 3 am she told the nurse, gNow is the time. Awaken all th ll the family members.  I have to go now.h

              And so we were all awakened. We came and discovered there was no pulse in many parts of her body. We telephoned Sayagyi and the family doctor, who both came quickly. When the doctor arrived, he said  she had only a few minutes left.

              Sayagyi arrived shortly thereafter. My mother was lying on her back. There was no pulse in her wrists, as in death, but as soon as she saw her teacher she found the strength to raise her hands and fold  them together, paying respect to him.

              About five minutes before she died she looked at me and said, gI want to sit.h I turned to the doctor  who advised, gNo, in a few minutes she is going to die; let her die peacefully. If you move her, her death will be painful. She is already  suffering; leave her.h She heard what he said but again told me, gNo, let me sit.h

I thought, gThis is her last wish. She doesnft care about the pain, so what the doctor says is unimportant. I must help her sit.h

              I  placed some pillows at her back. With a jerk she sat erect in a meditation position with folded legs and looked at all of us. I asked her, gDo you feel sensations? Do you feel anissa?h She raised her hand and touched the top of her head. gYes, yes, anissa.h She smiled c and in half a minute she died. In life her face was always aglow. In death, too, there was a radiant glow on her face.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

Soon after his motherfs death Goenkaji left Burma to bring the teaching of the Buddha back to India, the  land of Buddhafs birth. From India, with the help of thousands of Goenkajifs students, it has spread around  the world.

 

Yogā ve jāyatī  bhūri,

ayogā bhūrisakhayo.

Eta dvedhāpatha ñatvā,

bhavāya  vibhavāya  ca;

Tathāttāna niveseyya,

yathā bhūri pavaḍḍhati.

 

Truly, from meditation wisdom arises;

Without meditation wisdom vanishes.

Knowing this branching path leading to gain or loss,

One should conduct oneself so that wisdom may increase.

 

Dhammapada 20.282

 

 

Ž„‚Ì•ê@Dhamma‚ÌŽ€

1985”NA‚ ‚é¶“k‚ªƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÉAŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ɉ½‚©‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邱‚Ƃ͉”\‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©q‚˂܂µ‚½B

‚»‚ê‚ɑ΂µ‚Ĕނ͗{•ê‚ÌŽ€‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă̘b‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Biƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ ƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[ 1992 ”N 4 ŒŽ 1 “ú†jB

 

Ž„‚Í6l‚Ì‘§Žq‚Ì‚¤‚¿‚Ì1l‚Å‚·B Ž„‚Í—c‚¢ ‚Éf•ƒ‚ÌDwarkadas Goenka‚Æ•vl‚ÌRamidevi‚Ì—{Žq‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B2l‚É‚Í6l‚Ì–º‚ª‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‘§Žq‚Í‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚Ì—{•ê‚ÍŽ„‚Ìæ¶Sayagyi U Ba Khin‚Ì”MS‚ȶ“k‚Å‚µ‚½B

”Þ—‚̓Tƒ„ƒW[‚ÌŽw“±‚̉º‚Ń”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä””NŠÔ‚ő傫‚Èi•à‚ð‹‚°AƒTƒ„ƒW[‚͔ޗ‚ð‚Æ‚Ä‚à‹C‚É“ü‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ’m‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚éŒÀ‚èA”Þ—‚̓Tƒ„ƒW[‚Ì–Ú‚Ì‘O‚Å–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½—Bˆê‚̶“k‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

1967”NA•ê‚Í–ñ70΂̂Ƃ«AisŠú‚ÌŠÌ‘Ÿ‚ª‚ñ‚Æf’f‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÍŒˆ‚µ‚Ä•¶‹å‚ðŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽ„‚½‚¿‰Æ‘°‚ɂ͔ޗ‚ª‚Ç‚ê‚قNjꂵ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½‚Ì‚©‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ªŠÌ‘Ÿ•t‹ß‚̒ɂ݂ɂ‚¢‚ĉ½‹C‚È‚­˜b‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÍA–S‚­‚È‚é‚킸‚© 1 TŠÔ‘O‚Ì‚±‚Ƃłµ‚½B ‹`—‚Ì–ºiŽ„‚ÌÈAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ•vlj‚ª‚»‚̒ɂ݂ɂ‚¢‚Äà–¾‚·‚邿‚¤•ê‚Éq‚Ë‚½‚Æ‚«A”Þ—‚Í‚±‚¤“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚»‚¤‚ËA‚±‚̒ɂ݂ÍoŽYŽž‚̋ꂵ‚ÝŽ—‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚ÇA‹xŒe‚ª‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ªˆá‚¤‚í‚ËBv

‚»‚ÌŽž‚܂łɔޗ‚Í7”NŠÔA”ñí‚É^Œ•‚ÉáÒ‘z‚𑱂¯‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÍA10“úŠÔA1‚©ŒŽA‚»‚Ì‘¼‚ÌŠúŠÔ‚ð–â‚킸AƒR[ƒX‚ª‚ ‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉáÒ‘zƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚É’Ê‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚̃oƒbƒO‚Í‚¢‚‚à‰×•¨‚Å‚¢‚Á‚Ï‚¢‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÍŽ©‘î‚ŃZƒ‹ƒtƒR[ƒX‚àŽóu‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÍŒhåi‚ȃqƒ“ƒY[‹³‚Ìog‚Å‚·‚ªA‹VŽ®‚â‹V—ç‚Í‚»‚̂܂ܒu‚«‹Ž‚è‚É‚·‚邿‚¤‚É‚à‚¤‹»–¡‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

‚ª‚ñ‚Æf’f‚³‚ê‚Ä‚©‚ç7“úŒã‚É–S‚­‚È‚é‚Ü‚ÅA”Þ—‚Í’N‚É‚àŽ©•ª‚Ì•a‹C‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚·‚±‚Æ‚ð‹–‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚¾‚¯‚ªŽ©•ª‚Ì•”‰®‚É—ˆ‚ÄA‚»‚ÌŒã‚ÍáÒ‘z‚·‚邾‚¯‚Å‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤Œµ‚µ‚¢–½—ß‚ðo‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ç‚Í30•ªA1ŽžŠÔA‚ ‚é‚¢‚͉½ŽžŠÔ‚àáÒ‘z‚µA‚»‚̌㩂ɋނç‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚̃qƒ“ƒhƒD[‹³ƒRƒ~ƒ…ƒjƒeƒB‚Å‚ÍAŽ€‚ɂ䂭l‚Ì—Fl‚ª’¢–â‚Ì‚½‚߂ɉƂɗˆ‚é‚Ì‚ªKе‚Å‚µ‚½B •ê‚͂ƂĂàl‹C‚ª‚ ‚èA•ê‚Ì—ÕI‚ÌŒ©•‘‚¢‚ðŠó–]‚·‚él‚ª‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ—‚Í–K–â‚ÍŠ½Œ}‚·‚邪AáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ł͂Ȃ¢lX‚ɑ΂µ‚Ĕޗ‚Ì•”‰®‚É“ü‚ç‚È‚¢‚悤‚ɂƎwަ‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅAƒhƒA‚ÌŠO‚É©‚ÉÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

•ê‚ÍŽ¡—ÂðŽó‚¯‚邱‚Ƃɋ»–¡‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‘§Žq‚Æ‚µ‚Ĕޗ‚Ì‚½‚߂Ɏ¡—ÂðŽè”z‚·‚é‚͎̂„‚Ì‹`–±‚Å‚µ‚½B –ˆ“úAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì‚©‚©‚è‚‚¯ˆã‚Æê–副‚ª”Þ—‚ð–K–₵‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނ炪”Þ—‚̒ɂ݂ɂ‚¢‚ÄŽ¿–₵‚½‚Æ‚«A”Þ—‚Í‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B u‚¾‚©‚牽H ƒAƒjƒbƒTAƒAƒjƒbƒTiƒp[ƒŠŒêanicca‚̃rƒ‹ƒ}Œê‚Ì”­‰¹A‚‚܂薳íjv ”Þ—‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ì•a‹C‚Ìd—v«‚É‚±‚¾‚í‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

‚ ‚é’©Aê–åˆã‚ÍA‚ª‚ñ‚̒ɂ݂ª”Þ—‚̇–°‚ð–W‚°‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚ÆS”z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B uð–é‚͂悭–°‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½‚©Hv‚Æq‚Ë‚é‚ÆA ”Þ—‚Íu‚¢‚¢‚¦A–°‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½Bv‚Æ“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނ͔ޗ‚ª‚»‚̖镞—p‚·‚釖°–ò‚̈•ûⳂ𑂫‚Ü‚µ‚½B —‚“úAˆãŽt‚ª‚â‚Á‚Ä—ˆ‚ÄA”Þ—‚Í–°‚ꂽ‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©q‚˂܂µ‚½‚ªA”Þ—‚ÍuQ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñv‚Æ“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B 3“ú–Ú‚É‚à”Þ‚Íq‚˂܂µ‚½‚ªA”Þ—‚͂܂½u‚¢‚¢‚¦v‚Æ“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ—‚Í•¶‹å‚ðŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªAˆãŽt‚͔ޗ‚ª‚ƂĂà‹ê‚µ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ä–°‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚ÆS”z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ˆã–ò•i•s‘«‚Ì‚½‚ßA‚ǂ̖ò‚ª“üŽè‚Å‚«‚é‚©•ª‚©‚炸A”Þ‚Í 1 ù‚¾‚¯w“ü‚·‚é‚‚à‚è‚Å 3 Ží—Þ‚Ì‹­—͂ȇ–°–ò‚̈•ûⳂ𑂫‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µA3 ‚‚Ƃà“üŽè‰Â”\‚Åw“ü‚µ‚½‚½‚ßAŒë‚Á‚Ä 3 ‰ñ•ª‚𓊗^‚³‚ê‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B —‚’©A”Þ—‚͂܂Ԃ½‚ªd‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAˆê”Ó’†–°‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ÆÄ‚Ñ•ñ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚̂Ƃ«AˆãŽÒ‚ª—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚±‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ɂƂÁ‚ć–°‚ÍA“Á‚ÉŽ€‚̰‚Å‚Íd—v‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ’ÁÃÜ‚ðŽg‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸A•ê‚Ì‹­‚¢ˆÓŽu‚ª”Þ—‚̈ӎ¯‚ð•Û‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚Íí‚Ƀ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͈ãŽt‚ɇ–°–ò‚ÍŒø‚©‚È‚¢‚Æà–¾‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚à‚炦‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍAuŽ„‚͔ޗ‚É‚±‚Ì‹­‚¢–ò‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Å‚à”Þ—‚Í–°‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚͔ޗ‚ª‚ƂĂà‹ê‚µ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ðˆÓ–¡‚·‚é‚ɈႢ‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBv u‚»‚ê‚͒ɂ݂ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñv‚ÆŽ„‚Í“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B u”Þ—‚ðŠoÁ‚³‚¹AŽ©•ª‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ð”Fޝ‚³‚¹‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Å‚·Bv

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª”Þ—‚Ì•”‰®‚©‚ço‚Ä‚­‚邯A”Þ‚Í‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì‚¨•ꂳ‚ñ‚ɂ͉½‚©“Á•ʂł·B‹ßŠ‚Ì‰Æ‚ÉZ‚Þ“¯‚¢”N‚Ì—«‚àŠÌ‘Ÿ‚ª‚ñ‚ðŠ³‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·‚ªA’ɂ݂̂ ‚܂苩‚Ô”ñí‚ɔߎS‚Èó‘Ô‚Å‚·B‚±‚̔ߎS‚Èó‘Ô‚É‚ ‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚é‚̂͂ƂĂàŽc”O‚Å‚·‚ªA”Þ—‚ðˆÔ‚߂邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚±‚±‚É‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì‚¨•ꂳ‚ñ‚ª‚¢‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª—ˆ‚邯A‚½‚¾”÷΂ނ¾‚¯‚Å‚·Bv

”Þ—‚ª–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½–éA‰Æ‘°‚̉½l‚©‚ª”Þ—‚ƈê‚ÉáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ŒßŒã11Žž A”Þ—‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚É‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚à‚¤‚¨‚»‚¢‚Å‚·‚æA ŠF‚³‚ñ‚à‚¤Q‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢Bv ^–é’†‚²‚ëA“–”Ô‚ÌŠÅŒìŽt‚ª”Þ—‚ÌŽèŽñ‚É–¬”‚ª‚È‚¢‚±‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÍS”z‚ɂȂèAŽ€‚ª‹ß‚¢‚ÆŽv‚¢Au‚¨Žq‚³‚ñ‚½‚¿‚ð‹N‚±‚µ‚Ä‚à‚¢‚¢‚Å‚·‚©Hv‚Æq‚˂܂µ‚½B

u‚¢‚¢‚¦A‚¢‚¢‚¦v‚Æ•ê‚Í“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B uŽ„‚ÌŽž‚͂܂¾‚Å‚·‚æB ‚»‚̂Ƃ«‚ÍA‹³‚¦‚Ü‚·‚©‚çBv Œß‘O3ŽžA”Þ—‚ÍŠÅŒìŽt‚É‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BuŽž‚ª—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½A‰Æ‘°‘Sˆõ‚ð–ÚŠo‚ß‚³‚¹‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B¡As‚­‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½Bv

 

‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í–Ú‚ðŠo‚Ü‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚̑̂̑½‚­‚Ì•”•ª‚É–¬”‚ª‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚̓Tƒ„ƒW[‚Æ‚©‚©‚è‚‚¯‚̈ãŽt‚É“d˜b‚µA“ñl‚Æ‚à‚·‚®‚É—ˆ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ˆãŽt‚ª“ž’…‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«A”Þ—‚ɂ͂ ‚Æ”•ª‚µ‚©Žc‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚̌シ‚®‚ɃTƒ„ƒW[‚ª“ž’…‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B •ê‚͋Œü‚¯‚ɉ¡‚½‚í‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÌŽèŽñ‚ɂ͎€‚̂Ƃ«‚̂悤‚É–¬”‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªAƒTƒ„ƒW[‚ðŒ©‚é‚Æ‚·‚®‚É—Í‚ª—N‚¢‚ÄŽè‚ðã‚°‚Ä‘g‚ÝAƒTƒ„ƒW[‚ÉŒhˆÓ‚ð•\‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ—‚ª–S‚­‚È‚é–ñ5•ª‘O‚ÉA”Þ—‚ÍŽ„‚ðŒ©‚ÄuÀ‚肽‚¢v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ªˆãŽÒ‚ɑВk‚·‚邯A‚±‚¤ƒAƒhƒoƒCƒX‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B u”Þ—‚ðˆÀ‚ç‚©‚ÉŽ€‚È‚¹‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‚à‚µ‚ ‚È‚½‚ª”Þ—‚ðˆÚ“®‚³‚¹‚½‚çA”Þ—‚ÌŽ€‚Í‹ê’ɂ𔺂¤‚Å‚µ‚傤B ”Þ—‚Í‚·‚łɋꂵ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚·B”Þ—‚ð‚±‚Ì‚Ü‚Ü‚É‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢v ”Þ—‚͈ãŽt‚ÌŒ¾‚¤‚±‚Ƃ𕷂¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚Ü‚½Ž„‚Éu‚¢‚¢‚¦AÀ‚点‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Ž„‚Í‚±‚¤Žv‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚±‚ꂪ”Þ—‚ÌÅŒã‚ÌŠè‚¢‚¾B”Þ—‚͒ɂ݂ð‹C‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÅAˆãŽt‚ÌŒ¾‚¤‚±‚Æ‚Íd—v‚ł͂Ȃ¢B”Þ—‚ªÀ‚é‚Ì‚ðŽè“`‚í‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎBv

Ž„‚͔ޗ‚Ì”w’†‚É–‚ð‚¢‚­‚‚©’u‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚Í‹}‚É‘«‚ð‘g‚ñ‚ÅáÒ‘z‚ÌŽp¨‚Å”w‹Ø‚ðL‚΂µ‚ÄÀ‚èAŽ„‚½‚¿‘Sˆõ‚ðŒ©‚Â‚ß‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͔ޗ‚Éq‚˂܂µ‚½BuŠ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚·‚©H ƒAƒjƒbƒT‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·‚©Hv ”Þ—‚ÍŽè‚ðã‚°‚Ä“ª‚̂ĂÁ‚Ø‚ñ‚ÉG‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B u‚Í‚¢A‚Í‚¢AƒAƒjƒbƒTv ”Þ—‚Í”÷΂݂܂µ‚½Bc‚»‚µ‚Ä”¼ŽžŠÔ‚قǂŖS‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B l¶‚É‚¨‚¢‚Ĕޗ‚ÌŠç‚Í‚¢‚‚à‹P‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž€‚ÉŽŠ‚Á‚Ä‚àA”Þ—‚ÌŠç‚ɂ͋P‚«‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

•êe‚ÌŽ€Œã‚·‚®‚ÉAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̓uƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ðŽß‰Þ¶’a‚Ì’n‚Å‚ ‚éƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÉŽ‚¿‹A‚邽‚߂Ƀrƒ‹ƒ}‚ðo‘‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒCƒ“ƒh‚©‚ç‚ÍA‰½çl‚à‚̃SƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̶“k‚½‚¿‚Ì‹¦—͂𓾂ÄA‚»‚Ì‹³‚¦‚Í¢ŠE’†‚ÉL‚ª‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

 

–{“–‚ÉAáÒ‘z‚©‚ç’qŒd‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚·B

áÒ‘z‚ª‚È‚¯‚ê‚Î’qŒd‚ÍÁ‚¦‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚·B

“¾‚邩ޏ‚¤‚©‚Ì•ªŠò“_‚ð’m‚èA

l‚Í’qŒd‚ª‘‚·‚悤‚ÉŽ©‚ç‚𓱂©‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

\Dhammapadapada 20.282

 

 

 

 

The Buddhafs Wisdom

The Buddha taught Four Noble Truths, applicable to everyone.

The First Noble Truth states that inherent in all things are  the seeds of  dissatisfaction that  inevitably lead to suffering,  both mental and physical.

              This is so, the Buddha realized, because everything in the universe is changing, in  a state of constant flux, impermanent and insubstantial. Nothing remains the  same  even for a  moment.

              On some personal level we, too, recognize this: a sense that everything is not right, that something is missing, or might be  impossible to keep if acquired.  Circumstances change;  what  we previously  wanted  no  longer matters. Control is erratic, if not illusory.  Fleeting pleasures give no lasting satisfaction;  genuine fulfillment seems remote, elusive and ephemeral—beyond  our grasp.

              This insecurity impels us to search for something constant, dependable and  secure—something pleasant that will guarantee permanent happiness. However, since everything  is in  perpetual flux, the quest is fundamentally futile. This fact of  incessant craving for satisfaction is the  Second Noble  Truth.

              Through his supreme efforts, the Buddha realized the Third Noble Truth: there can be an end to the suffering we experience in  life.

              The Fourth Noble Truth is the Eightfold Noble Path, the way that  leads to real  peace and real liberation. This Path has three divisions: sīla (morality), samādhi (concentration, or  mastery over the mind), and  paññā (wisdom, or  purification of mind).

              Morality is a training to refrain from actions—mental, verbal and  physical—that   might   harm  others  or  ourselves.   Making effort to live  a  wholesome  life  is a  necessary base  for learning to control the  mind. The  second division of the  Path is development of concentration, a deeper  training to calm the mind and train it to  remain  one-pointed. The third  division, the acquisition  of wisdom,   is   achieved   through   Vipassana   meditation,   the technique the Buddha discovered to completely eradicate  the conditioning and habit patterns that reinforce our unhappiness and dissatisfaction.

              The Buddha said that purification of mind is a long path, one that  can take many lifetimes to complete.  He taught  that  we have lived through an incalculable number of lives,  cycles upon cycles

of life and death—some full of bliss, some tormented, all laced with good and bad, pleasant and unpleasant, all lived in reactive blindness to  the reality  within.

              If we are fortunate enough to hear  about Vipassana,  if we are ready to learn, to make changes in  our lives, we might take the practice to  heart and  begin  to  dismantle these patterns of reaction  conditioned by ignorance. We  notice  that we  seem happier and more stable, less reactive and more tolerant of others. We want to learn more.  We begin to share the Dhamma with others.  But  common questions persist: How will I be  at death? Will I be  serene?  Will I be strong enough to face death peacefully?

              Death, the inevitable ending of life, is feared by nearly all.  It  is often mired in pain and suffering,  of both body and mind.  Yet  the Buddha taught  that  death is a pivotal  moment  on the path to freedom from suffering.

              At the  moment of death  a  very  strong sakhāra  (mental conditioning) will arise  in the  conscious mind. This sakhāra generates the necessary  impetus for new consciousness to  arise in the next  life,  a consciousness bearing the qualities of this sakhāra.  If the sakhāra is characterized by unhappiness or negativity, the new consciousness will arise in  similar negativity  and unhappiness. If, on  the other hand, it  is replete with virtue and contentment, then this rebirth is likely to be wholesome and 

happy.

 

Whether we believe in rebirth or not, practicing Vipassana meditation

makes our lives easier to live no matter what the situation. We learn

how to  establish  a balanced  mind  that becomes a strong habit pattern

that w t will h ill help  us  through  all o ll of  life's  challenges, e , even  death.

 

              Developing a balanced moment-to-moment awareness of the impermanence of physical  sensations in our daily lives,  even in the most  difficult  situations, also  creates very  deep  sakhāras— positive   ones.   If   the   sakhāra   of   awareness   with    the understanding  of anicca (the constantly changing nature of all things) is strengthened and developed,  then this sakhāra will arise  at death to give  a  positive  push into  the next life. The mental forces at the instant of death will carry us, as Goenkaji says, gmagnetically,h into a next  life in which Vipassana can continue  to be  practiced.

              Walking on the Eightfold Noble Path is an art of living.

Living  a  life  in  Dhamma—a   life   of  virtue,  awareness,  and equanimity—not  only   enhances  our  daily   existence,  it  also  prepares us for the moment of death  and  for the next life. A calm awareness of anicca at death is a  telling measure  of progress in mastering the art of living, of progress on the path of peace, the path  to  nibbāna.

 

Āo logo jagata  ke,

cale Dharama ke pantha.

Isa patha calate satpuruha,

isa  patha  calate  santa.

Dharma pantha hī śhānti patha.

Dharma pantha sukha pantha.

Jisane  pāyā Dharma patha,

magala  milā ananta.

Āo mānava-mānavī,

cale Dharama ke pantha.

Kadama-kadama calate  hue,

kare dukho kā anta.

 

Come, people of the world!

Let us walk the path of Dhamma.

On this path walk holy ones;

on  this path  walk  saints.

The path of Dhamma is the path of peace;

the  path  of  Dhamma  is  the  path  of  happiness.

Whoever attains the path of Dhamma

gains endless happiness.

Come, men and women!

Let us walk the path of Dhamma.

Walking step by step,

let u t us  make  an  end  of  suffering.

 

Hindi dohas from Come People of the World,  S.N. Goenka

 

 

Yathāpi vātā ākāse vāyanti vividhā puthū;

 

Puratthimā pacchimā cāpi, uttarā atha dakkhiā.

Sarajā arajā capi, sītā uhā ca  ekadā;

Adhimattā parittā ca, puthū vāyanti mālutā.

Tathevimasmi kāyasmi samuppajjanti vedanā;

Sukhadukkhasamuppatti, adukkhamasukhā ca yā.

Yato ca bhikkhu ātāpi, sampajañña na  riñcati;

Tato  so  vedanā sabbā, parijānāti paṇḍito.

So  vedanā pariññāya  diṭṭhe dhamme anāsavo;

Kāyassa  bhedā dhammaṭṭho, sakhya nopeti vedagū.

 

Through the sky blow many different winds,

from east and west, from north and south,

dust-laden  and  dustless, c , cold  as  well a ll as  hot, 

fierce gales and gentle breezes—many winds blow.

In the same way, in this body, sensations arise,

pleasant, unpleasant, and  neutral.

When a meditator, practicing ardently,

does not neglect the faculty of  thorough understanding,

then  such  a  wise  person  fully  comprehends  all s ll sensations,

and having fully comprehended them,

within this very life becomes freed from all impurities.

At lifefs  end, such a person, being established

in  Dhamma  and  understanding  sensations  perfectly, 

attains the  indescribable  stage.

 

Pahama-ākāsa  Sutta,  Sayutta Nikāya 1.260

 

 

 

Ahakāra hī janma kā,

jarā  mityū    mūla.

Ahakāra mite  binā,

mie  na bhāva-bhaya  śhūla.

 

Self-centeredness is the  root

of birth, decay and death.

Unless ego is  removed,

the  torment a t and  fear  of  becoming  will n ill not e t end.

 

Hindi doha,  S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

Žß‘¸‚Ì’qŒb

Žß‘¸‚Í’N‚É‚Å‚à“–‚Ă͂܂é 4 ‚‚̹‚È‚é^—‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‘æˆê‚̹‚È‚é^—‚ÍA

ƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚»‚µ‚Ä“÷‘Ì“I‚ȋꂵ‚݂ɕK‘R“I‚É“±‚­•s–ž‚̎킪‚·‚ׂĂ̂à‚̂ɶ—ˆ‚©‚ç”õ‚í‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃł·B

 

Žß‘¸‚ÍA‚»‚̂Ƃ¨‚è‚Å‚·‚ÆŒå‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‰F’ˆ‚Í₦ŠÔ‚È‚­—¬“®‚Ìó‘Ԃŕω»‚µ‚Ä‚¨‚èA‰i‘±“I‚È‚à‚̂͂Ȃ­AŽÀ‘Ì‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

ˆêu‚½‚è‚Æ‚à“¯‚¶‚à‚̂͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

                           

Ž„‚½‚¿‚à‚±‚ê‚ðŒÂl“I‚ȃŒƒxƒ‹‚ł͔Fޝ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‚·‚ׂĂ̂à‚Ì‚ª‰½‚©‚ªŒ‡‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚ij‚µ‚­‚͂Ȃ­A‚·‚Ȃ킿A‚à‚µŽæ“¾‚µ‚Ä‚àˆÛŽ‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͕s‰Â”\‚¾‚낤A‚ÆB

 

󋵂͕ω»‚µ‚Ü‚·B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ªˆÈ‘O‚É–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½‚à‚Ì‚É‚Í‚à‚¤ŠÖS‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚à‚µ‹U‚è‚łȂ¯‚ê‚ΧŒä‚Í•sˆÀ’肵‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚‚©‚̊Ԃ̉õŠy‚͉i‘±“I‚È–ž‘«‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚½‚¿‚Ì”cˆ¬‚ð’´‚¦‚ÄA–{•¨‚Ì[ŽÀŠ´‚͉“‚­A‚Ƃ炦‚Ç‚±‚낪‚È‚­A™R‚¢‚à‚̂Ɍ©‚¦‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚Ì•sˆÀ‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÉM—Š«‚ƈÀ‘S«‚ª‚ ‚鉽‚©•Ï‚í‚ç‚È‚¢‚à‚ÌA‰i‰“‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ð•ÛØ‚·‚é‰õ“K‚³‚ð’T‚³‚¹‚Ü‚·B

‚µ‚©‚µA‚·‚ׂĂ͉i‹v‚É—¬“®“I‚È‚à‚̂̂½‚ßA‚»‚Ì’T‹‚ͪ–{“I‚É–³‘ʂł·B

₦ŠÔ‚È‚­‘±‚­–ž‘«‚Ö‚ÌŠ‰–]‚Æ‚¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚ª‘æ“ñ‚̹‚È‚é^—‚Å‚·B

 

Žß‘¸‚Í‚»‚ÌÅ‚‚Ì“w—͂ɂæ‚Á‚Ä‘æŽO‚̹‚È‚é^—‚ðŽÀŒ»‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª¶Šˆ‚Ì’†‚ÅŒoŒ±‚·‚é‹ê‚µ‚݂ɂÍI‚í‚肪‚ ‚éA‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B

 

‘æŽl‚̹‚È‚é^—‚Í”ª³“¹‚Å‚·B

‚»‚ꂪ^‚Ì•½˜a‚Æ^‚̉ð•ú‚ɂ‚Ȃª‚éu“¹v‚Å‚·B

‚±‚Ìu“¹v‚Í 3 ‚‚̕”–傪‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·

sīla (“¹“¿)ASamādhi (W’†—ÍA‚·‚Ȃ킿ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì“Œä)Apaññāi’qŒd‚·‚Ȃ킿ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ìò‰»j‚Å‚·B

 

‚P”Ô–Ú‚Ì“¹“¿‚Æ‚ÍA‘¼l‚⎩•ªŽ©g‚ÉŠQ‚ð‹y‚Ú‚·‰Â”\«‚Ì‚ ‚éƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒhAŒ¾ŒêAg‘Ì‚Ìsˆ×‚ðŽ©§‚·‚邽‚߂̌P—û‚Å‚·

Œ’‘S‚È¶Šˆ‚𑗂邽‚߂̓w—Í‚ªAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃Rƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚ðŠw‚Ô‚½‚߂ɕK—v‚ÈŠî‘b‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

2 ”Ԗڂ͈ê“_‚ÉW’†‚µ‚ÄS‚ð—Ž‚¿’…‚©‚¹‚éA‚æ‚è[‚¢ŒP—û‚ÌŠJ”­‚Å‚·B

3”Ô–Ú‚Ì’qŒdpaññā‚̎擾‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä’B¬‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

Žß‘¸‚ª”­Œ©‚µ‚½A•sK‚Æ•s–ž‚ð‹­‚ß‚éKеƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ðŠ®‘S‚ɪ₷‚é‹Zp‚Å‚·B

 

Žß‘¸‚̓}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ìò‰»‚Í’·‚¢“¹‚̂肾‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚ê‚ÍŠ®—¹‚·‚é‚܂łɑ½‚­‚̶ŠU‚ð—v‚·‚é‰Â”\«‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Žß‘¸‚Ͷ‚ÆŽ€‚ðŒJ‚è•Ô‚µAŒJ‚è•Ô‚µAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª”‚¦Ø‚ê‚È‚¢‚Ù‚Ç‚Ìl¶‚ð¶‚«‚Ä‚«‚½‚±‚Æ‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚ ‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÍŽŠ•Ÿ‚É–ž‚¿A‚ ‚é‚à‚̂͋ê”Y‚µA—Ç‚¢‚±‚Æ‚àˆ«‚¢‚±‚Æ‚àAŠy‚µ‚¢‚±‚Æ‚à•s‰õ‚È‚±‚Æ‚à‚·‚ׂĂª—‚݇‚Á‚ÄA‚·‚ׂĂ͌»ŽÀ‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä–Ó–Ú‚É”½ŽË“I‚ɶ‚«‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ðB

 

K‰^‚É‚àƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄŽ¨‚É‚·‚é‹@‰ï‚ª‚ ‚èA‚à‚µ¶Šˆ‚ɕω»‚ð‹N‚±‚·‚½‚߂Ɋw‚Ô€”õ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ä‚¢‚é‚È‚ç‚ÎAŽ„‚½‚¿‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ðS‚É‚ÝA‚±‚¤‚µ‚½–³’m‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄðŒ‚¯‚ç‚ꂽ”½‰žƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ð‰ð‘Ì‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

Ž©•ª‚½‚¿‚ª‚æ‚èK‚¹‚Å‚æ‚èˆÀ’肵‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚鎞‚ÍA”½‰ž‚ª¬‚³‚­A‘¼l‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä‚æ‚芰—e‚È‚±‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚·B

 

‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚à‚Á‚ÆÚ‚µ‚­’m‚邱‚Æ‚ª—~‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚Ü‚½A‘¼‚Ìl‚½‚¿‚ÆDhamma‚𕪂©‚¿‡‚¢Žn‚߂܂·B

‚µ‚©‚µA‚æ‚­‚ ‚鎿–â‚ÍuŽ€‚ñ‚¾‚ç‚Ç‚¤‚È‚é‚̂ł·‚©?‚»‚ê‚͉¸‚â‚©‚È‚à‚̂Ȃ̂łµ‚傤‚©H Ž„‚͈À‚ç‚©‚ÉŽ€‚ðŒ}‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·‚Ù‚Ç‹­‚­‚È‚ê‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©Hv

 

”ð‚¯‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢l¶‚ÌI‚í‚è‚ÌŽ€‚ÍA‚Ù‚Ú‚·‚ׂĂÌl‚ª‹°‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Sg‚Æ‚à‚ɒɂ݂â‹ê‚µ‚݂ɂ³‚¢‚Ȃ܂ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª‘½‚¢‚à‚̂ł·B

‚µ‚©‚µAŽ€‚͋ꂵ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚铹‚É‚¨‚¯‚é‹É‚ß‚Äd—v‚ÈuŠÔ‚¾‚ÆŽß‘¸‚Íà‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Ž€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ɂ͈ӎ¯‚Ì’†‚Å”ñí‚É‹­‚¢ƒTƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰iƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ìó‘Ôj‚ª‹N‚±‚è‚Ü‚·B

ˆÓޝ‚ª‚±‚̃Tƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚ð¶‚Ýo‚µAŽŸ‚Ìl¶‚ð¶‚¶‚³‚¹‚éV‚µ‚¢ˆÓޝ‚É•K—v‚È„i—͂𶬂µ‚Ü‚·B

 

ƒTƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚ª•sK‚âƒlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚É“Á’¥•t‚¯‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚éê‡A“¯‚¶‚悤‚ȃlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚È󋵂̒†‚ÅV‚µ‚¢ˆÓޝ‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚·B

‹t‚ÉA‚»‚ꂪ“¿‚Æ–ž‘«‚Å‚·ê‡‚ÍA‚±‚Ì“]¶‚ÍŒ’‘S‚ÅK•Ÿ‚È‚à‚̂ɂȂé‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

—Ö‰ô“]¶‚ðM‚¶‚é‚©M‚¶‚È‚¢‚©‚É‚©‚©‚í‚炸Aƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚͂ǂ̂悤‚È󋵂ł ‚Á‚Ä‚àŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì¶Šˆ‚ð¶‚«‚â‚·‚­‚µ‚Ü‚·B

l¶‚Ì‚ ‚ç‚ä‚颓ïA‚½‚Æ‚¦Ž€‚³‚¦‚àæ‚è‰z‚¦‚ç‚ê‚é‹­‚¢Kеƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚·Bƒoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ÌŽæ‚ꂽƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðŠm—§‚·‚é•û–@‚ðŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠw‚т܂·B

 

ł࢓ï‚È󋵂łÍA”ñí‚É[‚¢ƒTƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚à¶‚¶‚Ü‚·‚Ì‚ÅAƒ|ƒWƒeƒBƒu‚È‚à‚Ì‚àŠÜ‚ß‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì“úí¶Šˆ‚ŕω»‚µ‘±‚¯‚ég‘Ì“IŠ´Šo‚ÌuŠÔuŠÔ‚̃oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚̂Ƃꂽ‹C‚«‚ð—{‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

aniccai‚·‚ׂĂ̂à‚Ì‚Ì₦‚¸•ω»‚·‚髎¿j‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă̗‰ð‚ƂƂà‚ɃTƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚ɑ΂·‚é‹C‚«‚ª‹­‰»‚³‚ê‚Ä”­“W‚·‚邯A‚±‚̃Tƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚ÍŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚É—§‚¿ã‚ª‚Á‚ÄAŽŸ‚Ìl¶‚Ö‚Ì‘OŒü‚«‚È—Í‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚·B

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚ªŽÀ‘H‚³‚ꑱ‚¯‚邯AŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì—Í‚ªAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ªuŽ¥‹C“I‚Év‚É“ü‚邯‚¢‚¤‚悤‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ðŽŸ‚Ìl¶‚ɉ^‚т܂·B

”ª³“¹‚ð•à‚Þ‚±‚ƂͶ‚«‚éƒA[ƒgi‹Zpj‚Å‚·B

Dhamma‚Ìl¶‚ð¶‚«‚éA‚‚܂è”ü“¿A”FޝA‚»‚µ‚Äɸ ‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì“úí¶Šˆ‚ðŒüコ‚¹‚邾‚¯‚łȂ­A

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ðŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÆŽŸ‚Ìl¶‚É”õ‚¦‚³‚¹‚Ü‚·B

Ž€‚ÌÛ‚É–³í«‚ð‰¸‚â‚©‚É”Fޝ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÍA¶‚«‚邽‚ßA‚»‚µ‚Ä•½˜a‚Ì“¹A‚·‚Ȃ킿Ÿ¸žÏ‚Ö‚Ì“¹‚ði‚Þ‚½‚߂̃A[ƒgi‹Zpj‚Ìn’B‚ðŽ¦‚·d—v‚ÈŽÚ“x‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

 

 

‚³‚ A¢ŠE‚ÌlX‚æI

Dhamma‚Ì“¹‚ð•à‚à‚¤B

¹‚È‚éŽÒ‚½‚¿‚ª‚±‚Ì“¹‚ð•à‚ÝA

‚±‚Ì“¹‚ð¹“k‚½‚¿‚Í•à‚ÞB

Dhamma‚Ì“¹‚Í•½˜a‚Ì“¹B

Dhamma‚Ì“¹‚ÍK•Ÿ‚Ì“¹B

Dhamma‚Ì“¹‚É“ž’B‚·‚éŽÒ‚Í’N‚ê‚à‚ª

–³ŒÀ‚ÌK•Ÿ‚𓾂éB

’j«‚à—«‚à—ˆ‚æI

Dhamma‚Ì“¹‚ð•à‚à‚¤B

ˆê•àˆê•à‚ði‚ÝA

‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚ðI‚í‚点‚æB

 

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJŽ‚Ìƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚̃h[ƒnuCome People of the Worldv‚æ‚è@

 

 

Through the sky blow many different winds,

from east and west, from north and south,

dust-laden  and  dustless, c , cold  as  well a ll as  hot, 

fierce gales and gentle breezes—many winds blow.

In the same way, in this body, sensations arise,

pleasant, unpleasant, and  neutral.

When a meditator, practicing ardently,

does not neglect the faculty of  thorough understanding,

then  such  a  wise  person  fully  comprehends  all sensations,

and having fully comprehended them,

within this very life becomes freed from all impurities.

At lifefs end, such a person, being established

in  Dhamma  and  understanding  sensations  perfectly, 

attains the  indescribable  stage.

 

Pahama-ākāsa  Sutta,  Sayutta Nikāya 1.260

 

 

‹ó‚ɂ͂¢‚ë‚ñ‚È•—‚ª‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚éA

“Œ‚©‚ç‚༂©‚ç‚àA–k‚©‚ç‚à“ì‚©‚ç‚àA

‚Ù‚±‚肪‘½‚¢‚Æ‚«‚àA‚Ù‚±‚è‚̂Ȃ¢‚Æ‚«‚àAЦ‚¢‚Æ‚«‚à‹‚¢‚Æ‚«‚àA

–Ò—ó‚È‹­•—‚Ɖ¸‚â‚©‚È•—A‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚Ì•—‚ª‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚éB

“¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉA‚±‚Ìg‘̂ɂà‰õA•s‰õA’†—§‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚éB

áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ª”MS‚ÉCs‚·‚邯‚«A“O’ê“I‚É—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ð‘Ó‚ç‚È‚¢A

‚»‚̂悤‚ÈŒ«ŽÒ‚ÍA‚·‚ׂĂ̊´Šo‚ðŠ®‘S‚É—‰ð‚·‚éA

‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ç‚ªŠ®‘S‚É—‰ð‚³‚ꂽ‚±‚Æ‚ÅA

‚±‚Ì¢‚Ì‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é•sƒ•¨‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚éB

l¶‚ÌI‚í‚è‚É‚ÍADhamma‚ðŠm—§‚µA

Š´Šo‚ðŠ®‘S‚É—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA

Œ¾—t‚ɂł«‚È‚¢’iŠK‚É’B‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

Paama-ākāsa SuttaASayutta Nikāya 1.260

 

 

Ahakāra hī janma kā,

jarā  mityū    mūla.

Ahakāra mite  binā,

mie  na bhāva-bhaya  śhūla.

 

Self-centeredness is the  root

of birth, decay and death.

Unless ego is  removed,

the  torment a t and  fear  of  becoming  will not end.

 

Ž©ŒÈ’†S«‚ªªŒ¹

’a¶AŠ‘ÞA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ€B

ƒGƒS‚ðŽæ‚èœ‚©‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎA

‹ê‚µ‚݂ƶ‚¶‚邱‚Ƃւ̋°•|‚ÍŒˆ‚µ‚ÄI‚í‚邱‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

—ƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œêƒh[ƒnAS.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

 

As It Was

On June 27, 1986, assistant teacher of  Vipassana   Graham  Gambie died after a short illness.       Graham  was among the earliest Western students of S.N. Goenka. After his first Vipassana course  at Bodhgaya in 1971, Graham  remained in India. From  the time Dhamma Giri was purchased  in  November 1974, he lived, served  and  meditated  there for the next  five years.  He was one of  the first  assistant  teachers  appointed  by  Goenkaji   and,   after  returning  to Australia  in  1979,  he  worked  tirelessly   to  help  develop Dhamma Bhūmi, the first Vipassana center gdown  under.h

              Graham  was known to meditators around the world, many of whom he inspired  with  his Dhamma  insight and  enthusiasm. What follows is a brief memoir by Graham about his growth  in  Dhamma.

The thought arises that nearly twelve years have now gone past since my first tremulous  arrival in India. Twelve years. Difficult to  understand  how  it   all   happened  or  even  what   actually happened—but  one  thing  is  certain,  and  that  is  that  it  did happen. Twelve years.

              Who was that person who arrived, driven out of his sanity by  all the horrors of Western  life and  by  his own  loveless existence  as well, with so many disappointments, with so many failed romances, with such a high opinion of himself,  and with such  a  monstrous   collection  of  memories   and  fears?   What happened  to  that ape-like ancestor? The question often arises.  It  does not seem possible that he disappeared. That would  be too  much to hope for. It seems more likely that he never existed at all  beyond  the   bundle   of  miseries  and  false   hopes.  What actually disappeared were  the  sufferings of yesterday, and what remains are the sufferings of today: the decay into middle age, the inability to adjust  to reality, the shoddy burden of failed ambitions, the  passions, the  talkativeness.         But over the years has it become any easier to accept the anonymous nature  of these  miseries—to see that  the present  person  is as unreal as his ludicrous predecessor? Oh  no. Who  gives in willingly to his own ego death? Who gives up the ghost  smilingly, without a struggle?  Perhaps  that is  why there is  so little love in the world.  All  we know are those two phantoms,  gYouh and gI,h and not the  dissolution of both, which is love.

              There is no  claim that in  twelve years love and  joy  have taken full  command of this mind so infested,  as it  is,  with negativities. But certainly, a lot of the tension  has unwound  itself,  much of the heat  of hate has died down,  and much of the fear hidden within has disappeared.

              Having the power to produce the problem surely confers the right to apply the remedy also. And the only cure for  agitations of one kind  or another is silence. Looking  back, it seems the real journey was not from one country to another, but from agitation  to  silence;  from  doing  everything  and  achieving nothing, to  doing  nothing  and  letting  everything  occur. The simpler it is, the more difficult it is  to understand. Only a silent mind can see things as they are, and this is the first and last step, th , the  one  and  only  thing  to  do: the letting be of being.

              So many years spent just sitting as silently as possible, experiencing  the   terrifying  collection  of  sensations,  dreams, grasping, and fears that somehow have  given rise  to the  idea  of gMe.h Those who have never tried might imagine meditation to produce all kinds of ecstasies, spiritual visions, illuminations, and the  kinds of things that books are  full of. But the  real peace  is the relief from the terrifying banalities of everyday life,  the petty  likes and dislikes,  the interminable conversations of the mind, the wished for, the lost, the abandoned.

              And behind all that c is there anything beyond? Yes: a simple life getting simpler—an ordinary man finding real peace  and happiness where  he  never looked  before: in  the ordinary  things of life.  Actually,  there are no gordinaryh things of life. 

Coming  to  your  senses  out  of  your  dreams,  you  find  the ordinary  is quite miraculous and  the miraculous quite ordinary.

It is only then that you realize, as one poet put it, that you  are alive  in search of life.

              There is no magic or miracle beyond plain awareness. What can be  more  magical than a  crystal-clear mind—motionless,  silent?  What can be more miraculous  than to be beyond both the search for pleasure and the avoidance of fear? Many  think  that  magic shows are given only on stage or by some bearded guru, without understanding  that they  themselves are the magic, the magician,  the theatre,  the audience,  and,  for that  matter,  the world too.

              Who, living, has escaped the miseries and  pleasures of this beastly/blissful world? Why  seek  security  in  a world  where everything passes, where  every final payment is a  handful of dust? Why  bother to  try? What one cannot change, that one must accept. The choice is to accept it with good  or bad  grace. How  your life would change if you could smile at everything!

              Meditation then, like love, is not something that can be twisted to suit  the ugly dictatorship of the gI.h It has practical by-products, but again  like love, its end  result is dissolution  of the ego and its prison,  the world.  It  is its own end,  as love is its own  reward. Achievements, success, prestige, and  saving  the world are all in the domain of the gMeh that  wants so much and is  capable  of  so  little.

              A  superficial view  of life can see only the miseries that  produce  pessimism,  or  pleasures  that  produce  a  feeling   of optimism. In  retrospect, the miseries of this mind  seem the most valuable, since it was due to  that unbearable pain  that the search  for a cure began. The pleasures too were helpful:  through their brevity  and  unsatisfactory  nature the desire arose to  take the medicine, bitter as it is. Beyond hope and fear—the Truth.  And slowly, ever so slowly, came the understanding that the disease is  only  in  the  mind.

              To whom should one attribute all  that  has happened? Whom can we  praise  or blame  for the  inevitable? The  law of Truth is a  homeless orphan  who  has the disturbing  habit of turning  up  anywhere,  any  time,   completely  uninvited,   clothed  in  the strength  of  meekness,  deafening  in  silence,  invincible  and empty-handed. This child  is you  and  me.

              And now  what is to be done? Where to go from here? Where is forward,  where back? What  to do with all  these possibilities,  and with tomorrow? When we  can obviously take  it no more,  shall we go on taking it?  When will enough be enough?  When will we stop to listen to the poet singing the last song:

 

 

In the rising of the light

wake with those who awake,

Or go on in the dream

reaching the other  shore

Of the sea which has no other shore.

 

Verse by Pablo Neruda, The Watersong Ends

 

 

 

 

 

ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€EƒKƒ“ƒr[@@1937 ` 1986 ”N

‚ ‚邪‚Ü‚Ü

 

1986”N6ŒŽ27“úAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ì•›‹³ŽtƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€ ƒKƒ“ƒr[‚ª’Z‚¢•a‹C‚ÌŒã‚É–S‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ÍAS.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJŽ‚ÌʼnŠú‚̼—ml¶“k‚̈êl‚Å‚µ‚½B1971”N‚Ƀuƒbƒ_ƒKƒ„‚Åʼn‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ƒR[ƒX‚ðŽó‚¯‚½ŒãAƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚̓Cƒ“ƒh‚É—¯‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B 1974”N11ŒŽ‚ÉDhamma ƒMƒŠ‚ðw“ü‚µ‚ĈȗˆA”Þ‚Í‚»‚±‚É 5 ”NŠÔZ‚ÝA•òŽd‚µAáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނ̓SƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä”C–½‚³‚ꂽʼn‚̃AƒVƒXƒ^ƒ“ƒgƒeƒB[ƒ`ƒƒ[‚̈êl‚Å‚ ‚èA1979”N‚ɃI[ƒXƒgƒ‰ƒŠƒA‚É‹A‘‚µ‚½Œã‚ÍA‰‚Ìu’n‰ºvƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ ƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚Å‚ ‚éDhamma ƒu[ƒ~‚Ì”­“W‚ðŽx‰‡‚·‚邽‚߂ɸ—Í“I‚É“­‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚Í¢ŠE’†‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚É’m‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¨‚èA‚»‚ÌDhamma‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚é“´Ž@—͂ƔMˆÓ‚Å‘½‚­‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ɃCƒ“ƒXƒsƒŒ[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B ˆÈ‰º‚ÍADhamma‚É‚¨‚¯‚é”ނ̬’·‚ɂ‚¢‚ẴOƒŒƒAƒ€‚É‚æ‚é’Z‚¢‰ñ‘z˜^‚Å‚·B

 

Ž„‚ª‰‚߂ăCƒ“ƒh‚Ék‚¦‚È‚ª‚瓞’…‚µ‚Ä‚©‚çA‚à‚¤12”N‹ß‚­‚ªŒo‰ß‚µ‚½‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤‘z‚¢‚ª—N‚«ã‚ª‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B12”NB ‚·‚ׂĂª‚ǂ̂悤‚É‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚Ì‚©A‚ ‚é‚¢‚ÍŽÀۂɉ½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚Ì‚©‚ð—‰ð‚·‚é‚̂͢“ï‚Å‚·‚ªAˆê‚‚¾‚¯Šm‚©‚È‚±‚Æ‚ÍA‚»‚ꂪŽÀÛ‚É‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B 12”NŠÔB

¼—m¶Šˆ‚Ì‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é‹°•|‚ÆAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚̈¤‚̂Ȃ¢‘¶Ý‚É‚æ‚Á‚ij‹C‚ðŽ¸‚¢A‚ ‚Ü‚è‚É‚à‘½‚­‚ÌŽ¸–]‚ÆŽ¸”s‚ð‚µ‚½—öˆ¤AŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ɑ΂·‚é‚‚¢•]‰¿A‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚̂悤‚ÈŠ´î‚ð•ø‚¦‚Ä‚â‚Á‚Ä—ˆ‚½‚ ‚Ìl‚͈ê‘Ì’N‚¾‚Á‚½‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H ‹L‰¯‚Æ‹°‚ê‚Ì’p‚¸‚ׂ«ƒRƒŒƒNƒVƒ‡ƒ“? ‚ ‚Ì‰Ž‚Ì‚æ‚¤‚Ȏ҂͂ǂ±‚É‚¢‚Á‚½‚Ì‚©H ‚Æ‚¢‚¤‘z‚¢‚͂悭•‚‚©‚т܂·B

 

”Þ‚ªŽ¸çH‚µ‚½‰Â”\«‚Í’á‚»‚¤‚Å‚·B‚»‚ê‚ÍŠú‘Ò‚µ‚·‚¬‚Å‚µ‚傤B ”Þ‚ÍA‹ê‚µ‚݂ƋU‚è‚ÌŠó–]‚Ì‘©‚ð’´‚¦‚ÄA‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­‘¶Ý‚µ‚È‚©‚Á‚½‰Â”\«‚ª‚‚¢‚悤‚ÉŽv‚í‚ê‚Ü‚·B ŽÀÛ‚ÉÁ‚¦‚½‚Ì‚Íð“ú‚̋ꂵ‚݂ł ‚èAŽc‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂͡“ú‚̋ꂵ‚݂ł·B’†”N‚ɬ‚è‰Ê‚Ä‚½‚Ì‚ÉAŒ»ŽÀ‚É“K‰ž‚Å‚«‚¸Aޏ”s‚µ‚½–ì–]‚Æî”M‚Æé`ã‚É‚æ‚錩‚©‚¯“|‚µ‚Ìd‰×‚Ì“úXB ‚µ‚©‚µA”N‚ªŒo‚‚ɂ‚ê‚ÄA‚±‚ê‚ç‚̔ߎS‚È“½–¼«A‚‚܂茻݂̎҂ªŠŠŒm‚È‘O”CŽÒ‚Æ“¯‚¶‚­‚ç‚¢”ñŒ»ŽÀ“I‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª­‚µ‚Å‚àŠÈ’P‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H ‚È‚ñ‚Ä‚±‚Á‚½B Ž©•ªŽ©g‚̃GƒS‚ÌŽ€‚Éi‚ñ‚Å‹ü•ž‚·‚él‚ª‚¢‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H “¬‚킸‚É‚ÉΊç‚Å—H—ì‚É~ŽQ‚·‚él‚ª‚¢‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H ‚¨‚»‚ç‚­‚»‚ꂪA¢ŠE‚Ɉ¤‚ª”ñí‚É­‚È‚¢——R‚Å‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÍAu‚ ‚È‚½v‚ÆuŽ„v‚Æ‚¢‚¤“ñl‚ÌŒ¶‰e‚¾‚¯‚Å‚ ‚èA‚»‚Ì—¼•û‚Ì—n‰ðA‚‚܂舤‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

12”NŠÔ‚ÅAˆ¤‚ÆŠì‚Ñ‚ªA”Û’è“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ª– ‰„‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðŠ®‘S‚ÉŽx”z‚µ‚½‚ÆŽå’£‚Í‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚µ‚©‚µŠm‚©‚ÉA‘½‚­‚ْ̋£‚ÍŽ©‘R‚ɉð‚¯A‘ž‚µ‚݂̔M‚Ì‘½‚­‚ÍÂ܂èA“à‚ɉB‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½‹°•|‚Ì‘½‚­‚ÍÁ‚¦‹Ž‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

–â‘è‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·—Í‚ª‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ÍA‹~Ïô‚ðŠmŽÀ‚É“K—p‚·‚錠—˜‚à—^‚¦‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‹»•±‚ðŽ¡‚·‰½‚ç‚©‚ÌA‚à‚µ‚­‚Í—Bˆê‚ÌŽ¡—Ö@‚Í’¾–Ù‚Å‚·B U‚è•Ô‚Á‚Ä‚Ý‚é‚ÆA–{“–‚Ì—·‚ÍA‚ ‚é‘‚©‚ç•ʂ̑‚ւł͂Ȃ­A“®—h‚©‚çÃŽâ‚Ö‚¾‚Á‚½‚悤‚Å‚·B ‚ ‚ç‚ä‚邱‚Æ‚ð‚µ‚Ä‰½‚à’B¬‚µ‚È‚¢ó‘Ô‚©‚çA‰½‚à‚¹‚¸‚É‚·‚ׂĂª‹N‚±‚é‚É”C‚¹‚éó‘Ԃ܂łł·B ƒVƒ“ƒvƒ‹‚Å‚ ‚ê‚΂ ‚é‚Ù‚ÇA—‰ð‚·‚é‚͓̂‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B ©‚ȃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚¾‚¯‚ª•¨Ž–‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«A‚±‚ꂪʼn‚ÅÅŒã‚̃Xƒeƒbƒv‚Å‚ ‚èAs‚¤‚ׂ«—Bˆê‚Ì‚±‚Ƃł·B‚‚܂èA‚ ‚邯Žv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚Ì‚ðŽè•ú‚·‚±‚Ƃł·B

‰½”N‚à‚ÌŠÔA‚½‚¾‚Å‚«‚邾‚¯Ã‚©‚ÉÀ‚Á‚ÄA‚Ç‚¤‚¢‚¤‚킯‚©uŽ„v‚Æ‚¢‚¤ŠT”O‚ð¶‚Ýo‚µ‚½Š´ŠoA–²A‚µ‚ª‚݂‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚ÌA‹°•|‚Ì‚¼‚Á‚Æ‚·‚éƒRƒŒƒNƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚ĉ߂²‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ŽŽ‚µ‚½‚±‚Ƃ̂Ȃ¢l‚ÍAáÒ‘z‚ª‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éŽí—ނ̃GƒNƒXƒ^ƒV[AƒXƒsƒŠƒ`ƒ…ƒAƒ‹‚ȃrƒWƒ‡ƒ“AƒCƒ‹ƒ~ƒl[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“A‚»‚µ‚Ä–{‚É–ž‚¿‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚È‚à‚Ì‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·‚±‚Æ‚ð‘z‘œ‚·‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚µ‚©‚µA–{“–‚Ì•½ˆÀ‚Æ‚ÍA“úí¶Šˆ‚Ì‚¼‚Á‚Æ‚·‚é–}—f‚³A±×‚ÈD‚«Œ™‚¢A‰Ê‚Ä‚µ‚È‚­‘±‚­ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̉ï˜bA–]‚ñ‚¾‚à‚ÌAޏ‚Á‚½‚à‚ÌAŒ©ŽÌ‚Ä‚ç‚ꂽ‚à‚Ì‚©‚ç‚̉ð•ú‚Å‚·B

‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ç‚Ì”wŒã‚É‚Íc‚»‚Ìæ‚ɉ½‚©‚ª‚ ‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H ‚»‚¤AƒVƒ“ƒvƒ‹‚È¶Šˆ‚ª‚³‚ç‚ɃVƒ“ƒvƒ‹‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚­\\•½–}‚È’j‚ªA‚±‚ê‚܂ŖڂðŒü‚¯‚½‚±‚Ƃ̂Ȃ¢Al¶‚Ì‚ ‚è‚Ó‚ê‚½Ž–•¿‚Ì’†‚É^‚Ì•½ˆÀ‚ÆK•Ÿ‚ðŒ©o‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·A ŽÀÛ‚É‚ÍAl¶‚Éu•’Êv‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚à‚̂͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

–²‚©‚ç–ÚŠo‚߂邯A•’ʂ̂±‚Æ‚ª‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­ŠïÕ“I‚Å‚ ‚èAŠïÕ“I‚È‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­•’ʂł ‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚̂Ƃ«‰‚ß‚ÄA‚ ‚éŽl‚ªŒ¾‚Á‚½‚悤‚ÉAŽ©•ª‚ª–½‚ð‹‚߂Ķ‚«‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɋC‚­‚̂ł·B

•½ˆÕ‚È”Fޝ‚ð’´‚¦‚½–‚–@‚âŠïÕ‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ”÷“®‚¾‚É‚¹‚¸A’¾–Ù‚·‚éA“§‚«’Ê‚Á‚½ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒhˆÈã‚É–‚–@“I‚È‚à‚̂͂ ‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H ‰õŠy‚Ì’T‹‚Æ‹°•|‚̉ñ”ð‚Ì—¼•û‚ð’´‚¦‚邱‚ƈÈã‚ÉŠïÕ“I‚È‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H ‘½‚­‚Ìl‚ÍAƒ}ƒWƒbƒNƒVƒ‡[‚̓Xƒe[ƒWã‚łЂ°‚ð¶‚₵‚½’Bl‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ă̂Ýs‚í‚ê‚邯l‚¦‚Ä‚¨‚èA”ނ玩g‚ªƒ}ƒWƒbƒN‚Å‚ ‚èAƒ}ƒWƒVƒƒƒ“‚Å‚ ‚èAŒ€ê‚Å‚ ‚èAŠÏ‹q‚Å‚ ‚èA‚³‚ç‚ÉŒ¾‚¦‚΢ŠE‚Å‚à‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚±‚Ìb‚ÆŽŠ•Ÿ‚Ì¢ŠE‚ŔߎS‚³‚ƉõŠy‚©‚ç¶‚«‚Ä‚¢‚é’†‚Å“¦‚ꂽl‚Í‚¢‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚·‚ׂĂª‰ß‚¬‹Ž‚èAÅI“I‚ÈŽx•¥‚¢‚ª‚Ù‚ñ‚̈ꈬ‚è‚Ìo‚É“™‚µ‚¢¢ŠE‚ÅA‚È‚ºˆÀ‘S‚ð‹‚ß‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©? ‚È‚º‚í‚´‚í‚´ŽŽ‚·•K—v‚ª‚ ‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H •Ï‚¦‚邱‚Ƃ̂ł«‚È‚¢‚à‚ÌA‚»‚ê‚͎󂯓ü‚ê‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‘I‘ð‚ÍA—Ç‚­‚àˆ«‚­‚à‚»‚ê‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚邱‚Ƃł·B ‰½Ž–‚É‚àΊç‚Å‚¢‚ç‚ꂽ‚çAl¶‚͂ǂñ‚Ȃɕςí‚邾‚낤I

               

 

áÒ‘z‚͈¤‚Æ“¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉAuŽ„v‚ÌX‚¢“ÆÙ‚ɇ‚킹‚ċȂ°‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚à‚̂ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚ê‚ÍŽÀÛ“I‚È•›ŽY•¨‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚â‚͂舤‚Æ“¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉA‚»‚ÌÅIŒ‹‰Ê‚ÍŽ©‰ä‚Æ‚»‚̘S–‚·‚Ȃ킿¢ŠE‚̉ð‘̂ł·B ˆ¤Ž©‘Ì‚ª•ñV‚Å‚ ‚é‚̂Ɠ¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉA‚»‚ꎩ‘Ì‚ª–Ú“I‚Ȃ̂ł·B ‹ÆÑA¬Œ÷A–¼ºA‚»‚µ‚Ä¢ŠE‚ð‹~‚¤‚±‚Ƃ͂·‚ׂÄA‘½‚­‚ð–]‚݂Ȃª‚ç‚à‚Å‚«‚邱‚Ƃ͂قƂñ‚ǂȂ¢uŽ„v‚̗̈æ‚Ì‚à‚̂ł·B

•\–Ê“I‚Èl¶ŠÏ‚Å‚ÍA”ߊώå‹`‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·”ߎS‚©AŠyŠÏŽå‹`‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·‰õŠy‚µ‚©Œ©‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñB U‚è•Ô‚Á‚Ä‚Ý‚é‚ÆA‚±‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̔ߎS‚³‚ÍÅ‚à‰¿’l‚Ì‚ ‚é‚à‚̂ł ‚邿‚¤‚ÉŽv‚¦‚Ü‚·B‚È‚º‚È‚çAŽ¡—Ö@‚Ì’T‹‚ªŽn‚Ü‚Á‚½‚̂͂»‚̑ς¦“ï‚¢’ɂ݂̂¹‚¢‚¾‚Á‚½‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B Šy‚µ‚Ý‚à–ð‚É—§‚¿‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ÌŠÈŒ‰‚³‚Æ–ž‘«‚Ì‚¢‚©‚È‚¢«Ž¿‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄA‹ê‚¢‚È‚ª‚ç‚à–ò‚ðˆù‚Ý‚½‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤—~‹‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B Šó–]‚à‹°•|‚à’´‚¦‚½A^ŽÀB ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚ä‚Á‚­‚è‚ÆA‚ƂĂà‚ä‚Á‚­‚è‚ÆA•a‹C‚̓}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì’†‚É‚¾‚¯‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤—‰ð‚ª[‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚±‚Æ‚·‚ׂĂð’N‚Ì‚¹‚¢‚É‚·‚ׂ«‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H ”ð‚¯‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢o—ˆŽ–‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í’N‚ðÌŽ^A‚à‚µ‚­‚Í’N‚ðÓ‚ß‚é‚ׂ«‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©? @

^ŽÀ‚Ì–@‘¥‚Ƃ͎ז‚‚·‚éKе‚ðŽ‚Âƒz[ƒ€ƒŒƒX‚̌ǎ™‚Å‚·B‚¢‚‚łà‚Ç‚±‚Å‚àA‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­µ‚©‚ê‚Ä‚à‚¢‚È‚¢‚̂Ɍ»‚êA_˜a‚È‹­‚³‚ðg‚ɂ܂ƂÁ‚ÄA’¾–Ù‚Ì’†‚ÅŽ¨‚ð‚‚ñ‚´‚­‚悤‚ÈA–³“G‚ÅAŽè‚Ô‚ç‚Å‚·B‚±‚ÌŽq‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ÆŽ„‚Å‚·B

‚»‚µ‚Ä¡A‰½‚ð‚·‚×‚«‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H ‚±‚±‚©‚ç‚Ç‚±‚Ös‚­‚̂ł·‚©H ‚Ç‚±‚ª‘O‚łǂ±‚ªŒã? ‚±‚ê‚ç‚·‚ׂẲ”\«‚Æ–¾“ú‚ð‚Ç‚¤‚·‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©? –¾‚ç‚©‚É‚à‚¤‚±‚êˆÈã‘Ï‚¦‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚Æ‚«AŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚ê‚𑱂¯‚é‚ׂ«‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H ‚¢‚‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚ç\•ª‚ɂȂé‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H Žl‚ªÅŒã‚̉̂ð‰Ì‚¤‚̂𕷂­‚½‚߂Ɏ„‚½‚¿‚ª—§‚¿Ž~‚Ü‚é‚̂͂¢‚‚ɂȂé‚Ì‚¾‚낤‚©B

 

Œõ‚̶‚Ü‚ê‚é’†‚Å

–ÚŠo‚ß‚él‚½‚¿‚Æ‹¤‚É–ÚŠo‚ß‚æA

‚»‚ê‚Æ‚à–²‚𑱂¯‚Ä‚È

Œü‚±‚¤ŠÝ‚É“ž’B‚·‚邯‚¢‚¤A

‘¼‚ÉŠÝ‚ª‚È‚¢ŠC‚Å‚³B

 

—ƒpƒuƒEƒlƒ‹[ƒ_‚ÌŽuƒEƒH[ƒ^[ƒ\ƒ“ƒOEƒGƒ“ƒhv

 

 

 

 

Grahamfs Death

This  account  by  Graham  Gambiefs   widow,  Anne  Doneman, reveals the peace of  mind experienced by a meditator who has reaped the benefits  of Dhamma. It was  excerpted from a longer 

piece  originally  published   in   Realizing  Change—Vipassana Meditation in Action,  Vipassana Research Institute,  July 2003, 

 

 

We  returned  home  to  Australia  in  February  and  in  May conducted a  10-day  course. Graham appeared  to  be in  a state of near-total   collapse  at   the  beginning  of  the  course.   In  the meditation hall, he was barely conscious on the dais and when he gave instructions  he could not construct a sentence correctly. At night his breathing  was barely  audible. Our concern  grew, and  so  we telephoned a neurologist in Sydney and made an appointment for the day the course ended, intending to fly to New Zealand on the  following day.

              Fortunately, by Day 10 Graham was fully alert and apparently totally recovered.  After the course we traveled to Sydney and met the neurologist, who  initially  dismissed  the  lapse  as  probable short-term  memory  loss  from  which  white-collar  workers sometimes suffer. However, he ordered a CT brain scan, and while waiting for the results Graham and I enjoyed a special lunch.  We returned to the neurologist  who,  without  saying a word, took the films from their  folder  and placed them on a display  panel. He pointed out  a tumor that  filled what  seemed to be 50  percent of the brainfs  left hemisphere. On top of the tumor was a very large cyst.

              I  was numb and uncomprehending. Yes, we would cancel our  air tickets to New Zealand. Yes, we  could get Graham directly into hospital that afternoon. The numbness turned  to  tears as I phoned  to  arrange accommodation  with  dear friends in  Sydney. I wasnft  making sense explaining to them what  was happening,  so Graham took the telephone and made the arrangements himself.

He was calm and collected.

              While getting Graham into hospital and making sure he was comfortable, I somehow managed to be  outwardly cheerful. But as soon as I left his company I was in tears again. That night, as I meditated, a deep sense of peace arose that was to stay with me throughout  Grahamfs  ordeal. It was  not the peace that comes  from rationalization or intellectualization; it was just something that  gkicked  in.h

              Within two days Graham was under the scalpel. The surgeons were not able to remove the entire tumor and, consequently, the  prognosis was not good. The neurosurgeon  told  us that, due to  the nature of the tumor,  an astrocytoma,  he had a maximum of five years to live—and by the  end, mentally, he  would be  a  vegetable.

              Such news was devastating, yet he took it  in his stride.  I once heard  him say  to  visitors, gHow  can I be attached to this body and mind when they are  constantly changing? There  is nothing to hold  onto.h Fellow journalists, workmates, police contacts, and those whom he knew through meditation came  to visit him. One  colleague  remarked, gI  came expecting to see a body on the bed and to console  him. Instead I ended up telling him all about my problems and  forgot about his.h

              The days passed—and I am grateful to have  spent every one  of them at his side. He was discharged  from hospital but within  10 days was back  in  again. He was having  difficulty  with  his legs, w , which  had  become  so  tender  that h t he  could  barely  walk.

              On the morning of June 27, six weeks  after the tumor had been  diagnosed, I arrived  at the  hospital. All I could think of was that  I really wanted to be close to him that  day—there would be no  popping  out to  run  errands. We had  a lovely  time together, and that night while  saying goodbye  I felt I couldnft  get  close enough to him. I hopped up on the side of the bed and began to put on  lipstick. He asked, gWhy?h I  said I  wanted to look nice for him. He then went on to say the sweetest things about what a wonderful wife I was and how  he felt. I was happy and he was happy. We said  goodbye.

              After dinner that night I was enjoying  the last sip  of a hot chocolate. I took a  breath and at that moment experienced a  deep sense of absolute peace and tranquility. The phone rang, a junior nurse calling—could  I come quickly? Graham was having  a heart attack  (later found to have been caused by a blood clot). But it was clear that there was really no need to hurry. He was gone.

              It was Friday, late. As I  traveled to the hospital, neon  lights were shining and people were out strolling, window  shopping, eating. Feelings of fear and vulnerability arose. Such a  casual picture of life could  not be trusted. What seemed  so  real, so  permanent, was an  illusion. We were all walking  on  very  thin ice, b , blind  to  the  fact th t that w t we  could  fall th ll through  at a t any  moment.              I  arrived at the hospital and went upstairs to the room where we had exchanged words only hours before. It was deserted, but I  was immediately struck by the vibrancy of the atmosphere. It was entirely clear that no one was there. Though Grahamfs  body lay on the bed,  it  looked like a cast-off coat that could  no  longer serve its  owner. This  was  all that remained of the person with whom I had just spent four very special years of my life.

              What a wonderful life he had lived. I received letters from people  who   knew  him  in   the  past,  each   one  recounting  something that Graham had done to help them. I heard how, when he was traveling in India, he would give his last rupee to someone who needed it,  how he used to feed street  children with money he received from  a small investment he had. When I realized how much he had loved and helped others during the time we had together,  it  became evident  that  the wonderful  good deeds he had  performed  had  all gone with  him.

              There were no more tears. How could there be tears? The relationship had come full circle. There was nothing left unsaid or unresolved. Yes, it had  been  the hardest thing  I had  ever done, but  the  fruits  were  so   great  and   so   numerous.  I  was  truly fortunate to have briefly shared my life with such a human being.

              At the funeral the pews were full and people lined the walls. They came from all persuasions, from all walks of life, each with his or her own  personal reason  for being  there. It was strange to return home to see his clothes just as he had left them, and to know that there was no  one to  claim ownership.

 

Anne Doneman

 

 

 

ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ÌŽ€

ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€EƒKƒ“ƒr[‚Ì–¢–SlƒAƒ“Eƒhƒlƒ}ƒ“‚É‚æ‚é˜b‚ÍDhamma‚̉¶Œb‚ð‹Žó‚µ‚½áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ªŒoŒ±‚·‚éƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì•½ˆÀ‚𖾂炩‚É‚µ‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚Ì‹LŽ–‚Í“–‰wRealizing ChangeVipassanaxiƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[Œ¤‹†ŠA2003 ”N 7 ŒŽj‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ꂽ’·•¶‚©‚甲ˆ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½

 

 

Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í10“úŠÔ‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŽÀŽ{‚·‚邽‚ß‚É2ŒŽ‚Æ5ŒŽ‚ɃI[ƒXƒgƒ‰ƒŠƒA‚É‹A‘‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚̓R[ƒX‚ÌŠJŽnŽž‚Å‚·‚łɳ킳͂Ȃ­‚¨‚©‚µ‚Èó‘Ô‚Å‚µ‚½B

áÒ‘zƒz[ƒ‹‚ÅA”Þ‚Í’dã‚Å‚©‚낤‚¶‚Ĉӎ¯‚ð•Û‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAŒ¾—t‚𳂵‚­‘g‚Ý—§‚ĂĎwަ‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

–é‚͔ނ̑§Œ­‚¢‚ª‚Ù‚Æ‚ñ‚Ç•·‚±‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌŒœ”O‚͑傫‚­‚È‚èAƒVƒhƒj[‚Ì_Œo‰Èˆã‚É“d˜b‚µ‚Ä—\–ñ‚ðŽæ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½

ƒR[ƒX‚ªI—¹‚·‚鎟‚Ì“ú‚ɂ̓jƒ…[ƒW[ƒ‰ƒ“ƒh‚Ö”ò‚Ô—\’è‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

K‚¢‚È‚±‚Æ‚ÉA10“ú–ڂ܂łɃOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ÍŠ®‘S‚Ɉӎ¯‚ͳí‚ɂȂèA‚Ç‚¤‚â‚犮‘S‚ɉñ•œ‚µ‚½‚悤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒR[ƒXI—¹Œã‚̓Vƒhƒj[‚ÖˆÚ“®‚µA_Œo‰Èˆã‚ɉï‚Á‚½‚Æ‚±‚ëA“–‰‚̓zƒƒCƒgƒJƒ‰[˜J“­ŽÒ‚ªŽžX‹ê‚µ‚Þ’ZŠú‹L‰¯‘rޏ‚̉”\«‚ª‚‚¢‚Æ‚µ‚Äf’f‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚µ‚©‚µA”Þ‚Í”]CTƒXƒLƒƒƒ“‚·‚邿‚¤‚É‚¢‚¢AŒ‹‰Ê‚ð‘Ò‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚éŠÔAƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ÆŽ„‚Í“Á•ʂȒ‹H‚ðŠy‚µ‚݂܂µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í_Œo‰Èˆã‚Ì‚à‚Æ‚É–ß‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA”ނ͉½‚àŒ¾‚킸‚ÉAƒtƒHƒ‹ƒ_[‚©‚çƒtƒBƒ‹ƒ€‚ðŽæ‚èo‚µ‚ÄA•\ަƒpƒlƒ‹‚É‚©‚´‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ͈ꌩ‚µ‚½‚Æ‚±‚ë”]‚̶”¼‹…‚Ì50ƒp[ƒZƒ“ƒg‚ðè‚ß‚éŽîᇂðŽw“E‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ŽîᇂÌã‚ɂ͂ƂĂà‘å‚«‚È”X–E‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Ž„‚Í–ƒáƒ‚µ‚½‚悤‚É‚È‚è—‰ð‚·‚é‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

‚¦‚¦Aƒjƒ…[ƒW[ƒ‰ƒ“ƒhs‚«‚Ìq‹óŒ”‚ðƒLƒƒƒ“ƒZƒ‹‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚¦‚¦AƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ð‚»‚ÌŒßŒã‚É•a‰@‚É‚»‚̂܂ܓü‰@‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚µ‚тꂪ—܂ɕςí‚èAƒVƒhƒj[‚Ìe—F‚ƈê‚Éh”‘Ž{Ý‚ðŽè”z‚·‚邽‚߂ɓd˜b‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚͉½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚ð”Þ‚ç‚Éà–¾‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅAƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ª“d˜b‚Éo‚ÄAŽ©•ª‚ÅŽè”z‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚Í—âœIŠm‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ð•a‰@‚É‘—‚Á‚ÄA”Þ‚ª–³Ž–‚È‚±‚Æ‚ðŠm”F‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éŠÔ‚͂Ȃñ‚Æ‚©•\–Êã‚Í—z‹C‚Å‚¢‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µ”Þ‚ª‹Ž‚邯‚·‚®‚ÉAŽ„‚͂܂½—܂𗬂µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚Ì–éAáÒ‘z‚·‚邯[‚¢•½ˆÀŠ´‚ª¶‚Ü‚êA‚»‚ꂪ‚¸‚Á‚ƃOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ÌŽŽ—û‚ÌŠÔŽc‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚ê‚Í—«‚â’m«‚©‚ç‚­‚镽˜a‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚Í‚½‚¾‰½‚©‚ªuŽn‚Ü‚Á‚½v‚̂łµ‚½B

 

2“úŒã‚ɃOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚̑̂ɃƒX‚Í“ü‚ê‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAŠO‰Èˆã‚½‚¿‚ÍŽîᇑS‘̂𜋎‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅA—\Œã‚Í—Ç‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”]_ŒoŠO‰Èˆã‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÉŽŸ‚̂悤‚ÉŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Žîá‡‚Ì«Ž¿‚ͯó×–EŽî‚ŔނÍÅ‘å‚Å—]–½5”N‚Å‚ ‚èA‚»‚ÌI‚í‚è‚ÍA•¨ó‘Ô‚Å‚ ‚낤A‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚±‚̂悤‚ȃjƒ…[ƒX‚ÍÕŒ‚“I‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA”Þ‚Í‚»‚ê‚ð—âÂɎ󂯎~‚߂܂µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚©‚‚ĔނªŒ©•‘‹q‚É‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¤‚̂𕷂«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

u‘̂ƃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Íí‚ɕω»‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÉA‚Ç‚¤‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ç‚É‚µ‚ª‚݂‚­‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚Ì‚¾‚낤‚ËH•߂܂¦‚Ä‚¨‚­‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚à‚̂Ȃñ‚©‰½ˆê‚‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚æBv

ƒWƒƒ[ƒiƒŠƒXƒg’‡ŠÔA“¯—»AŒxŽ@ŠÖŒWŽÒA‚»‚µ‚ÄáÒ‘z‚ð’Ê‚¶‚Ĕނª’m‚Á‚½lX‚ª–K‚˂Ă«‚Ü‚µ‚½B 1l‚Ì“¯—»‚Íuƒxƒbƒh‚Ìã‚Ì—lŽq‚ðŒ©‚É‚«‚½‚Ì‚ÉA‘ã‚í‚è‚ɔނɎ©•ª‚Ì–â‘è‚ð‚·‚×‚Ä˜b‚µ‚ĈԂ߂ç‚êA”Þ‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ð–Y‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bv‚ÆŒê‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

“úX‚ª‰ß‚¬‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Ì‘¤‚É‚¢‚ÄA‚·‚ׂĂ̓úX‚ð‰ß‚²‚¹‚½‚±‚ƂɊ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

”ނ͈ê“x‚͑މ@‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA10“úŒã‚ɂ܂½–߂邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

”Þ‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ì‚±‚ƂŢ“ï‚ð•ø‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B“ü‰@’†‚É‘«‚ª‚ƂĂà_‚ç‚©‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚©‚낤‚¶‚Ä•à‚­‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

ŽîᇂÌf’f‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ä6TŠÔŒã‚Ì6ŒŽ27“ú‚Ì’©A•a‰@‚É“ž’…‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚Ì“ú‚ÉŽ„‚ªl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÍA”ނ̋߂­‚É–{“–‚É‚¢‚½‚©‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅA—pŽ–‚ð‚·‚é‚½‚ß‚Éo•à‚­‚±‚Ƃ͂µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B @

Ž„‚½‚¿‚͈ê‚ÉŠy‚µ‚¢ŽžŠÔ‚ð‰ß‚²‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½A‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚Ì–éA•Ê‚ê‚ðŒ¾‚¢‚È‚ª‚çA‚Ü‚¾”Þ‚É\•ª‚ɋ߂¢‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚̓xƒbƒh‚̉¡‚Å”ò‚Ñ‹N‚«‚ÄAŒûg‚ð‚‚¯Žn‚߂܂µ‚½B

”Þ‚Íu‚Ç‚¤‚µ‚½‚ÌHv‚Æq‚Ë‚½‚Ì‚ÅA”Þ‚Ì‚½‚ß‚ÉãY—í‚ɂȂ肽‚¢‚©‚ç‚Á‚ÄŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚ê‚©‚ç”Þ‚ÍAŽ„‚ª‚¢‚©‚É‘f°‚炵‚¢È‚Å‚ ‚èA”ނ͂ǂ¤Š´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚©A‚ÆÅ‚à—D‚µ‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð˜b‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚à”Þ‚àK‚¹‚Å‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚͕ʂê‚ð‚°‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚»‚Ì–é‚Ì—[HŒãAŽ„‚͉·‚©‚¢ƒRƒRƒA‚ÌÅŒã‚̈êŒû‚ðŠy‚µ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚Í‘§‚ð‹z‚¢A‚»‚ÌuŠÔ‚Éâ‘ΓI‚È•½˜a‚ÆÃ‚¯‚³‚Ì[‚¢Š´Šo‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ŠÅŒìŽt‚©‚ç‚Ì“d˜b‚ª–‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚·‚®‚É—ˆ‚ê‚Ü‚·‚©H ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚³‚ñ‚ªS‘Ÿ”­ìiŒã‚ÉŒŒð‚ªŒ´ˆö‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ª”»–¾j‚Å‚·Bv

‚Å‚àA–{“–‚É‹}‚®•K—v‚ª‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Í‚·‚Å‚ÉÀ‹Ž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚»‚Ì“ú‚Í‹à—j“ú‚Ì–é‚Å‚µ‚½B •a‰@‚És‚­“r’†AƒlƒIƒ“‚ªŒõ‚è‹P‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚ÄAlX‚ÍŽU•à‚µ‚½‚èAƒEƒBƒ“ƒhƒEƒVƒ‡ƒbƒsƒ“ƒO‚âH‚ׂà‚Ì‚ðŒû‚É‚µ‚½‚肵‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‹°•|‚Ǝコ‚ÌŠ´î‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ñ‚ȃJƒWƒ…ƒAƒ‹‚Èl¶‚̉f‘œ‚ÍM—Ђł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚Æ‚Ä‚àƒŠƒAƒ‹‚ÉA‰i‹v‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚½‚à‚Ì‚ÍAŒ¶‘z‚Å‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠFA‚¢‚Â—Ž‚¿‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¤‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢”–‚¢•X‚Ìã‚ð–Ú‚ª‚Ý‚¦‚È‚¢ó‘Ô‚Å•à‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

•a‰@‚É“ž’…‚µA‚Ù‚ñ‚Ì”ŽžŠÔ‘O‚ÉŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªŒ¾—t‚ðŒð‚킵‚½‚΂©‚肾‚Á‚½“ñŠK‚Ì•”‰®‚És‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚±‚ÍŠÕŽU‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAŽ„‚Í‚·‚®‚É‚»‚Ì•µˆÍ‹C‚ÌŠˆ‹C‚É‹Á‚©‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚±‚É’N‚à‚¢‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚µ‚½B ƒOƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚̑̂̓xƒbƒh‚ɉ¡‚½‚í‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÉA‚»‚ê‚Í‚à‚¤’…‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚¢Š—LŽÒ‚É’E‚¬ŽÌ‚Ä‚ç‚ꂽƒR[ƒg‚̂悤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

l¶‚Ì’†‚Å‚à“Á•Ê‚È4”NŠÔ‚ð‰ß‚²‚µ‚½‚΂©‚è‚Ìl‚ÉŽc‚Á‚½‚̂͂±‚ꂾ‚¯‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

”ނ͂Ȃñ‚Æ‘f°‚炵‚¢l¶‚ð‘—‚Á‚½‚̂łµ‚傤B‰ß‹Ž‚ɔނð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½lX‚©‚çŽèކ‚ðŽó‚¯Žæ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚ê‚ç‚̓Oƒ‰ƒnƒ€‚ª”Þ‚ç‚𕂯‚邽‚߂ɂµ‚½‚±‚Ƃɂ‚¢‚Ăłµ‚½B

ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ð—·s‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Æ‚«A”Þ‚ÍÅŒã‚̃‹ƒs[‚ð•K—v‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½l‚É‚ ‚°‚½‚à‚Ì‚¾‚Á‚½‚èA”Þ‚ª­Šz‚Ì“ŠŽ‘‚Å“¾‚½‚¨‹à‚ŃXƒgƒŠ[ƒgƒ`ƒ‹ƒhƒŒƒ“‚ɂǂ̂悤‚ÉH—¿‚ð“n‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚±‚ƂȂǂłµ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ªˆê‚ɉ߂²‚µ‚½ŽžŠÔ‚Ì’†‚ÅA”Þ‚ª‚Ç‚ê‚Ù‚Ç‘¼‚Ìl‚ðˆ¤‚µA•‚¯‚Ä‚«‚½‚©‚É‹C‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚·‚ׂĔނƋ¤‚ɋނÁ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚Á‚½‚±‚ê‚܂łÌsˆ×‚ª‘f°‚炵‚¢—Ç‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª–¾‚ç‚©‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚à‚¤—Ü‚Ío‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚Ç‚¤‚µ‚Ä—Ü‚ªo‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

ŠÖŒW‚͈ê‰ñ‚肵‚Ü‚µ‚½BŒ¾‚¢Žc‚³‚ꂽ‚±‚Ƃ▢‰ðŒˆ‚Ì‚±‚Ƃ͉½‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

‚»‚¤‚Å‚·A‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚ª‚±‚ê‚܂łɌoŒ±‚µ‚½’†‚ÅÅ‚à“‚¢‚±‚Ƃłµ‚½‚ªA‚»‚̉ʎÀ‚͂ƂĂà‘å‚«‚­A‚Æ‚Ä‚à‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚»‚̂悤‚Èl‚ÆŽ„‚Ìl¶‚ð‹¤—L‚Å‚«‚½‚±‚Ƃ͖{“–‚ÉK‰^‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

‘’‹V‚ÌȂ͖žÈ‚ÅAlX‚ª•ǂɕÀ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚ç‚Í‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éMðA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é—§ê‚Ìl‚½‚¿‚ÅA”Þ‚Ü‚½‚͔ޗ‚ÌŒÂl“I‚È——R‚Å—ˆ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‰Æ‚É‹A‚Á‚ĔނªŽc‚µ‚½•ž‚ðŒ©‚ÄAŽ©•ª‚Ì‚à‚Ì‚¾‚Æ‚¢‚¤l‚ª’N‚à‚¢‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚é‚̂͊‚Å‚µ‚½B

Anne Doneman

               

 

Phuṭṭhassa  lokadhammehi,

citta yassa na kampati,

asoka viraja khema;

eta magalamuttama.

 

When faced with lifefs  vicissitudes,

onefs  mind is  unshaken,

free from sorrow, impurity or fear.

This is the highest welfare.

 

Magala  Sutta,  Sutta  Nipāta  2.271

 

l¶‚Ì”g—‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚Ä‚à

S‚Í—h‚邪‚È‚¢A

”ß‚µ‚Ý‚â•sƒ•¨‚â‹°‚ê‚©‚玩—R‚Å‚·B

‚±‚ꂱ‚»Å‚‚ÌK•Ÿ‚Å‚·B

 

 

 

What Happens at Death

This essay by Goenkaji originally appeared  in  the Sayagyi U Ba Khin Journal,   Vipassana Research Institute,   December  1991,  and  later in  the Vipassana Newsletter, April 1992.

To understand what happens at death, let us first understand what death is. Death is like a bend in a continuous river of becoming. It might appear that death  is the end of a process of becoming—and certainly it may be  so in the  case  of an arahant (a fully liberated being)  or  a buddha—but for an  ordinary  person  this flow of becoming continues even after death.  Death puts an end to the  activities of one  life  and the  very next instant starts the play  of a new life. On  one side is the last moment of this life and on  the other side is the first moment of the next life. It is as though  the  sun  rises  as  soon  as  it   sets,  with no interval of darkness between.  It  is as if the  moment of death is the  close  of one chapter in  the book  of becoming, and another chapter of life opens the very  next moment.

              Although no simile can exactly convey the process, one might say that this flow of becoming is like a train running on a track.  It reaches the station of death and, after slightly decreasing speed for a moment, carries on again with the same speed as before. It does not stop at the station even for an instant. For one who is not an arahant,  the station of death is not a terminus but a junction from where 31 different tracks diverge. The train, as soon as it arrives at the station,  shifts onto one or another of these tracks and continues.  This speeding train of becoming, running on the electricity of the kammic reactions of the past, keeps on traveling from one station to the next, on one track or the  other—a continuous journey that goes  on without ceasing.

              This switching of tracks happens automatically.  As the melting of ice into water and the cooling of water to form ice happen according to laws of nature, so also the transition from life to life is controlled by set laws of nature.  According to these laws, the train not only changes tracks by itself,  it  also lays the

next tracks for itself.

 

              For this train of becoming, the junction of death where the change  of tracks takes place  is of great importance. Here the present life is abandoned; this is called in Pāli cuti (disappearance, death). The demise of the body takes place, and immediately the next life starts, a process called paisandhi (conception, or beginning of the next life).  The moment of paisandhi is the result of the moment of death;  the moment  of death creates the moment of conception. Since every death moment creates the next birth moment, death is not only death but birth as well. At this junction, life changes into death and death into birth.

              Thus, every life is a preparation for the next death. If one is wise, one will use this life to best advantage and prepare for a good death. The best death  is the one that is the last, not a junction but a terminus: the death of an arahant. Here there will be no track on which the train can  run further. But until such a terminus is reached, one can at least ensure that the next death gives rise to a good birth  and  that the terminus will be reached  in  due course. It all depends on us, on our own efforts. We are the makers of our own future; we create our own welfare or misery, as well as our own liberation.

              How is it that we are the creators of the tracks that receive the onrushing train of becoming? To  answer this question we must understand what kamma (action) is.  Mental volition, whether skillful or  unskillful, is kamma. 

Whatever wholesome or unwholesome volition arises in the mind becomes the root of all mental, vocal or physical action.

Consciousness (viññāa) arises due to a contact at a sense door, then perception and recognition (saññā)  evaluate the experience, sensations (vedanā) arise, and a kammic reaction (sakhāra) takes place.

              These volitional reactions are of various kinds. Some are like a line drawn on water, disappearing immediately; some like a line drawn on sand, fading away after some interval; and others are like a line chiseled in rock, lasting for a very long time. If the volition is wholesome, the action will be wholesome and  the fruits beneficial. But if the volition is unwholesome, the action will be unwholesome and will give fruits of misery.

             Not all of these reactions result in a new birth. Some are so shallow that they do not give a significant result. Others are a bit deeper, but will be erased in this lifetime and not carry over into the next. Others, being still deeper, continue with the flow of this life and into the next birth, and can also multiply during this life and the next.

              Many kammas, however, are bhāva-kammas or bhāva- sakhāras, those that give a new birth,  a new life.  Each one gives rise to the process of becoming and carries a magnetic force in tune with the  vibrations of a particular plane of existence.  The vibrations of that bhāva-kamma and the vibrations of that bhāva-loka (world, plane) attract each other and the two will unite according to universal laws pertaining to forces of kamma.

              As soon as one of these bhāva-kammas is generated,  this railway train of becoming gets attracted to one or other of the 31 tracks at the station of death. Actually, these tracks are the 31 planes of   existence:  the 11 kāma lokas (realms of sensuality—the four lower realms of existence, the human world, and six celestial realms), the 16 rūpa-brahma lokas (where fine material body remains), and the four arūpa-brahma lokas (non- material realms, where only mind exists).

              At the last moment of this life a specific bhāva-sakhāra will arise. This sakhāra, capable of giving a new birth, will become connected with the vibrations of the related realm of existence. At the instant of death all 31 realms are open. The sakhāra that arises determines which track the train of existence runs on next.

Like shunting a train onto a new track, the force of the bhāva-kamma reaction provides a push to the flow of consciousness into the next existence.  For example, a bhāva-kamma of anger or malice, having heat and agitation as characteristics, will unite with some lower field of existence. Similarly, one like mettā (compassionate love), having peaceful and cool vibrations, can only unite with a brahma-loka. This is a law of nature, and these laws are so perfectly ordered that there is never any flaw in their operation. It must be understood, of course, that there is no passenger on the train except the force of accumulated sakhāras.

 

              At the moment of death, generally, some intense sakhāra will arise. It may be of a wholesome or unwholesome nature. For example, if one has murdered onefs father or mother or perhaps some saintly person in this lifetime, then the memory of that event will arise at the moment of death. In the same  way, if one has developed some deep meditation practice, a state of mind similar to that will arise.

              When there is no such intense bhāva-kamma,  then a comparatively less intense kamma will arise. Whatever memory is awakened will manifest as the kamma.  One might remember the wholesome kamma of giving food to a saintly person, or the unwholesome kamma of hurting someone. Reflections on such past kammas as these can arise. Otherwise, objects related to that kamma might arise: the plate of food that was offered as dāna (donation) or the weapon used to harm. These are called the kamma-nimittas (signs, images).

              Or perhaps a sign or a symbol of the next life might appear. This is called gati-nimitta (departing  sign).  These nimittas correspond to the bhāva-loka towards which the flow is attracted.  It  could  be   the scene of some celestial world, or perhaps of the animal world.  The dying person will often experience  one of these signs as a precursor, just as a trainfs headlight illuminates the track ahead.  The vibrations of these nimittas are identical to the vibrations of the plane of existence of the next birth.

              A good Vipassana meditator has the capacity to avoid tracks leading to the lower realms of  existence.  He or she clearly understands the laws of nature and practices to be ready for death at all  times.  If one has reached an advanced age,  there is all the more reason to remain aware  every moment.

              What preparations should one undertake?  One practices Vipassana by remaining equanimous with whatever sensations arise in the body, thereby breaking the habit of reacting to them.

Thus, the mind, which is usually generating new unwholesome sakhāras, develops the habit of being equanimous.

              At the approach of death it is not unlikely that one will experience very unpleasant sensations.  Old age, disease and death are dukkha (misery), and often, therefore, produce gross unpleasant sensations. If one is not skillful in observing these sensations with equanimity, one will likely react with feelings of fear, anger, sadness, or irritation, providing an opportunity for a bhāva-sakhāra of like vibration to arise. However, as in the cases of some well-developed meditators, one can work to avoid reacting to these immensely painful sensations by maintaining equanimity at the time of death. Then, even those related bhāva- sakhāras lying deep in the unconscious will not have an opportunity to arise.

              A meditator at the point of death will be fortunate to have close relatives or friends nearby who can practice Vipassana and generate beneficial vibrations of mettā,  which will create a peaceful Dhamma atmosphere, free from lamenting and gloom.

              An ordinary person will usually remain apprehensive, even terror-stricken, at the approach of death, and thus allow a fearful bhāva-sakhāra to surface.  In the same way, grief, sorrow, depression,  and other feelings might arise at the thought of separation from loved ones, and the related sakhāra will come up and dominate the mind. A Vipassana meditator, by observing all sensations with equanimity, weakens these sakhāras so that they will not arise at the time of death.  The real preparation for death  is this: developing a habit pattern of repeatedly observing the sensations manifesting in the body and mind with equanimity and with the understanding of anicca.

              At the time of death this strong habit of equanimity will automatically appear and the train of existence will switch to a track on which it will be possible to practice Vipassana in the new life. In this way  one saves oneself from birth in a lower realm and reaches one of the higher ones. Because Vipassana cannot be practiced in the lower realms, this is very important.

              At times a non-meditator will attain a favorable rebirth due to the manifestation at the time of death of wholesome bhāva-sakhāras such as  generosity, morality, and other strong, wholesome qualities.  But the special achievement of an established Vipassana meditator is to attain an existence where he or she can continue to practice Vipassana. In this way, by slowly decreasing the stock of accumulated bhāva-sakhāras,  one shortens onefs  journey of becoming and reaches the goal of liberation sooner.

              One comes into contact with the Dhamma in this life because of the great merits one has performed  in the past. Make this human life successful by practicing Vipassana, so that when death comes the mind  is full of equanimity, ensuring well-being for the future.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

Ž€‚ÉÛ‚µ‚Ä‹N‚±‚邱‚Æ

‚±‚̃SƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚É‚æ‚éƒGƒbƒZƒC‚ÍA1991”N12ŒŽ‚ÉVipassana Research Institute‚ÌwSayagyi U Ba Khin Journalx‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚êA‚»‚ÌŒã1992”N4ŒŽ‚Éwƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[Eƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[x‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ꂽ‚à‚̂ł·B

 

 

Ž€‚ʼn½‚ª‹N‚±‚é‚©‚ð—‰ð‚·‚邽‚ß‚ÉA‚Ü‚¸Ž€‚Ƃ͉½‚©‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ü‚·B

Ž€‚Æ‚ÍA˜A‘±‚·‚éubecoming@iƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[“]Š·‚É‚æ‚é•ω»jvì‚̋Ȃª‚èŠp‚̂悤‚È‚à‚̂ł·Bˆ¢—…Š¿iŠ®‘S‚ɉð’E‚µ‚½‘¶Ýj‚âƒuƒbƒ_‚Ìꇂ͊m‚©‚É‚»‚¤‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA•’Ê‚Ìl‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚ÍA‚±‚Ìbecoming‚Ì—¬‚ê‚ÍŽ€Œã‚à‘±‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł·B Ž€‚͂ЂƂ‚Ìl¶‚̉c‚Ý‚ÉIŽ~•„‚ð‘Å‚¿AŽŸ‚ÌuŠÔ‚©‚çV‚µ‚¢l¶‚ªŽn‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚·Bˆê•û‚ÍŒ»¢‚ÌÅŒã‚ÌuŠÔ‚Å‚ ‚èA‚à‚¤ˆê•û‚Í—ˆ¢‚Ìʼn‚ÌuŠÔ‚Å‚·B‚Ü‚é‚Å‘¾—z‚ª¸‚邯“¯Žž‚É’¾‚Þ‚©‚̂悤‚ÉB ‚ ‚½‚©‚àAŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ªubecomingv‚Æ‚¢‚¤‘•¨‚̈êÍ‚ÌI‚í‚è‚Å‚ ‚èAŽŸ‚ÌuŠÔ‚Él¶‚̕ʂÌÍ‚ª–‹‚ðŠJ‚¯‚é‚©‚̂悤‚Å‚·B

              ‚»‚̉ߒö‚ð³Šm‚É“`‚¦‚éæ ‚¦‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA‚±‚̂悤‚Ébecoming‚Ì—¬‚ê‚ÍAü˜H‚Ìã‚ð‘–‚é‹DŽÔ‚̂悤‚¾‚ÆŒ¾‚¦‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ€‚̉w‚É“ž’…‚µAˆêuƒXƒs[ƒh‚ð­‚µ—Ž‚Æ‚µ‚½ŒãAĂшȑO‚Æ“¯‚¶ƒXƒs[ƒh‚Å‘–‚葱‚¯‚Ü‚·Bˆêu‚½‚è‚Æ‚à‰w‚ÅŽ~‚܂邱‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBˆ¢—…Š¿‚łȂ¢ŽÒ‚ɂƂÁ‚ÄAŽ€‚̉w‚ÍI’…‰w‚ł͂Ȃ­A31‚̈قȂéü˜H‚ª•ªŠò‚·‚镪Šò“_‚Å‚·B—ñŽÔ‚͉w‚É“ž’…‚·‚é‚â‚¢‚È‚âA‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ìü˜H‚Ì‚¢‚¸‚ê‚©A‚·‚Ȃ킿•Ê‚Ìü˜H‚ɈڂèA‘–‚葱‚¯‚Ü‚·B‚±‚̃Xƒs[ƒh‚Ìo‚ébecoming—ñŽÔ‚Í‰ß‹Ž‚ÌƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚Ì”½‰ž‚Ì“d‹C‚Å‘–‚èA‰w‚©‚玟‚̉w‚ÖA1–{‚Ìü˜H‚à‚µ‚­‚͕ʂÌü˜H‚𑖂葱‚¯‚Ü‚·B

              ü˜H‚ÌØ‚è‘Ö‚¦‚ÍŽ©“®“I‚És‚í‚ê‚Ü‚·B •X‚ª—n‚¯‚Ä…‚ɂȂèA—₦‚Ä•X‚ɂȂ邱‚Æ‚ªŽ©‘R‚Ì–@‘¥‚É]‚Á‚Ä‹N‚±‚邿‚¤‚ÉA¶–½‚©‚ç¶–½‚ւ̈Ús‚à‚Ü‚½A’è‚ß‚ç‚ê‚½Ž©‘R‚Ì–@‘¥‚É‚æ‚Á‚ăRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì–@‘¥‚É]‚Á‚ÄA—ñŽÔ‚ÍŽ©‚çü˜H‚ð•Ï‚¦‚邾‚¯‚łȂ­AŽŸ‚Ìü˜H‚ð•~Ý‚µ‚Ü‚·B@

 

              ‚±‚̂悤‚Ébecoming—ñŽÔ‚ɂƂÁ‚ÄAü˜H‚Ì•ÏX‚ªs‚í‚ê‚鎀‚Ì•ªŠò“_‚Í”ñí‚Éd—v‚Å‚·B‚±‚±‚ÅŒ»¢‚ÍŽÌ‚Ä‹Ž‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚ðƒp[ƒŠŒê‚ÅcutiƒLƒ…[ƒeƒBiÁޏAŽ€j‚ƌĂ΂ê‚Ü‚·B“÷‘Ì‚ÌIà‚ª‹N‚±‚èA‚·‚®‚ÉŽŸ‚̶‚ªŽn‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚·BpaisandhiƒpƒeƒBƒTƒ“ƒfƒBiŽó‘ÙAŽŸ‚̶‚ÌŽn‚Ü‚èj‚ƌĂ΂ê‚Ü‚·ƒvƒƒZƒX‚Å‚·B ƒpƒeƒBƒTƒ“ƒfƒB‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÍŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÌŒ‹‰Ê‚Å‚ ‚èAŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ªŽó‘Ù‚ÌuŠÔ‚ð¶‚Ýo‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚·‚ׂĂ̎€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ªŽŸ‚Ì’a¶‚ÌuŠÔ‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·‚Ì‚ÅAŽ€‚ÍŽ€‚Å‚ ‚邯“¯Žž‚É’a¶‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚±‚Ì•ªŠò“_‚ÅA¶‚ÍŽ€‚ɕςí‚èAŽ€‚Í’a¶‚ɕςí‚è‚Ü‚·B

              ‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA‚·‚ׂĂÌl¶‚ÍŽŸ‚ÌŽ€‚Ì‚½‚߂̀”õ‚Ȃ̂ł·B Œ«–¾‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎA‚±‚Ìl¶‚ðÅ‘åŒÀ‚ÉŠˆ—p‚µA—Ç‚¢Ž€‚ðŒ}‚¦‚途õ‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚·Bŗǂ̎€‚Æ‚ÍAÅŒã‚ÌŽ€‚Å‚ ‚èA•ªŠò“_‚ł͂Ȃ­I’…“_‚Å‚·B ˆ¢—…Š¿‚ÌŽ€‚Å‚·B‚±‚±‚É‚ÍA—ñŽÔ‚ª‚±‚êˆÈã‘–‚邱‚Ƃ̂ł«‚éü˜H‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚µ‚©‚µA‚»‚̂悤‚ÈI’…‰w‚É“ž’B‚·‚é‚܂łÍA­‚È‚­‚Æ‚àŽŸ‚ÌŽ€‚ª—Ç‚¢’a¶‚ð‚à‚½‚炵A‚₪‚ÄI’…‰w‚É“ž’B‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠmŽÀ‚É‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚·‚ׂĂ͎„‚½‚¿ŽŸ‘æAŽ„‚½‚¿Ž©g‚Ì“w—ÍŽŸ‘æ‚Ȃ̂ł·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ©‚ç‚Ì–¢—ˆ‚ð‘n‚éŽÒ‚Å‚ ‚èAŽ©‚ç‚ÌK•Ÿ‚â•sKA‚»‚µ‚ĉð•ú‚ð‘n‚éŽÒ‚Ȃ̂ł·B

              ‚È‚ºŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªA‰Ÿ‚µŠñ‚¹‚ébecoming —ñŽÔ‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚éü˜H‚Ì‘n‘¢ŽÒ‚Ȃ̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚±‚Ì–â‚¢‚É“š‚¦‚é‚É‚ÍAkammaižŒê‚ŃJƒ‹ƒ}sˆ×j‚Ƃ͉½‚©‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñBn—û‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ÉŠÖ‚í‚炸Aƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚̈ӎu‚ªkamma‚»‚Ì‚à‚̂ł·B

Œ’‘S‚à‚µ‚­‚Í•sŒ’‘S‚Å‚ ‚êAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ɶ‚¶‚é‚·‚ׂĂ̈ӎu‚ªAƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹AŒ¾ŒêA“÷‘̂̌¾“®‚̪Œ¹‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚·B

ˆÓޝ(viññāa)‚ÍŠ´Šo‚Ì”à‚Å‚Ìi•¨Ž¿‚Ɗ튯‚ÌjÚG‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ķ‚¶A’mŠo‚Æ”Fޝ(saññā)‚ÍŒoŒ±‚ð•]‰¿‚µAŠ´Šo(vedanā)‚ª¶‚¶A‚»‚µ‚Äkamma”½‰ž(sakhāra)‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚·B

              ‚±‚ê‚ç‚̈ӎu“I”½‰ž‚ɂ͗lX‚ÈŽí—Þ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚ ‚é‚à‚̂ͅ‚Ìã‚É”g–ä‚̂悤‚É‚·‚®‚ÉÁ‚¦‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢A‚ ‚é‚à‚̂ͻ‚Ìã‚Ɉø‚©‚ꂽü‚̂悤‚É‚µ‚΂炭‚·‚邯Á‚¦‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢A‚Ü‚½‚ ‚é‚à‚̂͊â‚ɂ܂ꂽü‚̂悤‚É”ñí‚É’·‚¢ŠÔ‘±‚­‚à‚̂ł·BˆÓŽu‚ªŒ’‘S‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎAsˆ×‚àŒ’‘S‚ɂȂèA‰ÊŽÀ‚à—L‰v‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B‚µ‚©‚µAˆÓŽu‚ª•sŒ’‘S‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎAsˆ×‚à•sŒ’‘S‚ƂȂèA•sK‚ȉʎÀ‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚·B

             ‚±‚¤‚µ‚½”½‰ž‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂªV‚µ‚¢’a¶‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·‚킯‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚ ‚é‚à‚Ì‚Íó‚­A‘債‚½Œ‹‰Ê‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚¹‚ñB­‚µ[‚¢‚à‚Ì‚ÍA¡¶‚ÅÁ‚¦A—ˆ¢‚ÉŽ‚¿‰z‚³‚ê‚邱‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚³‚ç‚É[‚¢‚à‚Ì‚ÍA¡¶‚Ì—¬‚ê‚Æ‚Æ‚à‚ÉŽŸ‚Ì’a¶‚Ö‚Æ‘±‚«A¡¶‚Æ—ˆ¢‚Å‘B‚·‚邱‚Æ‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

              ‚µ‚©‚µA‘½‚­‚Ìkamma‚Íbhāva-kammaA‚·‚Ȃ킿bhāva-sakhāras‚Å‚ ‚èAV‚µ‚¢’a¶AV‚µ‚¢¶–½‚ð—^‚¦‚é‚à‚̂ł·B ‚»‚ꂼ‚ꂪbecomingƒvƒƒZƒX‚ð¶‚¶‚³‚¹A‘¶Ýi31—̈æj‚Ì’†‚Ì‚P‚‚ÌU“®‚Æ“¯’²‚·‚鎥—Í‚ð‰^‚т܂·B ‚»‚Ìbhāva-kamma‚ÌU“®‚Æ‚»‚Ìbhāva-lokaiƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[—̈æj‚ÌU“®‚݂͌¢‚Ɉø‚«•t‚¯‡‚¢A2‚‚Íkamma‚̗͂ɕt‚·‚é••Õ“I‚È–@‘¥‚É]‚Á‚ÄŒ‹‡‚µ‚Ü‚·B

              ‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ìbhāva-kamma‚Ì‚¢‚¸‚ê‚©‚ª¶¬‚³‚ê‚邯‚·‚®‚ÉAŽ€‚̉w‚Å31‚Ìü˜H‚Ì1‚‚Ɉø‚«Šñ‚¹‚ç‚ê‚邿‚¤‚Ébecoming“S“¹—ñŽÔ‚Íi‚݂܂·B‚·‚Ȃ킿A11‚Ìkāma lokasi4‚‚̉ºŠEAlŠÔŠEA6‚‚̓VŠEjA16‚Ìrūpa-brahma lokasi”÷ׂȓ÷‘Ì‚ªŽc‚颊EjA4‚‚Ìarūpa-brahma lokasiƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚¾‚¯‚ª‘¶Ý‚·‚é”ñ•¨Ž¿ŠEj‚̂ǂꂩ‚Å‚·B

                           ‚±‚Ìl¶‚ÌÅŒã‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉA“Á’è‚Ìbhāva-sakhāra‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B‚±‚Ìsakhāra‚ÍV‚½‚È’a¶‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«AŠÖ˜A‚·‚é31—̈æ‚Ì‚P‚‚Ɣg“®‚ł‚Ȃª‚è‚Ü‚·BŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚É‚Í31‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̗̈悪ŠJ‚©‚ê‚Ü‚·B‚Ç‚Ìsakhāra‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚é‚©‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄAV‚½‚ȶ–½‘̂ƂȂé—ñŽÔ‚ªŽŸ‚ɂǂÌü˜H‚ð‘–‚é‚©‚ªŒˆ‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚·B

—ñŽÔ‚ªV‚µ‚¢ü˜H‚ɈÚs‚·‚邿‚¤‚ÉAbhāva-kamma‚Ì”½‰ž—Í‚ÍAŽŸ‚̶–½‘̂ւÆuˆÓޝ‚Ì—¬‚êv‚ðŒã‰Ÿ‚µ‚µ‚Ü‚·B —Ⴆ‚ÎA“{‚è‚∫ˆÓ‚Ìbhāva-kamma‚ÍA”M‚Æ‹»•±‚ð“Á’¥‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŽ‚¿A‚æ‚è’á‚¢‘¶Ý‚Ìê‚Æˆê‘̉»‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚Ü‚½A•½˜a‚Å—âÂȔg“®‚ðŽ‚ÂmettāiŽœ”߂̈¤j‚ÍAbrahma lokas‚Æ‚µ‚©ˆê‘̉»‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ©‘R‚Ì–@‘¥‚Å‚ ‚èA‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì–@‘¥‚ÍŠ®àø‚É’˜‚¯‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邽‚ßA‚»‚Ìì—p‚ÉŒ‡Š×‚ÍŒˆ‚µ‚Ä‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñA’~Ï‚³‚ꂽsakhāra‚̗͈ȊO‚Ìæ‹q‚Í—ñŽÔ‚Éæ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

               ˆê”ʂɎ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚É‚ÍA‰½‚ç‚©‚Ì‹­—ó‚Èsakhāra‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B‚»‚ê‚ÍŒ’‘S‚È‚à‚Ì‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚µA•sŒ’‘S‚È‚à‚Ì‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB—Ⴆ‚ÎAŒ»¢‚Å•ƒ‚â•êA‚ ‚é‚¢‚͹l‚ðŽEŠQ‚µ‚½ê‡AŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚É‚»‚Ì‹L‰¯‚ª‘h‚è‚Ü‚·B‚Ü‚½A[‚¢áÒ‘z‚ÌCs‚ðς߂ÎA‚»‚ê‚ɉž‚¶‚½ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ìó‘Ô‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B

              ‚»‚̂悤‚È‹­—ó‚Èbhāva-kamma‚ª‚È‚¢‚Æ‚«‚ÍA”äŠr“I‹­—ó‚łȂ¢kamma‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B‚ǂ̂悤‚È‹L‰¯‚ªŒÄ‚ÑŠo‚Ü‚³‚ꂽ‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ꂪkamma‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŒ»‚ê‚Ü‚·B ¹l‚ÉH‚ו¨‚ð—^‚¦‚邯‚¢‚¤Œ’‘S‚Èkamma‚ðŽv‚¢o‚·‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚µA’N‚©‚ð‚‚¯‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤•sŒ’‘S‚Èkamma‚ðŽv‚¢o‚·‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚±‚̂悤‚È‰ß‹Ž‚Ìkamma‚ɑ΂·‚锽‰ž‚ª¶‚¶‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚»‚¤‚łȂ¯‚ê‚ÎAdānaiŠñ•tj‚Æ‚µ‚Ä•ù‚°‚ç‚ꂽH‚ו¨‚ÌŽM‚âAŠëŠQ‚ð‰Á‚¦‚邽‚߂Ɏg‚í‚ꂽ•Ší‚È‚ÇA‚»‚Ìkamma‚ÉŠÖ˜A‚·‚é‚à‚Ì‚ª¶‚¶‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚±‚ê‚ç‚Íkamma-nimittasiƒTƒCƒ“AƒCƒ[ƒWj‚ƌĂ΂ê‚Ü‚·B

              ‚ ‚é‚¢‚ÍA—ˆ¢‚̈ó‚âƒVƒ“ƒ{ƒ‹‚ªŒ»‚ê‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚±‚ê‚Ígati-nimittai—·—§‚¿‚̈ój‚ƌĂ΂ê‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ê‚ç‚̃jƒ~ƒbƒ^‚ÍAu¶–½‚Ì—¬‚êv‚ªˆø‚«Šñ‚¹‚ç‚ê‚ébhāva-loka‚ɑΉž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚Í“VŠE‚ÌŒõŒi‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚µA“®•¨ŠE‚ÌŒõŒi‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB—ñŽÔ‚̃wƒbƒhƒ‰ƒCƒg‚ª‘O•û‚Ìü˜H‚ðƂ炷‚悤‚ÉAŽ€‚ɂ䂭l‚Í‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì’›Œó‚̂ЂƂ‚ð‘O’›‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŒoŒ±‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‘½‚¢‚̂ł·B ‚±‚ê‚ç‚̃jƒ~ƒbƒ^‚Ì”g“®‚ÍAŽŸ‚Ì’a¶‚̗̈æ‚Ì¢ŠE‚Ì”g“®‚Æ“¯‚¶‚Å‚·B

              —D‚ꂽƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÍA’᎟‚Ì‘¶Ý¢ŠE‚ɂ‚Ȃª‚éü˜H‚ð”ð‚¯‚é”\—Í‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž©‘R‚Ì–@‘¥‚𖾊m‚É—‰ð‚µA‚¢‚Â‚Å‚àŽ€‚É”õ‚¦‚ç‚ê‚邿‚¤‚ÉCs‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚à‚µ‚—î‚É’B‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł ‚ê‚ÎA‚È‚¨‚³‚ç‚Ɉêuˆêu‚ðˆÓޝ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

              ‚ǂ̂悤‚È€”õ‚ð‚·‚ê‚΂悢‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Å‚ÍAg‘̂ɂǂ̂悤‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚àɸ‚ð•ۂ‚±‚Æ‚ÅA‚»‚ê‚ç‚É”½‰ž‚·‚éKе‚ð’f‚¿Ø‚è‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚¤‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA•’i‚ÍV‚½‚È•sŒ’‘S‚Èsakhāra‚ð¶‚Ýo‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªAɸ‚Å‚¢‚éKе‚ðg‚ɂ‚¯‚Ü‚·B

              Ž€‚ª‹ß‚­‚ÆA”ñí‚É•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ðŒoŒ±‚·‚é‰Â”\«‚Í’á‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

˜V‚¢A•a‹CAŽ€‚Ídukkhai‹ê‚µ‚Ýj‚Å‚ ‚èA‚»‚ê‚䂦A‚µ‚΂µ‚ÎA”ñí‚É•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ðɸ‚ÉŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Æ‚Én—û‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎA‹°‚êA“{‚èA”ß‚µ‚ÝA‰Õ—§‚¿‚ÌŠ´î‚Å”½‰ž‚µA“¯‚¶‚悤‚È”g“®‚Ìbhāva-sakhāra‚ª¶‚¶‚é‹@‰ï‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¤‚Å‚µ‚傤B‚µ‚©‚µAn—û‚µ‚½áÒ‘zŽÒ‚̂悤‚ÉAŽ€‚ÌŽž‚Éɸ‚ð•ۂ‚±‚Æ‚ÅA‚±‚̂悤‚È”ñí‚ɋꂵ‚¢Š´Šo‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚È‚¢‚悤‚É“w—Í‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚»‚¤‚·‚ê‚ÎA–³ˆÓޝ‚̉œ[‚­‚É–°‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚éŠÖ˜A‚Ìbhāva-sakhāra‚³‚¦‚àA¶‚¶‚é‹@‰ï‚ª‚È‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B

              Ž€‚ÌŠÔÛ‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðCs‚µAmettā‚Ì—L‰v‚È”g“®‚ð”­¶‚³‚¹‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«A‹ßeŽÒ‚â—Fl‚ª‹ß‚­‚É‚¢‚ÄA’Q‚«‚â—J‚¢‚̂Ȃ¢•½˜a‚ÈDhamma‚Ì•µˆÍ‹C‚ðì‚èo‚¹‚éK‰^‚ÉŒb‚Ü‚ê‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B

                           •’Ê‚Ìl‚ÍAŽ€‚ª‹ß‚­‚Æ•sˆÀ‚ɂȂèA‹°•|‚É‹¯‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚³‚¦‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B“¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉAˆ¤‚·‚él‚Ƃ̕ʂê‚ðl‚¦‚邯A”ß‚µ‚ÝA—JŸTA‚»‚Ì‘¼‚ÌŠ´î ‚ª—N‚«ã‚ª‚èAŠÖ˜A‚·‚ésakhāra‚ªƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðŽx”z‚·‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÍA‚·‚ׂĂ̊´Šo‚ðɸ‚ÉŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ìsakhāras‚ðŽã‚ßAŽ€‚ÌŽž‚É‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ìsakhāras‚ª¶‚¶‚È‚¢‚悤‚É‚µ‚Ü‚·BŽ€‚Ö‚Ì^‚Ì€”õ‚Æ‚ÍAɸ‚³‚Æanicca‚Ì—‰ð‚ð‚à‚Á‚ÄAg‘̂ƃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÉŒ»‚ê‚銴Šo‚ðŒJ‚è•Ô‚µŠÏŽ@‚·‚éKе‚ðg‚ɂ‚¯‚邱‚Ƃł·B

              Ž€‚ÌuŠÔA‚±‚Ìɸ‚Ì‹­‚¢Kе‚ªŽ©“®“I‚ÉŒ»‚êA—̈æ‚ð—·‚·‚é—ñŽÔ‚ÍAV‚µ‚¢l¶‚Ń”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚Å‚«‚é‹O“¹‚ÉØ‚è‘Ö‚í‚è‚Ü‚·B‚±‚̂悤‚É‚µ‚ÄAl‚͒᎟‚̗̈æ‚ɶ‚܂ꂸ‚ÉÏ‚ÝA‚ŽŸ‚̗̈æ‚É“ž’B‚µ‚Ü‚·Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚͒᎟‚Ì¢ŠE‚ł͎À‘H‚Å‚«‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÅA‚±‚ê‚Í”ñí‚Éd—v‚Å‚·B

              Žž‚É‚ÍAáÒ‘zŽÒ‚łȂ­‚Ä‚àAа‘傳A“¹“¿SA‚»‚Ì‘¼‚Ì‹­‚¢Œ’‘S‚ÈŽ‘Ž¿‚È‚ÇAŒ’‘S‚Èbhāva-sakhāra‚ªŽ€‚ÉÛ‚ÉŒ»‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA—L—˜‚È“]¶‚𓾂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚µ‚©‚µAŠm—§‚³‚ꂽƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚Ì“Á•ʂȒB¬‚Æ‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌCs‚𑱂¯‚ç‚ê‚é—̈æ‚𓾂邱‚Ƃł·B‚±‚̂悤‚É‚µ‚ÄA’~Ï‚³‚ꂽbhāva-sakhāra‚̃XƒgƒbƒN‚ð­‚µ‚¸‚ÂŒ¸‚炵‚Ä‚¢‚­‚±‚Æ‚ÅAl‚Íubecoming‚Ì—·v‚ð’Zk‚µA‰ð’E‚̃S[ƒ‹‚É‘‚­“ž’B‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

              Œ»¢‚ÅDhamma‚ÉG‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚Ì‚ÍA‰ß‹Ž‚És‚È‚Á‚½‘å‚«‚ÈŒ÷“¿‚Ì‚¨‚©‚°‚Å‚·Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðCs‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA‚±‚̃qƒg‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚Ìl¶‚ð¬Œ÷‚³‚¹AŽ€‚ª–K‚ê‚½Žž‚Ƀ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªÃ‰¸‚Å‚ ‚èA–¢—ˆ‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ª•ÛØ‚³‚ê‚邿‚¤‚É‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B

 

 

 

Handadāni, bhikkhave, āmantayāmi vo,

vayadhammā sakhārā,

appamādena  sampādetha.

 

Now, monks, I exhort you:

All conditioned things have the nature of decay.

Strive on diligently.

 

Mahāparinibbāna Sutta,  Dīgha Nikāya 2.185

 

‚³‚ÄAC“¹Žm‚½‚¿‚æAŽ„‚Í”ŒN‚ÉŠ©‚ß‚éF

‚·‚ׂĂÌðŒ•t‚«‚Ì‚à‚̂ɂ͋€‚¿‚髎¿‚ª‚ ‚éB

”MS‚É“w—Í‚µ‚È‚³‚¢B

 

 

 

Kāmayogena sayuttā,

bhāvayogena cūbhaya;

Ditthiyogena  sayuttā,

avijjāya  purakkhatā.

Sattā gacchanti sasāra,

jātimaraagāmino.

 

Bound by desire, tied to becoming,

fettered tightly by false opinions,

yoked to ignorance, whirled about:

thus beings wander through sasāra,

dying only to be born again.

 

Aguttara  Nikāya 4.10

 

—~–]‚ÉS‘©‚³‚êA•ω»‚·‚é‚à‚̂ɔ›‚ç‚ê‚éA

Œë‚Á‚½ˆÓŒ©‚É‚«‚‚­žgi‚©‚¹j‚³‚êA

–³’m‚ÉŠ‡‚è•t‚¯‚ç‚ê‚ÄAù‰ñ‚·‚éF

‚±‚¤‚µ‚ĉñ˜H‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄO¶‚Í‚³‚܂悤‚¾‚¯A

ĂѶ‚Ü‚ê‚邽‚ß‚¾‚¯‚ÉŽ€‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚­B

 

 

 

 

Paicca Samuppāda

The Law of Dependent Origination

According to the Buddha, our present is the fruit of our past thoughts, words and deeds. Thus, moment by moment our future is shaped by the things we think, say and do in the present.  The Buddhafs  message is  profound. Practicing seriously, we realize its unavoidable truth, facing it head-on in our meditations and as  and as we carry out our daily lives. The fact that we are responsible for our future, and that by mastering  our minds we can shape it, becomes very clear. Our understanding and acceptance of this law—the law of  dependent origination,  paicca samuppāda—is what brings us peace of mind and opens the door to our liberation. 

              The Buddha spent eons developing the qualities necessary to become fully enlightened—to learn the way out of suffering.  Out of deep compassion he offered his discovery to all beings— fearful,  angry,  greedy, helpless, discouraged, ill, old and dying— so that they too could free themselves from their  suffering. 

              It is a long and difficult path. It can seem so much easier to stick to our old familiar habits of mind, to prefer the pain and suffering of patterns we already know,  than to face the discomforts of change that come with training the mind.

              Our lives are difficult. There are many days when we feel exhausted and stressed. Rather than face  the internal source of our misery, we crave distraction and pleasantness; and so we allow meditation to   slip to the bottom of our priority list.

Breaking the powerful old habit of craving the pleasant to avoid the unpleasant can seem impossible.  But when we are ready to make the effort, the Buddha has provided the perfect tool to make fundamental change.

 

              Following is Goenkajifs  explanation of paicca samuppāda,  from Day 5 of The Discourse Summaries.

Obviously the sufferings of life—disease, old age, death, physical and mental pain—are inevitable  consequences of being born. But what is the reason for birth? Of course the immediate cause is the   physical union of parents, but in a broader perspective birth occurs because of the endless process of becoming in which the entire universe is involved. Even at the time of death the process does not stop: the body continues decaying, disintegrating, while the consciousness becomes connected with@another   material structure and continues flowing—becoming.

              And why this process of becoming?  It was clear to@the Buddha that the cause is the attachment one develops. Because of attachment one generates strong reactions, sakhāras, that make a deep impression on the mind. At the end of life, one of these sakhāras will arise in the mind and give a push so that the flow of consciousness continues.

              Now what is the cause of this attachment? The Buddha found that it arises because of the momentary reactions of liking and disliking. Liking develops into great craving; disliking into great aversion,  the mirror image of craving;  and both turn into attachment.

              Why do these momentary reactions of liking and disliking arise? Anyone who observes himself will find that they occur because of bodily sensations. Whenever a pleasant sensation arises, one likes it and wants to retain and multiply it.  Whenever an unpleasant sensation arises, one dislikes it and wants to be  rid of it.

              What causes these sensations? Clearly they occur because of contact between any of the senses and an object of that particular sense: contact of the eye with a vision, of the ear with a sound, of the nose with an odor,  of the tongue with a taste,  of the body with something tangible, of the mind with a thought. As soon as there is contact,  a sensation is bound to arise—pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral.

             What is the reason for contact? Obviously, the entire universe is full of sense objects.  So long as the six senses—the five physical ones, together with the mind—are functioning, they are bound to  encounter their respective objects.

              And why do these sense organs exist? It is clear that they are inseparable parts of the flow of mind and matter;  they arise as soon as life begins.

              Then why does the life-flow, the flow of mind and matter, occur? It is because of the flow of consciousness from moment to moment, from one life to the next.

              So why do we have this flow of consciousness? The Buddha found that it arises because of  sakhāras,  the mental reactions. 

Every reaction gives a push to the flow of consciousness; the flow continues because of  the impetus given to it by reactions.

              And why do reactions occur? He saw  that they arise because of ignorance. One does not know what one is doing, does not know how one is reacting, and therefore one keeps generating sakhāras.@ As  long as there is ignorance, suffering will remain. 

              The source of the process of suffering, the deepest cause, is ignorance.  The chain of events by  which one generates mountains of misery for oneself starts from ignorance. If ignorance can be eradicated,  suffering will be eradicated. 

              How can one accomplish this? How can one break the chain?

The flow of life,  of mind and matter, has already begun. Committing suicide will not solve the problem; it will only create fresh misery. Nor can one destroy the senses without destroying oneself. So long as the senses exist, contact between them and their respective objects is bound to occur, and whenever there is contact a sensation is bound to arise within the body.

              And it is here, at the link of sensation, that one can break the chain. Previously, every sensation gave rise@to a reaction of liking or disliking that developed into great craving or aversion—great misery.   But now, instead of reacting to sensation,  you are learning just to observe with equanimity, understanding:  gThis will also change.h In this way sensation gives rise only to wisdom, to the understanding of anicca.  One stops the turning of the wheel of suffering and starts rotating it in the opposite direction, to , towards  liberation. 

              Any moment in which one does not generate a new sakhāra,  one of the old ones will rise to the surface of the mind and,  along with it, a sensation will start within the body. If one remains equanimous, it passes away and another old reaction arises in its place. One continues to remain equanimous toward the physical sensations and the old sakhāras continue to arise and pass away, one after another.  If, out of  ignorance, one reacts to sensations, then one multiplies the sakhāras, multiplies onefs misery. But, if one  develops wisdom and does not react to sensations, then one after another, the sakhāras are eradicated, and misery is eradicated.

              The entire path is a way to eradicate misery. By practicing, you will find that you stop tying new knots, and that the old ones are automatically untied. Gradually you will progress toward a stage in which  all sakhāras leading to new birth,  and therefore to new suffering,  have been eradicated:  the stage of  total liberation, full enlightenment. 

              To start the work, it is not necessary that one should first believe in past lives and future lives. In  practicing Vipassana the present is most important. Here in the present life, we keep generating  sakhāras and continue to make ourselves miserable.

Here and now one must break this habit and start coming out of misery. If you practice, certainly a day will come when you will be able to say that you have eradicated all the old sakhāras,  have stopped   generating any new ones, and so have freed yourself@from all suffering.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

There is no cause without an effect and there is no effect without a cause. The law of kamma is supreme and inevitable. What you have now is the result of what you have done in the past. Until we get rid of the forces of kamma which belong to us, once and for all, and enter the supreme nibbāna, there is bound to be some trouble or other, here and there, during the remainder of our existence, that we must put up with, using the strength of anicca.

Anicca will surely prevail upon them and you will keep yourself in good stead in spite of all these difficulties. Anicca is power.

Thorns in the way are inevitable. Make use of the power of anicca with diligence and peace will be with you.

 

Sayagyi U Ba Khin

 

 

Every life is a preparation for the next death. If one is wise, one will use this life to the best advantage and prepare for a good death.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

 

 

Paicca Samuppāda @‰‹N‚Ì–@‘¥

ƒuƒbƒ_‚É‚æ‚ê‚ÎAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌŒ»Ý‚Í‰ß‹Ž‚ÌŽvlAŒ¾—tAs‚È‚¢‚ÌŒ‹ŽÀ‚Å‚·B‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì–¢—ˆ‚ÍAŒ»ÝŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªˆêuˆêu‚Él‚¦A”­Œ¾‚µAs“®‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄŒ`ì‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚̃ƒbƒZ[ƒW‚Í[‚¢‚à‚̂ł·B

^Œ•‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚Ì”ð‚¯‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢^—‚É‹C‚«AáÒ‘z‚Ì’†‚ÅA‚Ü‚½“úí¶Šˆ‚ð‘—‚é’†‚ÅA^³–Ê‚©‚çˆö‰Ê‚Ì–@‘¥‚ÉŒü‚«‡‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì–¢—ˆ‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÉÓ”C‚ª‚ ‚èAS‚ðŽg‚¢‚±‚È‚·‚±‚ƂŖ¢—ˆ‚ðØ‚èŠJ‚­‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邯‚¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚ªA‚Í‚Á‚«‚è‚Æ‚í‚©‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B‚±‚Ì–@‘¥A‚·‚Ȃ킿]‘®‚ª”­¶‚·‚éipaicca samuppādaj‚ð—‰ð‚µŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ªAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ƀ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì•½ˆÀ‚ð‚à‚½‚炵A‰ð’E‚Ö‚Ì”à‚ðŠJ‚­‚̂ł·B

              ƒuƒbƒ_‚͉½”N‚à‚©‚¯‚ÄAŠ®‘S‚ÉŒå‚è‚ðŠJ‚­‚½‚߂ɕK—v‚ÈŽ‘Ž¿‚ðg‚ɂ‚¯A‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·“¹‚ðŠw‚т܂µ‚½B ƒuƒbƒ_‚Í[‚¢Žœ”ß‚ÌS‚©‚çA‹°‚ê‚ð•ø‚­ŽÒA“{‚è‚ð•ø‚­ŽÒAæÃ—~‚ÈŽÒA–³—͂ȎÒA—Ž’_‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éŽÒA•a‚ß‚éŽÒA˜V‚¢‚½ŽÒAŽ€‚ɂ䂭ŽÒ‚È‚ÇA‚·‚ׂĂ̶‚«‚Æ‚µ¶‚¯‚é‚à‚̂Ɏ©‚ç‚Ì”­Œ©‚ð•ù‚°‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ‚»‚ê‚Í’·‚­¢“ï‚È“¹‚Å‚·Bƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðŒP—û‚·‚邱‚ƂŶ‚¶‚é•ω»‚Æ‚¢‚¤•s“s‡‚É’¼–Ê‚·‚邿‚è‚àAÌ‚©‚犵‚êe‚µ‚ñ‚¾ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÌKе‚ɌŎ·‚µA‚·‚łɒm‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚éƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚̒ɂ݂â‹ê‚µ‚݂̕û‚ªA‚¸‚Á‚ÆŠy‚ÉŽv‚¦‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B

              Ž„‚½‚¿‚Ìl¶‚ÍŠÈ’P‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB”æ‚ê‰Ê‚ÄAƒXƒgƒŒƒX‚ðŠ´‚¶‚é“ú‚à‘½‚¢‚̂ł·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í•sK‚Ì“à“IŒ´ˆö‚ÆŒü‚«‡‚¤‚æ‚è‚àA‹C°‚炵‚â‰õŠy‚ðØ–]‚µA‚»‚Ì‚½‚ß‚ÉáÒ‘z‚ª—D懈ʂ̈ê”Ô‰º‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¤‚̂ł·B

•s‰õ‚ð”ð‚¯‚é‚½‚߂ɉõ‚ðØ–]‚·‚邯‚¢‚¤‹­—͂Ȍ¢Kе‚ð’f‚¿Ø‚邱‚Æ‚ÍA•s‰Â”\‚ÉŽv‚¦‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚µ‚©‚µA“w—Í‚·‚éŠoŒå‚ª‚Å‚«‚½‚Æ‚«Aƒuƒbƒ_‚ͪ–{“I‚ȕω»‚ð‹N‚±‚·‚½‚߂̊®àø‚ȃc[ƒ‹‚ð’ñ‹Ÿ‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

              ˆÈ‰º‚ÍAwu˜b‚Ì—v–ñx‚Ì5“ú–Ú‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚éPaicca Samuppāda‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚Ìà–¾‚Å‚·B

•a‹CA˜V‚¢AŽ€A“÷‘Ì“IA¸_“I‹ê’ɂƂ¢‚Á‚½l¶‚̋ꂵ‚Ý‚ÍA–¾‚ç‚©‚ÉA¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚«‚½•K‘R“I‚ÈŒ‹‰Ê‚Å‚·B

‚µ‚©‚µA¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚­‚é——R‚Ƃ͉½‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñA’¼Ú“I‚ÈŒ´ˆö‚Í—¼e‚Ì“÷‘Ì“I‚ÈŒ‹‚т‚«‚Å‚·‚ªA‚æ‚èL‚¢Ž‹–ì‚ÅŒ©‚ê‚ÎA’a¶‚͉F’ˆ‘S‘Ì‚ªŠÖ—^‚·‚éI‚í‚è‚È‚«ubecominngiŽ€–Å‚·‚é“÷‘̂Ɠ]¶‚·‚éSiƒJƒ‹ƒ}AƒTƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰j‚ƈӎ¯‚ÌŒp‘±jvƒvƒƒZƒX‚Ì‚½‚߂ɋN‚±‚è‚Ü‚·B“÷‘̂͋€‚¿‰Ê‚ÄA•ö‰ó‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·‚ªAˆÓޝ‚͕ʂ̕¨Ž¿\‘¢‚ÆŒ‹‚т‚«A—¬“®‚µA•ω»‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B

              ‚È‚ºA‚±‚ÌubecominngvƒvƒƒZƒX‚ª‚ ‚é‚Ì‚©H

ƒuƒbƒ_‚ɂ͂»‚ÌŒ´ˆö‚ªŽ·’…‚É‚ ‚邱‚Ƃ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚µ‚½B‹­‚¢”½‰ž‚ð‹N‚±‚·Ž·’…A‚·‚Ȃ킿sakhāra‚ªƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚É[‚¢ˆóÛ‚ð—^‚¦‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

l¶‚ÌI‚í‚è‚ɂ͂±‚ê‚ç‚Ìsakhāra‚̂ЂƂ‚ªƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ɶ‚¶AuˆÓޝ‚Ì—¬‚êv‚ª‘±‚­‚悤‚Ɍ㉟‚µ‚µ‚Ü‚·B

ssankhāra‚͌㉟‚µ‚Æ‚¢‚¤—͂ł͂Ȃ­ƒvƒƒyƒ‰‚̂悤‚È‚à‚̂ńi—͂𓾂Ă¢‚Ü‚·Bƒvƒƒyƒ‰‚ð‰ñ‚·—͂̓_[ƒNƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[idhamma‚ÌŽ©“]j‚É‚æ‚éŠg‘å—͂Ɖ¼à‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

              ‚³‚ÄA‚±‚ÌŽ·’…‚ÌŒ´ˆö‚͉½‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©Hƒuƒbƒ_‚ÍAŽ·’…‚ÍD‚«Œ™‚¢‚ÌuŠÔ“I‚È”½‰ž‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ķ‚¶‚邱‚Ƃ𔭌©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½BD‚«‚Æ‚¢‚¤Š´î‚͑傫‚ÈŠ‰–]‚Ö‚Æ”­“W‚µAŒ™‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤Š´î‚ÍŠ‰–]‚Ì‹¾‘œ‚Å‚ ‚é‘å‚«‚ÈŒ™ˆ«‚ւƕω»‚µA‚Ç‚¿‚ç‚àŽ·’…‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚·B

              ‚È‚ºD‚«Œ™‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤uŠÔ“I‚È”½‰ž‚ª¶‚¶‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©HŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚ê‚ÎA’N‚Å‚à‚»‚ꂪg‘ÌŠ´Šo‚É‹Nˆö‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɋC‚­‚Å‚µ‚傤B‰õ‚¢Š´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉAl‚Í‚»‚ê‚ðD‚ÝA•ÛŽ‚µA‘‚₵‚½‚¢‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉAl‚Í‚»‚ê‚ðŒ™‚¢AŽæ‚蜂«‚½‚¢‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B

              ‰½‚ª‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ðˆø‚«‹N‚±‚·‚̂łµ‚傤‚©HŠá‚ÍŒ©‚¦‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÉAލ‚͉¹‚ÉA•@‚Í‚è‚ÉAã‚Í–¡‚ÉAg‘Ì‚ÍGŠ´‚ ‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÉAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÍŽvl‚ÉÚG‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ÌÚG‚ª‚ ‚邯‚·‚®‚ÉA‰õA•s‰õA‚ ‚é‚¢‚͂ǂ¿‚ç‚Å‚à‚È‚¢ƒjƒ…[ƒgƒ‰ƒ‹‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B

             ÚG‚·‚é——R‚͉½‚Ȃ̂łµ‚傤‚©H‰F’ˆ‘S‘Ì‚ªŠ´Šo‚Ì‘ÎÛ‚Å–ž‚¿‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚·BŒÜŠ´‚ƃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ð‡‚킹‚½˜Z‚‚̊´Šo‚ª‹@”\‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éŒÀ‚èA‚»‚ꂼ‚ê‚Ì‘ÎÛ‚Éo‰ï‚¤‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

              ‚Å‚ÍA‚È‚ºŠ´ŠoŠíН‚ª‘¶Ý‚·‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©HŠ´ŠoŠíН‚ªuƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚Ì—¬‚êv‚Ì•s‰Â•ª‚̃p[ƒc‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Ƃ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚·B•¨Ž¿ƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[‚ª—¬‚ê‚邯ƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹ƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[‚ª—¬‚ê‚éi”Fޝj‰F’ˆ‚Ì–@‘¥

              ‚Å‚ÍA‚È‚º¶–½‚Ì—¬‚êA‚·‚Ȃ킿ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚Ì—¬‚ꂪ¶‚¶‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚»‚ê‚ÍAuŠÔ‚©‚çuŠÔ‚ÖA‚ЂƂ‚̶–½‚©‚玟‚̶–½‚ւƈӎ¯‚ª—¬‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚­‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B¶–½‚Æ‚ÍSg‚̃Gƒlƒ‹ƒM[‚Ì—¬‚ê‚Ì‚±‚Æ

              ‚Å‚ÍA‚È‚º‚±‚̂悤‚Ȉӎ¯‚Ì—¬‚ꂪ¶‚¶‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚»‚ê‚̓}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì”½‰ž‚Å‚ ‚ésakhāra‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ķ‚¶‚邱‚Æ‚ðƒuƒbƒ_‚Í”­Œ©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚·‚ׂĂ̔½‰ž‚ªˆÓޝ‚Ì—¬‚ê‚ðŒã‰Ÿ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł·B    —¬‚ꂪŒp‘±‚·‚é‚͔̂½‰ž‚É—^‚¦‚ç‚ê‚éÕ“®—͂̂½‚߂ł·B

 

              ‚È‚º”½‰ž‚ª‹N‚±‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚»‚ê‚Í–³’m‚Ì‚½‚߂ł·Bl‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ª‰½‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©•ª‚©‚炸A‚ǂ̂悤‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©•ª‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB –³’m‚ª‚ ‚éŒÀ‚èA‹ê‚µ‚݂͎c‚è‚Ü‚·B

              ‹ê‚µ‚݂̃vƒƒZƒX‚ÌŒ¹A‚·‚Ȃ킿łà[‚¢Œ´ˆö‚Í–³’m‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ăł·BŽ©•ªŽ©g‚É•sK‚ÌŽR‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·˜A½‚ÍA–³’m‚©‚çŽn‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚·B–³’m‚ðªâ‚Å‚«‚ê‚ÎA‹ê‚µ‚݂ͪâ‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

              ‚Ç‚¤‚·‚ê‚΂»‚ê‚ð’B¬‚Å‚«‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚»‚̘A½‚ð’f‚¿Ø‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H

¶–½‚Ì—¬‚êA‚·‚Ȃ킿Aƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚Ì—¬‚ê‚Í‚·‚łɎn‚Ü‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BŽ©ŽE‚µ‚Ä‚à–â‘è‚Í‰ðŒˆ‚¹‚¸AV‚½‚È•sK‚ð¶‚Þ‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·BŽ©•ªŽ©g‚̑̂ð”j‰ó‚µ‚È‚¢‚ÅŽ©•ª‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ð”j‰ó‚·‚邱‚Æ‚à‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŠ´Šo‚ª‘¶Ý‚·‚éŒÀ‚èAŠ´ŠoŠíН‚Æ‚»‚ꂼ‚ê‚Ì‘ÎÛ‚Æ‚ÌÚG‚Í•K‚¸‹N‚±‚èAÚG‚ª‚ ‚ê‚ΕK‚¸g‘̂̒†‚ÉŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B

              ‚»‚µ‚ÄAŠ´Šo‚Æ‚¢‚¤½‚ð’f‚¿Ø‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚Ì‚ÍA‚±‚ÌŠ´Šo‚Æ‚¢‚¤½‚Ì•”•ª‚Ȃ̂ł·B

‚±‚ê‚܂łÍA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚銴Šo‚ªD‚«Œ™‚¢‚Ì”½‰ž‚ðˆø‚«‹N‚±‚µA‚»‚ꂪ‘å‚«‚ÈŠ‰–]‚⌙ˆ«A‚·‚Ȃ킿‘å‚«‚È•sK‚Ö‚Æ”­“W‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B  ‚µ‚©‚µ‚±‚ê‚©‚ç‚ÍAŠ´Šo‚É”½‰ž‚·‚é‚̂ł͂Ȃ­A‚½‚¾Ã‰¸‚ÉŠÏŽ@‚µA—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠw‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·F 

"‚±‚ê‚à‚Ü‚½•ω»‚·‚é"B

‚±‚̂悤‚É‚µ‚ÄAŠ´Šo‚͉b’q‚ð¶‚ÝAanicca‚ð—‰ð‚·‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚¤‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAl‚͋ꂵ‚݂̗ւ̉ñ“]‚ðŽ~‚ßA‰ð’E‚Ö‚Æ‹t•ûŒü‚ɉñ‚µŽn‚߂܂·B

              V‚µ‚¢sakhāra‚ð¶‚Ýo‚³‚È‚¢uŠÔ‚ª‚ ‚ê‚ÎAŒÃ‚¢sakhāra‚̂ЂƂ‚ªƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì•\–ʂɌ»‚êA‚»‚ê‚É”º‚Á‚Äg‘̂̒†‚ÅŠ´Šo‚ªŽn‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚·B‚»‚±‚Åɸ‚ð•Û‚Ä‚ÎA‚»‚ÌŠ´Šo‚͉߂¬‹Ž‚èA‘ã‚í‚è‚ɕʂ̌¢”½‰ž‚ªƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÉŒ»‚ê‚Ü‚·B

g‘ÌŠ´Šo‚ɑ΂µ‚Äɸ‚ð•Û‚¿‘±‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAŒÃ‚¢sakhāra‚ÍŽŸX‚ƶ‚¶‚Ä‚ÍÁ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·B –³’m‚䂦‚ÉŠ´Šo‚É”½‰ž‚·‚邯Asakhāra‚ð‘‚₵A•sK‚ð‘‚â‚·‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B‚µ‚©‚µA’qŒd‚ð”­’B‚³‚¹AŠ´Šo‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎAsakhāra‚ðªâ‚µA•sK‚ðªâ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

              ‚·‚ׂĂ̓¹‚ÍA•sK‚ðªâ‚·‚邽‚߂̓¹‚Å‚·BCs‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAV‚µ‚¢Œ‹‚Ñ–ÚiŽ©“®”½‰ž‰ñ˜Hj‚ª‚È‚­‚È‚èAŒÃ‚¢Œ‹‚Ñ–Ú‚ªŽ©“®“I‚ɂقǂ¯‚邱‚ƂɋC‚­‚Å‚µ‚傤B™X‚ÉAV‚½‚È’a¶A‚‚܂èV‚½‚È‹ê”Y‚ɂ‚Ȃª‚é‚·‚ׂĂÌsakhāra‚ªªâ‚³‚ꂽ’iŠKA‚·‚È‚í‚¿Š®‘S‚ȉð’EA‚‚܂芮‘S‚ÈŒå‚è‚Ì’iŠK‚Ö‚Æi‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚­‚Å‚µ‚傤B

              ‚±‚Ìì‹Æ‚ðŽn‚ß‚é‚Ì‚ÉA‚Ü‚¸‰ß‹Ž¢‚â–¢—ˆ¢‚ðM‚¶‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ł͌»Ý‚ªÅ‚àd—v‚Å‚·BŒ»Ý‚Ìl¶‚ÅAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ísakhāra‚ð¶‚Ýo‚µ‘±‚¯AŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ðŽS‚߂ɂµ‘±‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

¡‚±‚±‚Å‚±‚ÌKе‚ð’f‚¿Ø‚èA•sK‚©‚甲‚¯o‚³‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñBCs‚ðς߂ÎA‚¢‚‚©•K‚¸AŒÃ‚¢sakhāra‚ð‚·‚×‚Äªâ‚µAV‚µ‚¢sakhāra‚Ì”­¶‚ðŽ~‚ßA‚·‚ׂĂ̋ꂵ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ꂽ‚Æ‚¢‚¦‚é“ú‚ª—ˆ‚Ü‚·B

 

-S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

Œ‹‰Ê‚̂Ȃ¢Œ´ˆö‚͂Ȃ­AŒ´ˆö‚̂Ȃ¢Œ‹‰Ê‚à‚È‚¢Bkamma‚Ì–@‘¥‚ÍŽŠ‚‚Å‚ ‚èA•K‘R‚Å‚ ‚éB

‚ ‚È‚½‚ª¡Ž‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·‚à‚Ì‚ÍA‚ ‚È‚½‚ª‰ß‹Ž‚És‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃ̌‹‰Ê‚Å‚·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚É‘®‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚ékamma‚Ì—Í‚ð‚«‚Á‚Ï‚è‚ÆŽæ‚蜂«AŽŠ‚‚ÌŸ¸žÏ‚É“ü‚é‚܂łÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì‘¶Ý‚ªŽc‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚éŠÔ‚ÉAanicca‚Ì—Í‚ð‚ ‚¿‚±‚¿‚ÅŽg‚Á‚ÄŽÀ‘H‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΃gƒ‰ƒuƒ‹‚ª•K‚¸‹N‚±‚è‚Ü‚·B

anicca‚Í•K‚¸‚»‚ê‚ɑł¿Ÿ‚¿A‚Ç‚ñ‚È¢“ï‚É‚à•‰‚¯‚¸‚ÉŽ©•ª‚ð•ۂ‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

anicca‚͗͂ł·B

Ž×–‚‚Èž™‚ð”ð‚¯‚é‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB¸i‚µ‚Äanicca‚̗͂𗘗p‚·‚ê‚ÎA•½˜a‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ƂƂà‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

Sayagyi@ƒEEƒoEƒLƒ“

 

 

 

‚·‚ׂĂÌl¶‚ÍŽŸ‚ÌŽ€‚Ö‚Ì€”õ‚Å‚ ‚éBŒ«–¾‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎA‚±‚Ìl¶‚ðÅ‘åŒÀ‚ÉŠˆ—p‚µA—Ç‚¢Ž€‚É”õ‚¦‚邾‚낤B

S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

An Exemplary Death

The following article first appeared in the Vipassana Newsletter, Dhamma Giri edition in April 1 il 1997.

Dr. Tara Jadhav attended her first Vipassana course in 1986. Her search was over; she had found the pure path of Dhamma and felt no need to explore any other path or technique. With single- minded dedication she began to walk on this path.

              Since Tara did not have other responsibilities, she spent most of her time progressing in Dhamma. With her abundant store of pāramitā (virtuous qualities), she was able to practice Vipassana easily. Like a  fish in water that does not have to be taught to swim, Tara did not have to be given any special training.  No doubt she had walked on the path of Dhamma in many previous lives. 

              She had the technique as well as facilities available for practice, and so she became engrossed in  making best use of her time. Since the qualities of mettā (loving-kindness) and karuā (compassion)  and  a capacity for  selfless service were well developed in her, she was appointed an assistant teacher in 1989  and a senior assistant teacher in 1995. In spite of old age she continued to give Dhamma service with great devotion. While guiding students in Vipassana she kept strengthening her pāramī of dāna. 

              At the ripe age of 82 she came to Dhamma Giri to take part in a Teachersf Self-Course. On the morning of December 2, 1996, the course started with ānāpāna,  as usual.  She practiced intently throughout the day.  After meditating in her cell from 6 to 7 pm she came to the Dhamma hall for the discourse.

              At about 7:30 pm, as soon as the discourse began, she knelt with palms and head upon the floor to pay her respects. Once, twice,  and after she touched her head to the floor for the third time, she did not  raise it again. She breathed her last in the traditional posture of the Dhamma salutation. 

              Women meditators sitting nearby were surprised to see her bowing thus, because respects are usually paid three times only at the end of a discourse. Why was she offering her respects at the beginning? All three times, while lowering her body, she softly repeated, gAnicca, anicca, aniccah—her last words. How could they have known this was to be her final salutation in this life?

              All serious meditators are taught that they should never pay respects mechanically. Only when one is equanimous, aware of the impermanence of sensations at the top of the head, is the salutation  meaningful. Tara would always bow in this deliberate manner. Her final salutation was all the more deliberate and meaningful.

              Tara would tell her Dhamma sisters, gIn this twilight of my life I have only one desire:  I should give up my body while meditating on this Dhamma land.h Her strong Dhamma wish was fulfilled. Becoming  established in Vipassana, on the path of liberation, she lived a life of Dhamma and ultimately achieved an exemplary death.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

–͔͓I‚ÈŽ€

ˆÈ‰º‚Ì‹LŽ–‚ÍA1997”N4ŒŽ1“ú‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[Eƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[ADhamma Giri”łɌfÚ‚³‚ꂽ‚à‚̂ł·B

 

ƒ^ƒ‰EƒWƒƒƒ_ƒt”ŽŽm‚Í1986”N‚ɉ‚߂ă”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[EƒR[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ—‚ÍDhamma‚̃ˆ‚È“¹‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯A‘¼‚Ì“¹‚â‹Zp‚ð‘{‚·•K—v«‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BˆêS•s—‚É‚±‚Ì“¹‚ð•à‚ÝŽn‚߂܂µ‚½B

              ƒ^ƒ‰‚ɂ͑¼‚ÌÓ–±‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅA”Þ—‚ÍDhamma‚Ìi’»‚ɔޗ‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚̂قƂñ‚Ç‚ðŽg‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bpāramitāi“¿‚Ì‚‚¢Ž‘Ž¿j‚ð–L•x‚É’~‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚½‚½‚ßAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ð—eˆÕ‚ÉCs‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‰j‚¬•û‚ð‹³‚¦‚é•K—v‚̂Ȃ¢…‚Ì’†‚Ì‹›‚̂悤‚ÉAƒ^ƒ‰‚à“Á•ʂȌP—û‚ðŽó‚¯‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ—‚͊ԈႢ‚È‚­A‘½‚­‚Ì‘O¢‚ÅDhamma‚Ì“¹‚ð•à‚ñ‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ”Þ—‚ÍCs‚Ì‚½‚߂̋Zp‚àŽ‘Ž¿‚àŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽžŠÔ‚ð—LŒø‚ÉŽg‚¤‚±‚Ƃɖv“ª‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒƒbƒ^[iŽœˆ¤j‚ƃJƒ‹ƒi[iŽœ”ßj‚ÌŽ‘Ž¿‚Æ–³Ž„‚Ì•òŽd‚Ì”\—Í‚ª”Þ—‚Ì’†‚ł悭”­’B‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅA”Þ—‚Í1989”N‚ɃAƒVƒXƒ^ƒ“ƒgƒeƒB[ƒ`ƒƒ[‚É”C–½‚³‚êA1995”N‚ɃVƒjƒAEƒAƒVƒXƒ^ƒ“ƒgƒeƒB[ƒ`ƒƒ[‚É”C–½‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚—î‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸A”Þ—‚͑傫‚ÈŒ£g‚ð‚à‚Á‚ÄDhamma‚Ì•òŽd‚𑱂¯‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ŷ“k‚ðŽw“±‚µ‚È‚ª‚çA”Þ—‚̓_[ƒi‚̃p[ƒ‰[ƒ~[‚ð‹­‰»‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              n”N82΂̎žA”Þ—‚ÍDhamma Giri‚̃eƒB[ƒ`ƒƒ[ƒYƒZƒ‹ƒtƒR[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚·‚邽‚ß‚ÉDhamma Giri‚ð–K‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B1996”N12ŒŽ2“ú‚Ì’©AƒR[ƒX‚Í‚¢‚‚à‚̂悤‚ɃA[ƒi[ƒp[ƒi[‚©‚çŽn‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚͈ê“ú’†”MS‚ÉáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ŒßŒã6Žž‚©‚ç7Žž‚܂œƋ–[‚ÅáÒ‘z‚µ‚½ŒãA’k˜b‚ð•·‚­‚½‚ß‚ÉDhammaƒz[ƒ‹‚É—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ŒßŒã7Žž”¼ Au˜b‚ªŽn‚܂邯‚·‚®‚ÉA”Þ—‚ÍŽè‚Ì‚Ð‚ç‚Æ“ª‚ð°‚ɂ‚¯‚ĂЂ´‚Ü‚¸‚«A‚¨Ž«‹V‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Bˆê“xA“ñ“xA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽO“x–Ú‚É“ª‚ð°‚ɂ‚¯‚½ŒãAĂѓª‚ðã‚°‚邱‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B“`““I‚ÈŒh—ç‚ÌŽp¨‚Å‘§‚ðˆø‚«Žæ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ‹ß‚­‚ÉÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½—«áÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚ÍA”Þ—‚ª‚±‚¤‚µ‚Ä‚¨Ž«‹V‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚Ä‹Á‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚È‚º”Þ—‚Í–`“ª‚Å‚¨Ž«‹V‚ð‚µ‚½‚Ì‚¾‚낤H”Þ—‚Í3‰ñ‚Æ‚àA‘Ì‚ð’á‚­‚µ‚È‚ª‚çuaniccaAaniccaAaniccav‚ÆÃ‚©‚ÉŒJ‚è•Ô‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ꂪ”Þ—‚ÌŒ»¢‚Å‚ÌÅŒã‚̈¥ŽA‚¾‚ÆA‚Ç‚¤‚µ‚Ă킩‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

              ^Œ•‚ÈáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÍŠFAŒˆ‚µ‚Ä‹@ŠB“I‚ÉŒhˆÓ‚𕥂Á‚Ă͂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚Æ‹³‚¦‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·Bɸ‚ð•Û‚¿A“ª’¸‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ª–³í‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽ©Šo‚µ‚Ä‚±‚»AŒh—ç‚͈Ӗ¡‚ðŽ‚Â‚Ì‚Å‚·Bƒ^ƒ‰‚Í‚¢‚‚àA‚±‚̂悤‚ÉTd‚É‚¨Ž«‹V‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ—‚ÌÅŒã‚ÌŒh—ç‚ÍA‚æ‚èTd‚ňӖ¡‚Ì‚ ‚é‚à‚̂łµ‚½B

              ƒ^ƒ‰‚ÍDhamma‚ÌŽo–…‚½‚¿‚ÉAu‚±‚Ìl¶‚̉©¨Žž‚ÉAŽ„‚ɂ͂½‚¾ˆê‚‚̊肢‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BDhamma

‚Ì’n‚Ìã‚ÅáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éŠÔ‚É‚±‚̑̂©‚ç—£‚ê‚邱‚Ƃł·Bv‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ—‚Ì‹­‚¢Dhamma‚ÌŠè‚¢‚ÍŠ‚¦‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ʼnð’E‚Ì“¹‚ðŠm—§‚µ‚½”Þ—‚ÍADhamma‚Ìl¶‚ð‘—‚èAÅI“I‚ɖ͔͓I‚ÈŽ€‚ð‹‚°‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

-S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

Questions to Goenkaji  I @@@Supporting Loved Ones at the Time of Death

 

Student:  It seems that mettā works,  for it is a common experience that when we meet a saintly person we  feel better.

When we share mettā with someone who has died, does this person feel better? Also, there is a belief that, by giving dāna in the name of someone who has died,  an ancestor or friend,  it helps them.  Does this  belief accord with Dhamma?

 

Goenkaji: When you say that mettā gworks,h what does this mean? It means that if your mind is pure and you are practicing mettā,  you are generating vibrations of mettā.  These vibrations can go anywhere—to this loka or that loka, to a lower field or a higher field, anywhere. When your mettā vibrations come in contact with the being to whom you direct them, he or she feels happy because these are vibrations of Dhamma, of peace, of harmony.

              When you donate something in the name of someone who has passed away and say, gMay the merit of my donation go to so- and-so,h whatever you donated obviously does not go to that person. However, your volition to help this person is one of mettā, and those vibrations will flow toward your ancestor or friend and he or she will feel a sense of elation from them.

Because these vibrations have a base of Dhamma, something or other will happen to take him or her toward  Dhamma in this or a future life. That is how we are helping those who are in lower fields, or even in higher ones.

              And now, what do you donate?  You donate the best thing you have—your own meditation.  Therefore, at the end of your meditation hour or at the end of a meditation course,  you remember anyone who is very dear to you or who has passed away, and you say, gI share the merits of my meditation with you.h  This is your mettā. Because you have meditated,  the vibrations going to that person are the strong   vibrations of Dhamma. You are sharing your meditation with the person.

Naturally it is very helpful.

 

I worry that those who are getting on in years will keep going through continuous rounds of birth and death because of their attachments—my mother, who is attached to constantly worrying, and a friend very near death who feels that she has been wronged all her life. Can anything be done? Perhaps mettā?

 

Yes.  Mettā.  In addition,  keep explaining the law of nature:  the more you worry the more you are harming yourself. And there is a technique that can relieve you of this worry.

              One cannot say for sure, but they may have a seed of Dhamma from the past.  If they get a few   words of encouragement, they might be attracted to Dhamma and learn how to relieve themselves of their misery.

 

If your parents  have died, can you benefit them in some way?

Yes, you can.  After each of your sittings of meditation, remember them and share your merits with them: gI  share with you whatever merits I have gained. May you also feel peaceful and happy.h These vibrations will touch them wherever they are. It is not the vibrations themselves that will work some wonder for them; rather, your parents will get attracted toward Dhamma and, who knows, they might find the path. This is the only way: share your merits.

 

How can family members help at the time of death?

It is always beneficial for the dying person if members of the family are Vipassana meditators. They should make a point of being present so they can meditate and generate mettā. When everybody is calm and quiet, this is wonderfully supportive for the dying person and will help him or her in retaining a calm and quiet mind at the time of death.

             Quite often people who are dying in a lot of pain are given strong painkillers such as morphine. For a meditator, is it   better to try to work with the pain so that the mind is clear at the moment of death?

It depends on how much the meditator can endure at the time. If, because of pain, the person is reacting  with aversion: gOh, I canft bear this pain!h then you canft be sure that he or she will die with equanimity. So  offer some pain medication.

                            But if the meditator is working with the pain with a balanced mind, wanting to observe things as they are, then donft impose anything. If a meditator is dying and observing calmly without taking  medicine, that is his or her choice.

                            As my mother was dying, she was not happy when we gave her sleeping pills; they made her eyes heavy. Even after taking               the sleeping pills, she didnft sleep. She said, gIfm quite happy if I donft  get sleep.  Why do you want me to sleep?h In her mind, pills were unnecessary and interfered with her  meditation.

                            At the time, there was another old lady next door who was also dying of cancer. The pain for her was unbearable. Her room was on the fourth floor but her cries could be heard on the first.

So it all depends on the attitude of the patient.

 

 If the dying person is a meditator, how can we help?

 

This is wonderful. Meditate with her. Give mettā.  Listen to some chanting. Because she is a meditator, these things can be done easily.

                            You can ask her to practice ānāpāna or, if she can feel sensations, to stay with   sensations.  Like this, help her very gently to maintain the awareness of anicca.  She will be receptive because she is a meditator, so offer her guidance even in meditating. Someone may do that; others can sit and meditate.

              Listen to some quiet chanting—not too loud; even an experienced meditator may find loud sounds too intense. The Karaīya-mettā Sutta and the Magala Sutta would be beneficial.

 

              Otherwise, remain very quiet. Members of the family, even if not meditators themselves, will know what meditation is. They will know that a Vipassana meditator is dying, and they should abstain from creating an atmosphere of sadness or distress that might tend to make her a little sad as well. One has to be very careful.

If the dying person is not a meditator, can we presume to give Dhamma advice if he has shown no interest  in the Dhamma in the past?

No. If he still does not have any faith in Dhamma and you start giving advice, he could generate negativity—gWhat are these people talking about?h—and it will be harmful. That is why, even in courses,  we cannot give Dhamma unless someone requests it. Dhamma should only be given to someone who is receptive. If he is not receptive, that means he is not requesting

Dhamma and so we are imposing it. And if, at the time of death, you try to impose something and  negativity arises in his mind, then you have started to harm him.  However, if you feel that he is positive toward Dhamma,  although he has not taken a course, and he can appreciate what you are saying, then  you may say a few words about Dhamma.

 

Can a Vipassana meditator help dying friends and relatives?

If the dying person is a Vipassana meditator, then other meditators can sit nearby and practice Vipassana. This helps to charge the  atmosphere with vibrations of purity, love and compassion for this friend or relative. It helps the person retain her purity of mind  at the time of death—this has been witnessed many times. If the dying person is not a Vipassana meditator, meditating still helps to purify the atmosphere around her, but obviously it is not as effective as with a meditator.

 

 

Jātipi d i dukkhā,

jarāpi d i dukkhā,

byādhipi dukkho,

maraampi dukkha,

appiyehi sampayogo  dukkho,

piyehi vippayogo  dukkho,

yampiccha na  labhati tampi dukkha,

sakhittena pañcupādānakkhandhā dukkhā.

 

Birth is suffering,

aging is suffering,

sickness  is  suffering,

death  is suffering,

association with the unpleasant is suffering,

dissociation  from the pleasant is suffering,

not to  get what one wants is suffering:

in  short,  the  five  aggregates of attachment are suffering.

 

Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta,  Sayutta Nikāya 5.1081

 

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJŽt‚Ö‚ÌŽ¿–â @@@@ň¤‚Ìl‚ÌŽ€‚ðŽx‚¦‚é

¶“k  u¹l‚ɉ‚Æ‹C•ª‚ª‚æ‚­‚È‚é‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚Ì‚ÍA‚æ‚­‚ ‚éŒoŒ±‚Å‚·B–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½l‚ƃƒbƒ^[‚𕪂©‚¿‡‚¤‚ÆA‚»‚Ìl‚ÍŒ³‹C‚ɂȂé‚̂łµ‚傤‚©B‚Ü‚½A–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½lAæ‘c‚â—Fl‚Ì–¼‘O‚Ń_[ƒii•zŽ{j‚ð•ù‚°‚邯A‚»‚Ìl‚𕂯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邯‚¢‚¤M‹Â‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ÌM‹Â‚ÍDhamma‚ƈê’v‚µ‚Ü‚·‚©Hv

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW

ƒƒbƒ^[‚ªuŒø‚­v‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚̂͂ǂ¤‚¢‚¤ˆÓ–¡‚Å‚·‚©HŽ©•ª‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªƒˆ‚ÅAƒƒbƒ^[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚ê‚ÎAƒƒbƒ^[‚Ì”g“®‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B ‚±‚Ì”g“®‚ÍA‚±‚̃ƒJi¢ŠEj‚É‚à‚ ‚̃ƒJ‚É‚àA’á‚¢ê‚É‚à‚‚¢ê‚É‚àA‚Ç‚±‚ɂłàs‚­‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚ ‚È‚½‚̃ƒbƒ^[‚Ì”g“®‚ªA‚»‚ê‚ðŒü‚¯‚鑊Žè‚Ì‘¶Ý‚ÉG‚ê‚邯‚«A‚»‚Ìl‚ÍK‚¹‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚·B

              –S‚­‚È‚Á‚½l‚Ì–¼‘O‚ʼn½‚©‚ðŠñ•t‚µAuŽ„‚ÌŠñ•t‚ÌŒ÷“¿‚ª››‚³‚ñ‚És‚«‚Ü‚·‚悤‚Év‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àAŠñ•t‚µ‚½‚à‚Ì‚ª‚»‚Ìl‚És‚­‚킯‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚Ìl‚𕂯‚½‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚ ‚È‚½‚̈ӎu‚̓ƒbƒ^[‚̂ЂƂ‚ł ‚èA‚»‚Ì”g“®‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚Ìæ‘c‚â—Fl‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚Ä—¬‚êAæ‘c‚â—Fl‚Í‚»‚Ì”g“®‚©‚ç‚—gŠ´‚ðŠ´‚¶‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B

Ž¿–â@æ‘c‚Í—Ö‰ô“]¶‚ÅV‚½‚È‘¼‚Ìl¶‚ð•à‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚̂ł—gŠ´‚ÍŠ´‚¶‚È‚¢‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚Å‚·‚©H

‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì”g“®‚É‚ÍDhamma‚̃x[ƒX‚ª‚ ‚邽‚ßA¡¢‚Ü‚½‚Í—ˆ¢‚É‚¨‚¢‚ÄA”Þ‚Ü‚½‚͔ޗ‚ðDhamma‚Ö‚Æ“±‚­‰½‚©‚ª‹N‚±‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B‚»‚¤‚â‚Á‚ÄŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍA’á‚¢—̈æ‚É‚¢‚él‚½‚¿A‚ ‚é‚¢‚Í‚‚¢—̈æ‚É‚¢‚él‚½‚¿‚𕂯‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł·B

              ‚³‚ÄA‚ ‚È‚½‚͉½‚ðŠñ•t‚·‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H ‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ÌáÒ‘z‚Å‚·B ‚Å‚·‚©‚çAáÒ‘z‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ÌI‚í‚è‚âáÒ‘zƒR[ƒX‚ÌI‚í‚è‚ÉA‚ ‚È‚½‚ɂƂÁ‚đ娂Èl‚â–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½l‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µ‚ÄAuáÒ‘z‚ÌŒ÷“¿‚𕪂©‚¿‡‚¢‚Ü‚·v‚ÆŒ¾‚¤‚̂ł·B ‚±‚ꂪ‚ ‚È‚½‚̃ƒbƒ^[‚Å‚·B‚ ‚È‚½‚ªáÒ‘z‚µ‚½‚©‚çA‚»‚Ìl‚ÉŒü‚©‚¤”g“®‚ÍDhamma‚Ì‹­‚¢”g“®‚Ȃ̂ł·B‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ÌáÒ‘z‚ð‚»‚Ìl‚Æ•ª‚©‚¿‡‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł·B

“–‘RA‚»‚ê‚͂ƂĂà–ð‚É—§‚¿‚Ü‚·B

 

¶“kuŽ„‚Ì•ê‚Íí‚ÉS”z‚·‚邱‚ƂɎ·’…‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·‚µAŽ€‚ðŠÔ‹ß‚ÉT‚¦‚½—Fl‚àA‚¸‚Á‚Æ•s“–‚Ȉµ‚¢‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ä‚«‚½‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‰½‚©‚Å‚«‚邱‚Ƃ͂Ȃ¢‚µ‚傤‚©H‚½‚Æ‚¦‚΃ƒbƒ^[‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW@‚»‚¤‚Å‚·Aƒƒbƒ^[‚Å‚·B

‚»‚ê‚ÍAS”z‚·‚ê‚΂·‚é‚Ù‚ÇŽ©•ª‚ð‚‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚éA‚Æ‚¢‚¤ˆö‰ÊŠÖŒWA‚·‚È‚í‚¿Ž©‘R‚Ì–@‘¥‚ðà–¾‚µ‘±‚¯‚邱‚Ƃł·B

              Šm‚©‚È‚±‚Ƃ͌¾‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA‰ß‹Ž‚ÉDhamma‚ÌŽí‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚à‚µ—ã‚Ü‚µ‚ÌŒ¾—t‚ð‚à‚炦‚ÎADhamma‚ÉŽä‚©‚êAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð•sK‚©‚ç‹~‚¤•û–@‚ðŠw‚Ô‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

¶“ku‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì—¼e‚ª–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½ê‡A‰½‚ç‚©‚ÌŒ`‚Ŕނç‚ɉ¶Œb‚ð—^‚¦‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚·‚©Hv

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW@‚Í‚¢A‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B áÒ‘z‚ÌŒãA—¼e‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µAŒ÷“¿‚𕪂©‚¿‡‚¢‚È‚³‚¢F uŽ„‚ª“¾‚½Œ÷“¿‚𕪂©‚¿‡‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚±‚Ì”g“®‚ÍA”ނ炪‚Ç‚±‚É‚¢‚Ä‚àG‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B”g“®‚»‚Ì‚à‚Ì‚ª”Þ‚ç‚ÉŠïÕ‚ð‹N‚±‚·‚̂ł͂Ȃ­A‚²—¼e‚ªDhamma‚ÉŽä‚©‚êA“¹‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚̂ł·B‚±‚ꂪ—Bˆê‚Ì•û–@‚Å‚·B

 

¶“kuŽ€‚ÌŠÔÛ‚ÉA‰Æ‘°‚͂ǂ̂悤‚É•‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·‚©Hv

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW@@‰Æ‘°‚ªƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎAŽ€‚ɂ䂭l‚ɂƂÁ‚Äí‚É—L‰v‚Å‚·BáÒ‘z‚µ‚ăƒbƒ^[‚ð¶‚Ýo‚¹‚邿‚¤‚ÉA‚»‚Ìê‚É—§‚¿‰ï‚¤‚悤‚É‚·‚ׂ«‚Å‚·BŠF‚ª—Ž‚¿’…‚¢‚Ä©‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎAŽ€‚ɂ䂭l‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‘f°‚炵‚¢Žx‚¦‚ƂȂèAŽ€‚ÌŠÔۂɉ¸‚â‚©‚Å©‚ȃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ð•ۂ•‚¯‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚·B

 

¶“ku‘½‚­‚Ìê‡A‹ê’ɂ̒†‚ÅŽ€‚ðŒ}‚¦‚él‚É‚ÍAƒ‚ƒ‹ƒqƒl‚Ȃǂ̋­‚¢’Á’ÉÜ‚ª“Š—^‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·BáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚ÍAŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚Ƀ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªŸ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÉA’ɂ݂Ƃ¤‚Ü‚­•t‚«‡‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Ù‚¤‚ª‚¢‚¢‚̂łµ‚傤‚©Hv

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW@áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ª‚»‚ÌŽž‚ɂǂꂾ‚¯‘Ï‚¦‚ç‚ê‚é‚©‚É‚æ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚à‚µ’ɂ݂̂½‚ß‚ÉA‚»‚Ìl‚ªŒ™ˆ«‚Å”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ȂçF u‚ ‚ A‚±‚̒ɂ݂ɑς¦‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢Iv‚ÆŒ™ˆ«”½‰ž‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł ‚ê‚ÎA‚»‚Ìl‚ª•½íS‚ÅŽ€‚Ë‚é‚ÆŠmM‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚Å‚·‚©‚çA’ɂݎ~‚ß‚ðˆù‚Ü‚¹‚Ü‚·B

‚µ‚©‚µAáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ªƒoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚̂Ƃꂽƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Œɂ݂ƌü‚«‡‚¢A•¨Ž–‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɋώ@‚µ‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚È‚çA‰½‚à‰Ÿ‚µ•t‚¯‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B‚à‚µáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ªŽ€‚ð–Ú‘O‚É‚µ‚ÄA–ò‚ðˆù‚Ü‚¸‚É—âÂɊώ@‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚È‚çA‚»‚ê‚Í‚»‚Ìl‚Ì‘I‘ð‚Å‚·B

Ž„‚Ì•ê‚ÍŽ€Šú‚ª”—‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Æ‚«A‡–°–ò‚ðˆù‚Ü‚¹‚邯‚܂Ԃ½‚ªd‚­‚È‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ™‚ª‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‡–°–ò‚ðˆù‚ñ‚Å‚à–°‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B–°‚ê‚È‚­‚Ä‚à‚¢‚¢‚Ì‚ÉA‚È‚º–°‚ê‚ÆŒ¾‚¤‚Ì‚©H‚ÆA”Þ—‚Ì’†‚Å‚ÍA‡–°–ò‚Í•s—v‚È‚à‚Ì‚ÅAáÒ‘z‚Ì–W‚°‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚̂łµ‚½B

‚»‚Ì A‹ßŠ‚É‚Í‚à‚¤ˆêlAƒKƒ“‚ÅŽ€‚É‚©‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚é˜V•wl‚ª‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ—‚̒ɂ݂͑ς¦“ï‚¢‚à‚Ì‚¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅA”Þ—‚Ì•”‰®‚Í4ŠK‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‹©‚Ѻ‚Í1ŠK‚܂ŕ·‚±‚¦‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚‚܂èA‚·‚ׂĂ͊³ŽÒ‚̑ԓxŽŸ‘æ‚Ȃ̂ł·B

 

¶“kuŽ€‚ɂ䂭l‚ªáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Å‚ ‚Á‚½ê‡AŽ„‚½‚¿‚͂ǂ¤‚·‚ê‚΂¢‚¢‚̂łµ‚傤‚©Hv

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW@‘f°‚炵‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·Bˆê‚ÉáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚傤Bƒƒbƒ^‚ð—^‚¦‚È‚³‚¢B ‰r¥‚ð•·‚«‚Ü‚µ‚傤B”Þ—‚ÍáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Ȃ̂¾‚©‚çA‚±‚̂悤‚È‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

‚Ü‚½A”Þ—‚ɃA[ƒi[ƒp[ƒi‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邿‚¤‚ÉŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚à‚¢‚¢‚µAŠ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚ê‚ÎAŠ´Šo‚ƈê‚É‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÉŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚à‚¢‚¢B ‚±‚̂悤‚ÉAanicchai•ω»‚µ‘±‚¯‚é‰F’ˆj‚̈ӎ¯‚ðˆÛނł«‚邿‚¤‚ÉA‚ƂĂà—D‚µ‚­•‚¯‚Ä‚ ‚°‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ”Þ—‚ÍáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Å‚·‚©‚çAŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚Ä‚­‚ê‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B’N‚©‚ª‚»‚¤‚µ‚Ä‚à‚¢‚¢‚µAÀ‚Á‚ÄáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ä‚à‚¢‚¢‚Å‚·B

‚ ‚Ü‚è‘å‚«‚ȉ¹‚ł͂Ȃ­A©‚ȉr¥‚ð’®‚«‚È‚³‚¢BŒoŒ±–L‚©‚ÈáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Å‚àA‘å‚«‚ȉ¹‚Í‹­—ó‚·‚¬‚邯д‚¶‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñBKaraīya-mettā Sutta‚âMagala  Sutta‚ª‚æ‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B   

‚»‚¤‚łȂ¯‚ê‚ÎA‚ƂĂà©‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ª‚¢‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤BáÒ‘zŽÒ‚łȂ­‚Ä‚àA‰Æ‘°‚ÌŽÒ‚ÍáÒ‘z‚Ƃ͉½‚©‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B”Þ‚ç‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ªŽ€‚É‚©‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÅA”Þ—‚ð­‚µ”ß‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚邿‚¤‚Ȕ߂µ‚Ý‚â‹ê’ɂ̕µˆÍ‹C‚ðì‚ç‚È‚¢‚悤‚É‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚ƂĂà‹C‚ð‚‚¯‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

¶“kuŽ€‚ɂ䂭l‚ªáÒ‘zŽÒ‚łȂ¢ê‡A‰ß‹Ž‚ÉDhamma‚ÉŠÖS‚ðŽ¦‚³‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àADhamma‚̃AƒhƒoƒCƒX‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·‚©Hv

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW@‚à‚µ‚»‚Ìl‚ª‚Ü‚¾Dhamma‚ɉ½‚ÌM‹Â‚à‚È‚­A‚ ‚È‚½‚ªƒAƒhƒoƒCƒX‚ð‚µŽn‚ß‚½‚çA‚»‚Ìl‚Íu‚±‚Ìl‚½‚¿‚͉½‚ðŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚¾‚낤v‚Æ‚¢‚¤”Û’è“I‚ÈŠ´î‚ð•ø‚­‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚¾‚©‚çuÀ‚Å‚àADhamma‚Í’N‚©‚ª—v‹‚µ‚È‚¢ŒÀ‚è—^‚¦‚Ă͂¢‚¯‚È‚¢‚̂ł·BDhamma‚͎󂯗e‚ê‚ç‚ê‚él‚É‚¾‚¯—^‚¦‚é‚ׂ«‚Å‚·B‚à‚µ‚»‚Ìl‚ªDhamma‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚È‚¢‚È‚çA‚»‚ê‚Í‚»‚Ìl‚ªDhamma‚ð—v‹‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ðˆÓ–¡‚µ‚Ü‚·B

Dhamma‚ð‰Ÿ‚µ•t‚¯‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚à‚µŽ€‚ÌŠÔۂɉ½‚©‚ð‰Ÿ‚µ•t‚¯‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚ÄA‚»‚Ìl‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ɔےè“I‚È‹CŽ‚¿‚ª¶‚܂ꂽ‚çA‚»‚ê‚Í‚»‚Ìl‚ð‚‚¯Žn‚ß‚½‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚à‚µ”Þ‚ªDhamma‚ɑ΂µ‚Äm’è“I‚ÅA‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚Å‚«‚邯д‚¶‚½‚çADhamma‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä­‚µ˜b‚µ‚Ä‚à‚æ‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

¶“kuƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÍAŽ€‚ɂ䂭—Fl‚âeʂ𕂯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·‚©Hv

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW@Ž€‚ɂ䂭l‚ªƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎA‘¼‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚à‹ß‚­‚ÉÀ‚Á‚ă”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚»‚¤‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA‚±‚Ì—Fl‚âe‘°‚ɑ΂·‚郈‚³Aˆ¤AŽœ‚µ‚݂̔g“®‚Å•µˆÍ‹C‚ð–ž‚½‚·‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·BŽ€‚ÌŠÔÛ‚É‚»‚Ìl‚ªƒˆ‚ȃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ð•ۂ‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·B

Ž€‚ɂ䂭l‚ªƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚łȂ¢ê‡‚àAáÒ‘z‚ÍŽüˆÍ‚Ì‘å‹C‚ðò‰»‚·‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·‚ªAáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Ù‚ÇŒø‰Ê“I‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

 

’a¶‚͋ꂵ‚݂ł ‚éA

˜V‚¢‚͋ꂵ‚݂ł ‚è

•a‚͋ꂵ‚݂ł ‚éA

Ž€‚͋ꂵ‚݂ł ‚éA

•s‰õ‚È‚à‚̂Ƃ̕t‚«‡‚¢‚͋ꂵ‚݂ł ‚éA

‰õ‚©‚ç—£‚ê‚邱‚Ƃ͋ꂵ‚݂ł ‚éA

—~‚µ‚¢‚à‚Ì‚ªŽè‚É“ü‚ç‚È‚¢‚̂͋ꂵ‚݂ł ‚éF

—v‚·‚é‚ÉAŒÜŽæå]iŽ·’…‚ÉŽú‚í‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æj‚͋ꂵ‚݂Ȃ̂¾B

 

Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta,  Sayutta Nikāya 5.1081

 

 

 

 

Susan Babbitt

Only the Present Moment

Susan Babbitt has been a professor at Queenfs University in Kingston, Ontario, Canada since 1990. She attended her first Vipassana course in 2004, and has since served a 10-day course and completed a 20-day course. The first interview took place in 2006, the second in 2007. Susan continues to teach at Queenfs, meditates daily and is still cancer-free in 2013.

 

Virginia:  Can you tell us how you found Vipassana, and what your first course was like?

Susan: I  was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer in August 2003. Until that point in my life I had no experience with illness or medicine. I had not even had the flu. The cancer diagnosis was a brutal assault on my senseof who I was. All of a sudden I was a seriously ill person. I looked for ways to get through this  experience.  At the beginning something called gguided imageryh was suggested to me, a form of imaginative positive thinking which I tried for several months as a way to escape my fear of what was happening. I used instructional audio tapes. 

                            Then my friend Maureen, who was also going through cancer and who was doing well  after treatments, died.  I suddenly understood that the only way I would be able to live with cancer was to come to terms with the fact that my existence or non- existence was ultimately out of my control. People  were saying to me,  gThis is not going to happen to you!  Your case is different.h But I couldnft distinguish myself from her like that.  I knew that what happened  to her could happen to me.  The gpositive thinkingh approach leads one to believe that one has some control, and of course one does have some control,  but the      final result is not under my control.

It was clear to me that I had to be able to look at what was happening to me for what it was, to accept that death was indeed possible. I decided that I wanted to be able to expect the worst- case scenario, and to live  with it; that is, to live my life with awareness of what could very well happen to me. Practically, this seemed the most reasonable thing to do.  At that time I knew nothing about meditation or Vipassana. I had read here and there,  in oncology books, that meditation is a good thing for cancer patients to learn. But I had no idea how to meditate, and when I tried to do it I failed.

              Shortly after Maureenfs death the doctors recommended that I undergo chemotherapy therapy,  which I had not expected. I hated the idea of chemotherapy therapy.  I had had surgery on my leg followed by radiation. These I could handle,  but everything about chemotherapy was awful to me—the idea that I would feel sick, that I would look sick, that everybody would know I was sick, that it was going to be from March to August,  for the whole spring and summer of 2004, five months long. I was angry and resentful, and I thought, gHow am I going to get through five months?h

              I didnft want to spend those months angry and resentful so I went to the social worker at the  Kingston Regional Cancer Centre and asked, gWhat tools do you have to offer?h She gave me a book on Buddhism that I started to read. It had to do with compassion and loving-kindness, but after about four chapters I returned it. I asked, gHow does this help me, practically, to get through five months of chemotherapy?h I was frustrated that there was no practical g l guidance. 

              I kept thinking about meditation, however, and remembered this Vipassana course I had heard about. I thought, well, if Ifm going to learn how to meditate, I might as well go all the way; you can only  learn meditation by doing it.

              I found an application form and signed up. I had no idea what the course was about, except that it was about meditation. So I committed myself to the 10 days from March 24 to April 4, 2004, starting  just  a few days after the first chemotherapy treatment. 

              The course was extremely difficult for me, and for the first three days I questioned what I was doing  there. On the fourth day, when Vipassana was taught, I became more interested. I had understood  somehow, when Maureen died, that I wanted to be able to see things as they are, to be able to look at the  real probability of death, and to live my life in the face of it. I didnft want to be trying to make things look better than they might be—ever hoping desperately for good news, ever fearful of the bad. I had decided  that I couldnft live my life always looking for ways to separate myself from those getting the bad news.

              With cancer, at least the kind I had, therefs no returning to your old life. You have to go for a CT scan every few months, and each time you go there is a real possibility of bad news. I didnft want to lose my life to fear.  I understood also that if I didnft confront and accept the real possibility of death,  fear would  always be lurking over me,  ready to descend and debilitate me at every indication that things were not going the way I wanted. I had decided that I wanted to be able to confront my reality and accept it for what it was, to live with it.

              So I was surprised to learn that Vipassana is precisely the practice of looking at your reality just as it is, not as you want it to be. It is the systematic, hour-after-hour observation of your entire physical and mental experience. You incrementally gain thereby an experiential understanding of the real nature of your existence, which is, after all, impermanent. There is no turning of bad things into good things, as so many seem to try to do with disease and death. Instead, you look at things the way they are, which is the way of the entire universe, constantly changing.

And when you gain such awareness, which must be experiential, meaning awareness that is felt, it makes no sense to identify yourself with either the good or the bad, and therefore to become debilitated by either desperate hope or by desperate fear.

              It is strange that I somehow realized, intuitively, that I could not be free from the fear of disease and death unless I could see my experience of cancer in the worst possible way, and live with that.  I donft  mean just to tolerate it,  but to live in the face of that reality with full awareness of the precarious nature  of my existence,  even seeing the beauty of that ever-changing mysterious nature.

              I learned at the Vipassana course that this is what the Buddha taught, not a religion, but a  practical technique of mental discipline, cultivating freedom from the dominating expectations that lead us to think life should be a certain way—expectations that make us miserable when they fail, as they almost  certainly do.

             Of course I was still angry about the cancer because cancer wasnft supposed to happen to me.  Yet  it was happening to me, and I knew that I could not make it go away. I knew also that I had to get out of the grip of unfounded expectations about how my life should be and move forward with open eyes. The simple practice of focusing my mind on the reality of my own bodily existence and becoming aware of its  nature—such a simple idea—was, I discovered, the tool that I needed to go through chemotherapy, and  much more.

              One thing in particular that really appealed to me about the practice of Vipassana, which  I learned at that first course, was that it was entirely practical. I did not have to believe in any unseen   entities or forces, or depend on anyone or anything outside of myself: no symbols, special dress, or rites or rituals. Vipassana is a practical tool for training the mind. I was well aware of how much time I had lost from my life when my mind was out of control,  somewhere else, reliving old dramas or spinning uselessly  around the same old problems and fears. Vipassana teaches control of the mind so that we can live entirely in our world as it is, instead of forever running away into imagination or resentment. 

              So Vipassana helped me get through the awful process of chemotherapy and its consequences. I did not have to try to see chemotherapy as a good thing. Indeed,  I looked at that chemotherapy experience as unacceptable. But I could also look at it objectively to some extent and say,  gThis is what is happening  now.h I accepted it as my reality at this moment, as it is, and would start again from there without regret    or disappointment.

              After the cancer treatments were over I went for a second Vipassana course at the end of 2004. Although I was not then dealing with cancer, I had other things to deal with. The second course was almost harder than the first, except that this time I understood why I was doing what I was doing. The course was painful, physically. I didnft need to talk to the teacher because I knew what I had to do and I knew what he would tell me. I just looked at that pain over and over again and practiced equanimity.

             At the end of the course, the teacher called me for a conversation and said, gYou sat through it, you accepted it with awareness; that is all you can do. Your job is to be aware, even when the experience is unpleasant.h That course was important because I realized I had a lot of other things to deal with besides cancer. Cancer was only one thing in my life, and maybe not even the most important source of negativity, so I was motivated to keep up the practice.

 

What happened after your second course?

By the summer of 2005 my life was getting back to normal. I had regained the use of my leg and had fully returned to work. I was getting ready for my sabbatical when, in September, my leg became stiffer. On the first of October, which was actually the beginning of a three-month sabbatical, I found another lump on my leg. I knew even before the doctors did that it was recurrent cancer. The whole month of October was extremely difficult because I knew the cancer was back, but I didnft know whether it had gone anywhere  else.   Moreover, the doctors hadnft confirmed that it was back and I couldnft really tell people about it.  They couldnft do the CT scan, to see if it had spread, until October 28.

              Those four weeks were hell. I knew the cancer was back but I didnft know the extent of it.  I was going to have to go through the whole thing again.  My career would again be interrupted and I was sure that, this time, I would lose my leg. What do you do with all these thoughts? All you have is your mind, and the fears go round and round.  Where do you go to flee from your mind? I thought that if I hadnft learned  meditation I wouldfve gone crazy. I could easily have fallen into a deep pit of despair and nobody would   have blamed me, for it would have been completely reasonable.

              Instead, I would sit amid those strong debilitating emotions, concentrate my mind, and patiently   observe sensations, sometimes most of the night, and eventually the fears would loosen their hold. I found that I could coexist with the fears and grief, like looking straight into darkness, and eventually feel some peace knowing that it had to be this way, at least for now. I did manage to function that month. I helped my  mother prepare for her trip to Ireland, and I did other things that I had to do, more or less normally.

              I looked for a way to think about the possibility of death. Somebody gave me a book by a Vietnamese Buddhist monk. His ideas about life and death made sense to me, suggesting that we are like waves in the  sea. Waves arise and disappear but the sea remains. Everybody has a right to live life as a wave but we also  need to live our life as water. Life doesnft go away;  it just changes form, like the waters of the ocean, constantly moving. I also read the Persian poet Rumi who has beautiful things to say about acceptance.  But when October 28 came around, I found that all these nice ideas did nothing to alleviate the grip of the terror I was feeling about the CT scan that might tell me the cancer had spread.

              So that day, when I got ready for the appointment, I found myself going back to the practice of Vipassana, which is  the simple experience of the rising and passing away of all sensory aspects of the   entire bodily structure. In Vipassana you experience,  by observing sensations, the real nature of  all existence—dynamic, temporary, but real. When you experience your reality like that, how can you be afraid? For when you are aware of yourself as an integral part of larger, constantly unfolding natural phenomena, uncertainty is not so threatening and scary. It is now expected, not foreign, and therefore easier to live through.  I was calm when I went to the hospital and even talked to a student about her thesis as I waited for the scan. As it turned out, I got good news that day. 

              It struck me that I hadnft thought much before about the difference between intellectual and  experiential understanding. I had been trying to prepare myself for bad news by looking for ideas.  I discovered in the end that all those useful ideas I had gathered had given me some intellectual understanding but did not alleviate the fears. Intellectual understanding frequently is not real understanding. In the end I had to feel the truth about life and death through awareness of sensations. It was practical, felt awareness, not intellectual truths, that helped me get through that day.

 

Did that realization give you more confidence in your practice?

Yes, it did. I realized that my mistake had been to look for a theoretical understanding of death,  and no merely intellectual understanding of death was going to help me confront it.  We all know, intellectually, that we can die at any moment, but we donft believe that this truth actually applies to us.  It is abstract.  We believe it, but we donft feel the truth of what we believe, and it plays no real role in how we live our lives. It is a truth that does not matter to our lives. Meditation is the experience, moment after moment, hour after hour, of the uncertain nature of existence; and, in undergoing such an experience, death cannot be  abstract,  for its reality is there in each moment of  real awareness.

              I began radiation treatments at Princess Margaret Hospital in Toronto. I stayed at the hospital lodge for five weeks, going twice a day to the hospital for this very painful radiation. I didnft feel like I had any kind of balance during this time. I was in a lot of pain and I didnft like being away from home.  I felt  bad physically and I was losing hope. Itfs easy to lose hope when physically you feel terrible.

              At that time I didnft have much peace of mind, but I remembered what one of my Vipassana instructors had told me: If you canft maintain your balance of mind,  just be aware that you donft have balance of mind and youfll still keep moving ahead. This is a powerful part of the Buddhafs teaching. It is  not about being immediately successful.  When things are going badly, I can still look at my reality as it is, aware of its ultimately impermanent nature, and start again from there. 

              The surgery to remove the tumor and save my leg was 13 hours long and the recovery was difficult. Finally I went home and began physiotherapy. It was now April 2006. The cancer was gone, spring had arrived, and I was becoming mobile again. But just one week after I left the hospital they told me the  cancer was in my lungs. This was devastating news because when cancer has metastasized the prognosis  is poor. They told me I had a 20 percent chance of living another five years, and that, of course, was hard to hear. 

              I was upset about this for three or four days and then, as in October 2005, I realized that I had to   look at the fear and disappointment, and wait. Again, I was so thankful that I had a tool to deal with this,  to deal with my mind and the grip of terror. 

People try to be helpful in such situations, but in the end youfre left with your mind.  Youfre alone with uncertainty and anguish. I would sit, hour after hour, and finally I found that I could be at peace with it. I could talk about the probability of death and even joke about it, which was surprising.

              As I accepted the  situation I realized that what was hard about the idea of dying was not that I would die soon,  at 53 rather than 83 as I had always expected, but that I would die at all.  It was not premature death that was hard, but death itself. I realized it was death that I thought could never happen  to me, not premature death, or death by cancer.

              One of the ideas that I had relied upon to try to accept death was something that Albert Einstein said: We fear death because we cling to an idea of ourselves as discrete individuals, but if we can see  ourselves as part of the unfolding of the universe, which is beautiful in its complexity and mystery, we  wonft be so fearful. This is what meditation allows me to do experientially, to understand myself as part of the unfolding of the universe, which is beautiful in its mystery. What wefre doing in meditation is experiencing,  hour by hour,  the rising and passing away,  the impermanence,  of all the sensations in the body.  My reality,  my entire physical and mental structure, is impermanent, changing  from moment to moment, precisely as is the whole universe.

Everything Ifm part of is constantly changing too, moment to moment, and moreover is beautiful because of it. At the end of his life Einstein said that death had to be approached elegantly, that is, without fear—that  we canft run away from it.  Itfs the nature of our existence that we each are an integral part of the mysterious unfolding of the universe.

              It has been through the practice of meditation that I realized that I can experience myself as part  of this mysterious and complex unfolding of the universe. I now think that death wonft be so difficult if I can  remain constantly aware of the ever- changing nature of my entire physical and mental structure. This takes practice.  Thomas Merton said, gIn silence is the victory over death.h He meant mental silence. In silence is the victory over death because itfs when your mind is quiet that you can appreciate the nature of your existence. In those moments, fear loses its grip.

 

 

You have time left in your life, but you donft know how much; you have a goal to teach again as a philosopher.

Has your presentation to students changed due to your experience?

The philosophical tradition that we teach in universities in Canada and the U.S. does not give importance to experiential understanding. Itfs not that there arenft philosophers who have talked about it,  but we primarily teach people to analyze, to distinguish concepts, to define their terms clearly, to make and refute arguments.  If the concept of experiential understanding exists in Western philosophical traditions, it is not prominent. I would like to use the two courses that Ifm teaching to help students see the importance of experiential understanding.

              Thomas Merton said that the greatest test of our freedom is death. Wefll all die sometime,  but  the approach we take toward death can make death a choice for life, not death. Ifm never going to be happy  about my death, but I can still be free while not happy. I can be free to look at that unhappiness and accept it, be at peace with it.

              Ifm in the position now of trying to live my life with death staring me in the face every day. I wake up to the reality that my life might  end very soon,  and I have realized that I can live with this if I can remain aware of the nature of my existence. I can live free from fear if I rely not merely on my intellectual  understanding but on the experiential, on truths that are felt.

              So, I would like to challenge my students to think about freedom and what it requires, and to get them to see that they must also seek the wisdom that is the result of what is lived.

Philosophy is the love of wisdom. That is what the word means. But wisdom is acquired through experience. Ifm afraid that what we teach is not even philosophy.  It is not about wisdom.  We donft teach people to live,  to experience the truth of their lives.  Instead, we teach them to watch themselves live, and to be content  with being able to tell a good story,  an intelligent, logically consistent story about who they are and what they have done.  I would like to ask students to think about why our intellectual resources are so often  useless for understanding something like death, which is also understanding existence, and what it means to be free.

 

Follow-up interview, December 2007 We last talked in the late spring of 2006. You ended up having more surgery that year and again in 2007. How did you get through that and back to teaching—and what happened afterward?

In April 2006 I learned that the cancer had spread and that my prognosis was poor, but the doctors did not tell me the disease was incurable. In a case of sarcoma, they treat lung metastases aggressively with surgery and some people do survive. But they said my chances were slim. They did the first lung surgery in May 2006 and removed seven malignant tumors. Then, almost immediately after, in June, there were more gnodulesh showing in the scan.  They did not recommend surgery again that summer so I returned to  teaching in the fall. 

              I was happy to go back to teaching, although I was well aware of the cancer. A friend and colleague  asked me recently why I wanted to go back to teaching, knowing, as I did, that my life would likely end soon.  I told her that indeed there had been a time in the summer of 2006 when I thought that perhaps I should do  something special with the rest of my now shortened life— maybe travel to some new places or write some important book.

But when I reflected upon this, the idea struck me as ridiculous. I did not regret losing my life because of the things I might have done or accomplished, had I lived. I regretted losing my life because of life itself, the moment-by-moment experience of it. 

              I had once thought interesting the question of what I would do if I knew I had only months to live. But when I ended up in that situation, there was no such question:  All I wanted to do were the ordinary everyday things that I had always done. I canft say that I came to this conclusion because of the practice of Vipassana, for I know other cancer patients who have come to the same conclusion without meditation.  Yet  I do think it a result of practicing Vipassana that this truth was so easy to accept and to apply to what was left of my life. And I am certain that it was because of Vipassana that there was no sense whatsoever of sadness about this. Therefs something tempting in the idea that death should be dramatic, and that something important should be done or said to mark the event, as if to underline thegmeaningh of it all. Yet all I wanted for whatever was left of my very ordinary life was the quiet simple awareness of its most mundane aspects—no extra fun or excitement,  and certainly no drama or sentimentality.  What is  ordinary is all the more miraculous when death is close. This is a truth I had already experienced through my practice of Vipassana.

              So I went back to teaching and found it somehow easy in a way that it had not been before. I was doing what I had to do, what I had always done, and what I believed in, but I was not concerned about the  importance of it. This is not to say that it wasnft important.  What I was doing and teaching was important  and meaningful to me in the way it had always been, but it was not important that it was important and meaningful.  What this means is that I found that I was living my life without watching myself live my life, without telling myself mental stories about how and why I was living my life. Somehow my relations with  students were much easier and more direct.

              I finished that fall term and had more operations in the winter of 2006–07. It was a tough time because one of the surgical procedures went wrong and I ended up with chronic pain and less mobility.  But  by autumn I had returned to teaching,  again wondering whether Ifd finish the term.

              Then, in the middle of last October, almost immediately after I had been told by the oncologist that everything was OK, I got news that there was a large tumor near my heart. The news had come in a   radiologistfs report. They had missed it in two previous scans. A few weeks later the doctors informed  me that the tumor was inoperable but they could try some chemotherapy—however it would be only palliative,  that is, it would be to stave off the symptoms and perhaps give me more time. That was the news I received  in early November 2007. When the doctor told you that he could offer only palliative treatment, what did  you feel then?  What were your expectations?

I talked to the oncologist by phone on the evening of November  5, and he told me then that I would  probably live another three to six months if the chemotherapy did not work—and there was not much chance that it would. I was surprised that I was able to converse so calmly with him. I tried to get as much information as I could and also complained about the fact that the tumor had been missed by the radiologist in August. I told him too that I appreciated that he had saved my leg even though it now seemed like I  wouldnft s t survive after all. 

              When I finished the conversation I phoned my mother and gave her the news, calmly, although  this was hard for her. Then I sat in my living room in the dark for several hours and quietly and dispassionately watched feelings of fear, despair, sadness, and anxiety. I had hoped to survive; now I would  not. I could already feel the tumor pressing on my esophagus and so I expected that it would eventually choke me. I experienced a lot of anxiety about the process of death and what I had to do to prepare for it. I just watched these feelings, and after a long time I felt somehow comforted, for what I was seeing and accepting at that moment was just the nature of our human reality—utter insecurity and aloneness, with  nothing to hang onto but the present moment. I had a sense of freedom and peace that night, feeling that I was then at the real center of my life, fully in touch with the entirely uncertain reality of my existence.

              I still had almost half the semester ahead of me. But perhaps because I had spent so much time in  meditation, being aware of whatfs happening in my body and understanding that everything

in the universe is constantly changing, dying, and coming back to life, the news that I might not be alive in three months seemed almost irrelevant. Of course it was shocking, and hard. But I had, in some small way at least, become used to the idea that I only ever have the present, and everybody else only has the present too. 

              As in 2006, I had this thought, momentarily, that perhaps, having just three months or so to live, I should say something important to the students, or do something special.  It also struck me, though, that the best thing I could offer to them was an example. Theyfd know in a few months,  if I died, what  I had been  living with, and I would have shown them that it is possible to live normally with the reality of death,  which we all must do if we are not to lose our lives to fear. I didnft want to give them, or anyone else, mere  words. Somehow that seemed wrong. Words had not helped me face the fear of death, nor live with it, to  the extent that I did, in peace. It was the practice of Vipassana, which is calmly and quietly seeing things as they are, that had helped me live with death so near. So I didnft tell the students or my colleagues about my situation. If I had, I would not have been able to keep doing things normally as before, which is what I  most wanted.

              Nothing much changed in my life after I received that grave news.  I had to teach my students and I found that I could. 

Occasionally it felt strange talking to students or listening to them do their presentations musing, gI will soon be dead, yet Ifm sitting here listening to these presentations.h Then I would think, gBut it is irrelevant, really irrelevant, because we are all in this situation. I have this moment and only this moment, and they also have this moment and only this moment. They donft believe it, and they wouldnft believe it if I told them,  but this is the reality we all share.h

              I felt that I was lucky to have had a year and a half expecting this sort of situation. This is not to say that I was negative and without hope,  but rather that I had decided that I could live better with the disease, practically, if I expected the worst and lived with it—that is, if I expected death and learned to live normally with that expectation. When I began practicing Vipassana,  I learned that this is just how anyone should live because this is the essential nature of our very fragile and precarious existence.

             As a result of three years of Vipassana practice it was clear to me that all anyone has in her or his life are the ordinary simple everyday activities of the present, and the awareness of them. Of course, it is easy to say this, and many people do say this, as I did in the past. But since very few people pursue the quietness of mind that allows real awareness of the moment, many people just say this and at the same time lose their lives. As the Cuban philosopher José Martí warned,  we have to work hard to claim our existence and, if we do not, our life will go by like the Guadiana River (in  Spain) that flows quickly, silently, and invisibly beneath the earth, so that we barely even notice its passing.

 

 

Instead of saying my awareness, you seem now to be talking about the awareness, because what you are experiencing is that equanimous sense of the gIh as momentary, connecting to the next  momentary gIh in the next present moment and the next present moment.

 

Maybe this is the most powerful thing that happens when one practices meditation daily: the ego falls  away without one noticing it. In fact, it seems to be part of the nature of the experience of losing ego and  becoming more aware of the present as a result, that no one notices it.  I think this is one way that people get it wrong about mindfulness, which is a popular topic now. They make such an effort to be mindful of what they are doing that they are concentrating more on the effort they are making. But the ancient Chinese philosopher Chuang Tzu said that when the shoe fits, we donft notice it.  When you practice meditation day after day your mind becomes quieter and, as a result, more observant, and you become less concerned with what it means to be mindful. You just are. And when you are in fact mindful,  aware of   the present moment,  you are not concerned about your gselfh because the self falls away. It has to.

              But this only happens with practice, over time, a lot of time. Without that slow patient process of loss of ego, you canft  ever really live in the present because youfre constantly concerned with what it means—mostly for yourself—to practice awareness of the present moment. When you really understand  that your life only has meaning in the present,  those questions about self- importance donft matter, and you become free from debilitating, mostly fearful, self-analysis. If the effort toward mindfulness is a  concern for self, then it is really not mindfulness at all, at least not in the liberating sense that the Buddha taught.

 

 

Wefre all wrapped up in this concept of ego, this illusion of gI.h  If the need to control is a result of the ego idea trying to hold on, do you feel this need  fades as the ego fades? If control dissolves, how does this help deepen your equanimity, your sense of peace?

The prospect of death is very humbling, because when you lose your life and your future, you lose control. When I learned about the inoperable tumor,  I also learned that it was there in the August report but that the radiologist had missed it. The doctors could have seen that tumor in August, maybe even in June, but they didnft.  I told the oncologist that this error needed to be addressed, but I didnft really feel a lot of on going anger or resentment about it. I let it go.

 

 

No great anger that they missed the tumor in June?

I told the oncologist that I didnft care about pursuing this question but someone should care because someone screwed up and I was losing my life. He said, gYou should raise it, because it goes further if the patient raises it.h gWell,h I replied, gIfd have to be stupid to spend the last months of my life doing that. You just informed me Ifm going to die. Why would I want to go chasing the guy who screwed up? You should do that. Itfs your job. Itfs your hospital.h After that I never thought about it again.

 

 

Was that loss of control, or loss of ego?

I just wanted to see that it got corrected so that it didnft happen to anyone else.  But I was surprised that  I didnft care more because that error was extremely costly to me. Maybe they could have saved my life if theyfd seen the tumor back in June or in August.

What about the teaching of the Buddha that we alone are completely responsible for what wefve done in the past; that what happened in the past conditions what happens in the present?

Well, I always remember that Goenkaji said we have responsibility for just the present moment.  Occasionally I wonder what I did in the past to have brought all this upon myself—four years of cancer treatment—but then I remember that I have responsibility for only whatfs happening now, and thatfs  enough. I have to practice that part of it. Thatfs the part that frees me from the bondage of resentment and anger. On some level I hate all this stuff—pain, doctorsf appointments, medications, treatments, IV lines,  nursing care, dependence, being in the hospital again and again. I was so healthy, strong, and athletic   before this. It would be easy, perhaps even reasonable, to fall into a pit of resentment.

 

 

When you indulge in that resentment, youfve lost the present moment.

Yes. Vipassana is a very important tool. I just start looking at the breath. All those nights in the   hospital—hot, stuffy, claustrophobic—therefs nothing to like about it. But you concentrate on breathing and youfre there in the moment, and eventually itfs over. And then you leave until the next time. But I have to practice it, like anything else. 

 

You might have two months left; you might have two years, or more. During that time, what is the most  important thing for you to do in order to finish things well?

I believe very much in simplicity and silence, by which I mean silence of the mind. I donft find myself thinking very much about how things will be until I die. I trust what Goenkaji says, that if you practice daily,  in the end youfll have the resources to deal with it. I know from talking to people who work in palliative medicine that the process of dying can unfold in many ways. So I just want to live each moment, as much as possible, with peace and awareness. And I want that to be easy, like a shoe that fits. I know that that only happens with mental discipline built up through the wonderful daily practice of meditation. Ifm grateful to  have learned the miracle of silence, not the exterior silence that can be experienced even in agitation, but interior silence that is freedom from mental conversations rooted in fear and self-importance, robbing you of sensitivity to the here and now.

              I canft really think past January, a few weeks from now, when Ifll go for the next chemotherapy treatment. The last time I went to the hospital the doctor told me that the tumor had grown and he was going to send me home without any more treatments. I sat alone in the hospital after one chemotherapy treatment—my ride had left thinking I was supposed to be there for four days of treatment—and he was telling me that the thing hadnft shrunk, or even stabilized, but that it was larger. I was surprised that I just listened to what he said and was not particularly agitated. I didnft expect bad news that day, and this was really bad news. As it turned out—four hours later—the oncologist ordered another scan and determined that, although the tumor was larger, it had lost 75 per cent of its mass, so he decided to continue the chemotherapy. That was another hard day. The only way to get through these things is to practice staying right there in the present moment.

 

 

You were surprised but you didnft react. Was some part of your mind equanimously watching sensations because youfd  trained yourself  to do so?

Perhaps. I can imagine people falling apart. I can easily imagine myself falling apart. This was the worst news. They had said there was a small chance that the chemotherapy would work and now the doctor was saying that that small chance didnft exist, it wasnft happening.

 

 

You said that you didnft want this period of your life, however long it is, to be taken from you, that you  want to live each present moment. Can you put this idea into words once more?

Yes, thatfs true. Itfs a practical problem. I donft want to lose whatever is left of my life to fear, anger, resentment, and regret.

And the only way I can do that is to look at whatfs happening right now and not at what I would like to be happening—to see things as they are and to be free from expectations about how things ought to be.

 

 

Your freedom comes from being in the present moment and not reacting?

Yes. I know  now  that you have to feel the truth of this idea.

People talk so much now about mindfulness. Itfs trendy. But itfs all about self-importance. I am aware. I am in the present. When you really are aware of yourself in the present, you are not aware that  you are aware.  You donft think about that awareness itself. 

What you are aware of is the arising and passing away of each moment in time. You cannot at the same time be stuck on yourself and your significance, because that too is arising and passing away, forever. The nature of our existence is, after all, impermanent. We all know this and say it again and again, but when you feel this truth at each moment in time you also lose the concern for self. Itfs  not a big deal. Itfs a simple idea, but at the same time very hard. Whether Ifm going to be dead soon or whether Ifm not going to be dead  soon, I really have only this, the present moment.

 

 

 

Khaa  khaa  khaa  khaa  bītate,

jīvana  bītā  jāya.

Khaa  khaa  kā upayoga  kara,

bītā khaa  nā āya.

 

Moment after moment after moment,

life keeps slipping by.

Make use of every moment;

the moment past will never come again.

 

Hindi doha,  S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

 

 

¡A‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚¾‚¯‚ð

Susan Babbitt ‚Í1990”N‚æ‚èƒJƒiƒ_AƒIƒ“ƒ^ƒŠƒIBƒLƒ“ƒOƒXƒgƒ“‚É‚ ‚éƒNƒC[ƒ“ƒY‘åŠw‹³Žö‚Å‚·B2004”N‚ɉ‚߂ă”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[EƒR[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µA‚»‚ÌŒã10“úŠÔ‚̃R[ƒX‚𑱂¯A20“úŠÔ‚̃R[ƒX‚ðC—¹‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Bʼn‚̃Cƒ“ƒ^ƒrƒ…[‚Í2006”NA2‰ñ–ڂ̃Cƒ“ƒ^ƒrƒ…[‚Í2007”N‚És‚í‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½BƒX[ƒUƒ“‚̓NƒC[ƒ“ƒY‚Å‹³‚¦‘±‚¯A–ˆ“úáÒ‘z‚µA2013”NŒ»Ý‚ÍŠà‚ÌÄ”­‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

ƒo[ƒWƒjƒA uƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Æ‚Ìo‰ï‚¢A‚»‚µ‚Äʼn‚̃R[ƒX‚͂ǂ̂悤‚È‚à‚̂łµ‚½‚©Hv

 

ƒX[ƒUƒ“FŽ„‚Í2003”N8ŒŽ‚Éis«‚Ì‚ª‚ñ‚Æf’f‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚܂ŕa‹C‚â–ò‚Ƃ͖³‰‚Ì¶Šˆ‚Å‚µ‚½BƒCƒ“ƒtƒ‹ƒGƒ“ƒU‚É‚à‚©‚©‚Á‚½‚±‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚ª‚ñ‚Ìf’f‚ÍAŽ©•ª‚ª‰½ŽÒ‚Å‚ ‚é‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤Š´Šo‚ɑ΂·‚éŽc“‚ÈUŒ‚‚Å‚µ‚½B“Ë‘RAŽ„‚Íd•al‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚̂ł·BŽ„‚Í‚±‚ÌŒoŒ±‚ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚é•û–@‚ð’T‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B “–‰AŽ„‚Íu—U“±ƒCƒ[ƒWv‚ƌĂ΂ê‚Ü‚·‚à‚Ì‚ðŠ©‚ß‚ç‚êA‘z‘œ“I‚ȃ|ƒWƒeƒBƒuEƒVƒ“ƒLƒ“ƒO‚̈êŽí‚ÅA‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃւ̋°•|‚©‚瓦‚ê‚é•û–@‚Æ‚µ‚Ä”ƒJŒŽŠÔŽŽ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚ÍŽw“±—p‚̃I[ƒfƒBƒIƒe[ƒv‚ðŽg‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ‚»‚ñ‚ÈÜA“¯‚¶‚悤‚É‚ª‚ñ‚ðŠ³‚¢AŽ¡—ÃŒã‚͉õ•û‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½—Fl‚̃‚[ƒŠ[ƒ“‚ª–S‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͓ˑRA‚ª‚ñ‚Æ‹¤‚ɶ‚«‚é—Bˆê‚Ì•û–@‚ÍAŽ©•ª‚Ì‘¶Ý‚â”ñ‘¶Ý‚ªÅI“I‚ɂ͎©•ª‚̗͂ł͂ǂ¤‚É‚à‚È‚ç‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚¾‚Æ—‰ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½BlX‚ÍŽ„‚É‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Au‚ ‚È‚½‚̃P[ƒX‚͈Ⴄv‚ÆB‚Å‚àAŽ„‚͔ޗ‚ÆŽ©•ª‚ð‹æ•Ê‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚É‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚±‚Æ‚ÍAŽ„‚É‚à‹N‚±‚肤‚邱‚ƂȂ̂ł·B ƒ|ƒWƒeƒBƒuEƒVƒ“ƒLƒ“ƒO ‚̃Aƒvƒ[ƒ`‚ÍAŽ©•ª‚ª‚ ‚é’ö“xƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚Å‚«‚邯M‚¶ž‚Ü‚¹‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÅA‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñl‚Í‚ ‚é’ö“xƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·‚ªAÅI“I‚ÈŒ‹‰Ê‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ŃRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚Å‚«‚é‚à‚̂ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Ž©•ª‚Ìg‚É‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚‚ßAŽ€‚Í–{“–‚É‹N‚±‚肤‚邱‚ƂȂ̂¾‚Ǝ󂯓ü‚ê‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚µ‚½Bň«‚̃VƒiƒŠƒI‚ð‘z’肵A‚»‚ê‚ɑς¦‚ç‚ê‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂ肽‚¢BŒ»ŽÀ“I‚É‚ÍA‚±‚ê‚ªÅ‚à‡—“I‚È‚±‚ƂɎv‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B “–ŽžAŽ„‚ÍáÒ‘z‚⃔ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ɂ‚¢‚ĉ½‚à’m‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚ ‚¿‚±‚¿‚ÌŽîᇊw‚Ì–{‚ÅA‚ª‚ñгŽÒ‚ªáÒ‘z‚ðŠw‚Ԃ̂͗ǂ¢‚±‚Æ‚¾‚Ɠǂñ‚¾‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚Å‚àáÒ‘z‚Ì‚â‚è•û‚Í’m‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚µA‚â‚Á‚Ä‚Ý‚Ä‚àŽ¸”s‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ƒ‚[ƒŠ[ƒ“‚ÌŽ€‚Ì’¼ŒãAˆãŽt‚ÍŽ„‚ɉ»Šw—Ö@‚ðŽó‚¯‚邿‚¤Š©‚߂܂µ‚½BŽ„‚͉»Šw—Ö@‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚à‚Ì‚ª‘匙‚¢‚Å‚µ‚½B ‹r‚ÌŽèp‚Æ•úŽËüŽ¡—ÂðŽó‚¯‚½‚±‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µ‰»Šw—Ö@‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚ÍA‹C•ª‚ªˆ«‚­‚Ȃ邱‚ÆA‹C•ª‚ªˆ«‚­Œ©‚¦‚邱‚ÆAŽ„‚ª•a‹C‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ªŠF‚É’m‚ç‚ê‚邱‚ÆA3ŒŽ‚©‚ç8ŒŽ‚Ü‚ÅA2004”N‚Ìt‚©‚ç‰Ä‚É‚©‚¯‚Ä‚Ì5ƒJŒŽŠÔ‚Æ‚¢‚¤’·’šê‚Å‚ ‚邱‚ƂȂÇA‰½‚à‚©‚à‚ª‚Ђǂ­Š´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚Í“{‚è‚Æ•®‚è‚ðŠ´‚¶Au‚Ç‚¤‚â‚Á‚Ä5ƒ•ŒŽ‚ðæ‚èØ‚ê‚΂¢‚¢‚ñ‚¾Hv‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              Ž„‚Í“{‚è‚Æ•®‚è‚Å‚»‚Ì”ƒ–ŒŽ‚ð‰ß‚²‚µ‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅAƒLƒ“ƒOƒXƒgƒ“’nˆæ‚ª‚ñƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚̃\[ƒVƒƒƒ‹ƒ[ƒJ[‚ɉ‚És‚«Au‚Ç‚ñ‚ȃc[ƒ‹‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚©Hv‚Æq‚˂܂µ‚½B”Þ—‚Í•§‹³‚Ì–{‚ð‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽœ”߂Ǝœˆ¤‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚é–{‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA4͂قǓǂñ‚¾‚Æ‚±‚ë‚ŕԂµ‚Ü‚µ‚½B5ƒ–ŒŽ‚̉»Šw—Ö@‚ðæ‚èØ‚é‚½‚ß‚ÉA‚±‚ꂪŒ»ŽÀ“I‚ɂǂ̂悤‚ɖ𗧂‚̂łµ‚傤‚©HŽÀ‘H“I‚ÈŽwj‚ª‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃɉ՗§‚¿‚ðŠo‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ‚µ‚©‚µŽ„‚ÍáÒ‘z‚ɂ‚¢‚Äl‚¦‘±‚¯AˆÈ‘O•·‚¢‚½‚±‚Ƃ̂ ‚郔ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[EƒR[ƒX‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½BáÒ‘z‚Í‚â‚Á‚Ă݂邱‚Ƃłµ‚©Šw‚ׂ܂¹‚ñBáÒ‘z‚ªƒe[ƒ}‚¾‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚ƈȊOA‚Ç‚ñ‚ȃR[ƒX‚Ȃ̂©Œ©“–‚à‚‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½Bʼn‚̉»Šw—Ö@‚ðŽó‚¯‚½”“úŒãA2004”N3ŒŽ24“ú‚©‚ç4ŒŽ4“ú‚܂łÌ10“úŠÔ‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ƒR[ƒX‚ÍŽ„‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä”ñí‚ɓ‚­Aʼn‚Ì3“úŠÔ‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ª‚»‚±‚ʼn½‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‹^–â‚ÉŽv‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B4“ú–ڂɃ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ª‹³‚¦‚ç‚ꂽ‚Æ‚«AŽ„‚Í‚æ‚è‹»–¡‚ðŽ‚¿‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ‚[ƒŠ[ƒ“‚ª–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«AŽ„‚Í•¨Ž–‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂ肽‚¢AŽ€‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ»ŽÀ“I‚ȉ”\«‚ðŒ©‚Â‚ß‚é‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂ肽‚¢A‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ê‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚ÄŽ©•ª‚Ìl¶‚ð¶‚«‚½‚¢A‚Ɖ½‚ƂȂ­—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B—Ç‚¢’m‚点‚ð•KŽ€‚ɑ҂¿–]‚ÝAˆ«‚¢’m‚点‚É‹¯‚¦‚È‚ª‚çAŽ–‘Ô‚ð‚æ‚è—Ç‚­Œ©‚¹‚悤‚Æ‚·‚邿‚¤‚È‚±‚Ƃ͂µ‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½Bˆ«‚¢’m‚点‚ðŽó‚¯‚él‚½‚¿‚©‚玩•ª‚ðˆø‚«—£‚·•û–@‚ðí‚É’T‚µ‚È‚ª‚ç¶‚«‚Ä‚¢‚­‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚È‚¢‚ÆŒˆ‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ­‚È‚­‚Æ‚àŽ„‚ªœë‚Á‚½‚悤‚ÈŠà‚Å‚ÍAˆÈ‘O‚Ì¶Šˆ‚ɖ߂邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB”ƒJŒŽ‚²‚Æ‚ÉCTƒXƒLƒƒƒ“‚ðŽó‚¯‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃ炸A‚»‚Ì‚½‚тɈ«‚¢’m‚点‚ª‚ ‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽ„‚Í‹°•|‚Ì‚½‚ß‚Él¶‚ðŽ¸‚¢‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž€‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ“I‚ȉ”\«‚É—§‚¿Œü‚©‚¢A‚»‚ê‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎA‹°•|‚Íí‚ÉŽ„‚Ìã‚Éö‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚ÄA•¨Ž–‚ªŽv‚¢’Ê‚è‚Éi‚܂Ȃ¢’›Œó‚ª‚ ‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉAŽ„‚ðŠŽã‚³‚¹‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚à—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚𒼎‹‚µA‚»‚ê‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɏ󂯓ü‚ê‚Ķ‚«‚Ä‚¢‚«‚½‚¢‚ÆŒˆ‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ‚¾‚©‚çAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ƃ͂܂³‚ÉAŽ©•ª‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚‚߂éCs‚Å‚ ‚Á‚ÄAŽ©•ª‚ª‚»‚¤‚ ‚肽‚¢‚Æ–]‚ނ悤‚È‚à‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚Ì‚¾‚Æ’m‚Á‚Ä‹Á‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ©•ª‚Ì“÷‘Ì“IEƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“IŒoŒ±‘S‘Ì‚ðAŒn“—§‚Ăĉ½ŽžŠÔ‚àŠÏŽ@‚·‚é‚̂ł·B‚»‚ê‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄAŒ‹‹Ç‚̂Ƃ±‚ë–³í‚Å‚ ‚鎩•ª‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Ì–{“–‚Ì«Ž¿‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄAŒoŒ±“I‚É­‚µ‚¸‚—‰ð‚ð[‚߂Ă¢‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‘½‚­‚Ìl‚ª•a‹C‚⎀‚ɑ΂µ‚Äs‚¨‚¤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÈAˆ«‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð—Ç‚¢‚±‚Ƃɕς¦‚邱‚Ƃł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚Ì‘ã‚í‚èA•¨Ž–‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚é‚̂ł·B‚»‚ê‚ÍA₦‚¸•ω»‚·‚é‰F’ˆ‘S‘̂̂ ‚è•û‚Å‚·B

‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚»‚̂悤‚È‹C‚«‚𓾂½‚Æ‚«A‚»‚ê‚ÍŒoŒ±“I‚È‚à‚̂łȂ¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA‚‚܂èAŠ´‚¶‚ç‚ê‚é”Fޝ‚Æ‚¢‚¤ˆÓ–¡‚Å‚·‚ªAŽ©•ª‚ð‘Pl‚ƈ«l‚̂ǂ¿‚ç‚©‚Æ“¯ˆêŽ‹‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͈Ӗ¡‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄAâ–]“I‚ÈŠó–]‚ââ–]“I‚È‹°•|‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄŠŽã‚·‚é‚Ì‚¨‚©‚µ‚È‚±‚Ƃł·B

              •sŽv‹c‚È‚à‚Ì‚ÅAŽ„‚Í’¼Š´“I‚ÉAƒKƒ“‚Ìň«‚̉”\«‚ðl‚¦A‚»‚ê‚Æ‚Æ‚à‚ɶ‚«‚È‚¢ŒÀ‚èA•a‹C‚⎀‚Ì‹°•|‚©‚玩—R‚ɂȂ邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚È‚¢‚ÆŒå‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚½‚¾‘Ï‚¦‚邯‚¢‚¤ˆÓ–¡‚ł͂Ȃ­AŽ©•ª‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Ì•sˆÀ’肳‚ð\•ª‚É”Fޝ‚µ‚½ã‚ÅA‚½‚Æ‚¦í‚ɕω»‚µ‘±‚¯‚邯‚¢‚¤_”é“I‚È«Ž¿‚Ì”ü‚Å‚ ‚Á‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ð‘O‚É‚µ‚Ķ‚«‚邯‚¢‚¤ˆÓ–¡‚Å‚·B

              ‚±‚ꂱ‚»‚ªƒuƒbƒ_‚ªà‚¢‚½‚±‚Ƃł ‚èA‚±‚ê‚Í@‹³“I‹³‹`‚ł͂Ȃ­Aƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðC—{‚·‚éŽÀ‘H“I‚È‹Z–@‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ðƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[EƒR[ƒX‚ÅŠw‚т܂µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚Íl¶‚Í‚±‚¤‚ ‚é‚ׂ«‚¾‚ÆŽ„‚½‚¿‚Él‚¦‚³‚¹‚éuŠú‘Ò‚ÌŽx”z‚©‚ç‚̉ð•úv‚ð”|‚¢‚Ü‚·B

uŠú‘Òv‚ÍŠO‚ê‚½Žž‚É•sK‚ð‚à‚½‚炵A–w‚Ç‚ÌꇂɊm‚©‚ÉŠO‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

             ƒKƒ“‚ÍŽ„‚É‹N‚±‚é‚Í‚¸‚Ì‚à‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚Ì‚ÅA‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñAŽ„‚͂܂¾ƒKƒ“‚É• ‚𗧂ĂĂ¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µA‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚Ìg‚É‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł ‚èA‚»‚ê‚ðÁ‚µ‹Ž‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚È‚¢‚Ƃ킩‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ©•ª‚Ìl¶‚͂ǂ¤‚ ‚é‚ׂ«‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤ª‹’‚̂Ȃ¢Šú‘Ò‚©‚甲‚¯o‚µA—¼–Ú‚ðŠJ‚¯‚Ä‘O‚Éi‚܂Ȃ¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚à‚í‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž©•ª‚Ì“÷‘̂̑¶Ý‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚Ƀ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðW’†‚³‚¹A‚»‚Ì–{Ž¿‚É‹C‚­‚Æ‚¢‚¤ƒVƒ“ƒvƒ‹‚ÈŽÀ‘H‚ÍA‰»Šw—Ö@‚ðŽó‚¯‚邽‚߂ɕK—v‚ȃc[ƒ‹‚Å‚ ‚èA‚Ü‚½A‚»‚êˆÈã‚Ì‚à‚̂ł ‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽ„‚Í”­Œ©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ‚»‚Ìʼn‚̃R[ƒX‚ÅŠw‚ñ‚¾ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Å“Á‚É–£—Í“I‚¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÍA‚»‚ê‚ªŠ®‘S‚ÉŽÀ‘H“I‚¾‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃł·BƒVƒ“ƒ{ƒ‹‚â“Á•ʂȕž‘•A‹VŽ®‚â‹V—ç‚È‚ÇA–Ú‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚È‚¢‘¶Ý‚â—Í‚ðM‚¶‚½‚èAŽ©•ªˆÈŠO‚Ì’N‚©‚≽‚©‚Ɉˑ¶‚µ‚½‚è‚·‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚̓}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðŒP—û‚·‚邽‚߂̎À‘H“I‚ȃc[ƒ‹‚Ȃ̂ł·Bƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚Å‚«‚¸A‚Ç‚±‚©•Ê‚Ìꊂɂ¢‚ÄẪhƒ‰ƒ}‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µ‚½‚èA“¯‚¶–â‘è‚â‹°•|‚̂܂í‚è‚𖳉v‚ɉñ‚í‚Á‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢AŽ©•ª‚Ìl¶‚©‚ç‚ǂꂾ‚¯‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ðŽ¸‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚©‚ð‚æ‚­’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÍA‘z‘œ‚â•®ŠS‚É‚¢‚Â‚Ü‚Å‚à“¦‚°ž‚ނ̂ł͂Ȃ­A‚ ‚邪‚܂܂̢ŠE‚ÅŠ®‘S‚ɶ‚«‚ç‚ê‚邿‚¤Aƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃Rƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

              ‚±‚¤‚µ‚ă”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÍA‰»Šw—Ö@‚Æ‚»‚ÌŒ‹‰Ê‚Æ‚¢‚¤‘å•ςȃvƒƒZƒX‚ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‰»Šw—Ö@‚ð—Ç‚¢‚±‚Æ‚¾‚ÆŽv‚¨‚¤‚Æ‚·‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BŽÀÛAŽ„‚͉»Šw—Ö@‚ÌŒoŒ±‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ꂪ‚½‚¢‚à‚̂Ƃµ‚ÄŒ©‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µA‚ ‚é’ö“x‹qŠÏ“I‚ÉŒ©‚ÄAu‚±‚ꂪ¡‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚¾v‚ÆŒ¾‚¤‚±‚Æ‚à‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B¡A‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÌŽ©•ª‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɏ󂯓ü‚êAŒã‰÷‚⎸–]‚·‚邱‚ƂȂ­A‚»‚±‚©‚ç‚Ü‚½ƒXƒ^[ƒg‚µ‚悤‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

              ƒKƒ“‚ÌŽ¡—ªI‚í‚Á‚½ŒãAŽ„‚Í2004”N––‚É2“x–ڂ̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ƒR[ƒX‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B“–Žž‚̓Kƒ“‚ł͂Ȃ­A‘¼‚ɑΈ‚·‚ׂ«‚±‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B2‰ñ–ڂ̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ƒR[ƒX‚Í1‰ñ–ڂ̃R[ƒX‚æ‚è‘å•ςłµ‚½‚ªA¡‰ñ‚͂ȂºŽ„‚ª‚±‚ê‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚Í—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BƒR[ƒX‚Í“÷‘Ì“I‚É‚«‚‚¢‚à‚̂łµ‚½BŽ©•ª‚ª‰½‚ð‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚©•ª‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚µAæ¶‚ªŽ„‚ɉ½‚ðŒ¾‚¤‚©‚à•ª‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅA涂Ƙb‚·•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BŽ„‚Í‚½‚¾A“÷‘Ì“I’É‚Ý‚ð‰½“x‚à‰½“x‚àŒ©‚‚ßAɸ‚ȃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ð•ۂ—ûK‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

             ƒR[ƒX‚ÌI‚í‚è‚ÉAæ¶‚ÍŽ„‚ðŒÄ‚ñ‚Řb‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚ ‚È‚½‚Í’É‚Ý‚ð‚¶‚Á‚Ƒς¦AˆÓޝ‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ꂪ‚ ‚È‚½‚ɂł«‚é‚·‚ׂĂł·B ‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŽdŽ–‚ÍA‚½‚Æ‚¦‚»‚ꂪ•s‰õ‚ÈŒoŒ±‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚É‹C‚­‚±‚Ƃł·Bv

‚»‚ÌuÀ‚ªd—v‚¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÍAƒKƒ“ˆÈŠO‚É‚à‘Έ‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚ ‚邱‚ƂɋC‚¢‚½‚©‚ç‚Å‚·BƒKƒ“‚ÍŽ„‚Ìl¶‚É‚¨‚¢‚ĂЂƂ‚̂±‚Ƃɉ߂¬‚¸AƒlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚ÈŠ´î‚ÌÅ‚àd—v‚ÈŒ´ˆö‚Å‚·‚ç‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚Å‚·‚©‚ç‘Έ‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‘½‚­‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚𑱂¯‚é“®‹@‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚Q‰ñ–ڂ̃R[ƒX‚ÌŒã‚͂ǂ¤‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚©H

2005”N‚̉ĂɂÍAŽ„‚Ì¶Šˆ‚ÍŒ³’Ê‚è‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‘«‚àŽg‚¦‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂèAŽdŽ–‚É‚àŠ®‘S‚É•œ‹A‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½BŒ¤‹†‹x‰É‚Ì€”õ‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½9ŒŽA‘«‚ª‚±‚í‚΂é‚Ì‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B10ŒŽ1“úAŽÀÛ‚É‚Í3ƒ–ŒŽ‚ÌŒ¤‹†‹x‰É‚ÌŽn‚܂肾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚¾‚ªA‹r‚ɕʂ̂µ‚±‚肪Œ©‚‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ꂪĔ­ƒKƒ“‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ÍAˆãŽÒ‚ÉŒ¾‚í‚ê‚é‘O‚©‚ç‚í‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BƒKƒ“‚ªÄ”­‚µ‚½‚±‚Ƃ͕ª‚©‚Á‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ꂪ“]ˆÚ‚µ‚½‚à‚Ì‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚Í•ª‚©‚ç‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅA10ŒŽ‚Í‚Æ‚Ä‚àŒµ‚µ‚¢ŒŽ‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚àAˆãŽt‚ÍÄ”­‚ðŠm”F‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅA‚»‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ðl‚ɘb‚·‚±‚Æ‚à‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B “]ˆÚ‚Ì—L–³‚𒲂ׂéCTƒXƒLƒƒƒ“‚Í10ŒŽ28“ú‚܂łł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

              ‚±‚Ì4TŠÔ‚Í’n–‚Å‚µ‚½BƒKƒ“‚ªÄ”­‚µ‚½‚±‚Ƃ͕ª‚©‚Á‚Ä‚àA‚»‚Ì’ö“x‚Í•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BB ‚Ü‚½“¯‚¶‚±‚Æ‚ðŒJ‚è•Ô‚³‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽ„‚̃LƒƒƒŠƒA‚ÍĂђ†’f‚³‚êA¡“x‚±‚»‹r‚ðŽ¸‚¤‚ÆŠmM‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ñ‚È‚±‚Æ‚ðl‚¦‚Ăǂ¤‚È‚é‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H@‚·‚ׂĂ̂±‚Ƃ̓}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì’†‚Ì–â‘è‚Å‚·A‹°•|‚ª‚®‚é‚®‚é‰ñ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ©•ª‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚©‚瓦‚°‚é‚ɂ͂ǂ±‚És‚¯‚΂¢‚¢‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚à‚µáÒ‘z‚ðŠw‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎAŽ„‚Í‹C‚ª‹¶‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚¾‚낤‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚»‚ê‚Í‘S‚­“–‘R‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽ„‚ÍŠÈ’P‚É[‚¢â–]‚ÌŒŠ‚ÉŠ×‚Á‚½‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚µA’N‚àŽ„‚ðӂ߂Ȃ©‚Á‚½‚Å‚µ‚傤B

              ‚»‚Ì‘ã‚í‚èAŽ„‚Í‹­‚­ŠŽã‚µ‚½‹CŽ‚¿‚Ì’†‚ÅÀ‚èAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðW’†‚³‚¹AŽž‚ɂ͈ê”Ó’†Ah•ø‹­‚­Š´Šo‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚ÄA™X‚É‹°•|‚ª˜a‚ç‚¢‚Å‚¢‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½BˆÃˆÅ‚𒼎‹‚·‚邿‚¤‚É‹°•|‚â”ß‚µ‚݂Ƌ¤‘¶‚Å‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚µ‚Ä­‚È‚­‚Ƃࡂ͂±‚̂悤‚Èó‘Ô‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚ÄA‚¢‚­‚ç‚©‚̈À‚炬‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚±‚¤‚µ‚Ä10ŒŽ‚Ì‚·‚ׂ«‚±‚Ƃ͉½‚Æ‚©‚â‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B•ê‚̃AƒCƒ‹ƒ‰ƒ“ƒh—·s‚Ì€”õ‚ðŽè“`‚¢AŽ©•ªŽ©g‚Ì‚â‚ç‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚àA‘½‚©‚ê­‚È‚©‚ꕒʂɂ±‚È‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

              Ž€‚̉”\«‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚Ìl‚¦•û‚ð’T‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚ ‚él‚©‚çƒxƒgƒiƒ€•§‹³‚Ì‘m—µ‚Ì–{‚ð‚à‚ç‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ̶‚ÆŽ€‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚Ìl‚¦•û‚ÍAŽ„‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä—‚É‚©‚È‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠC‚Ì”g‚̂悤‚È‚à‚Ì‚ÅA”g‚Ͷ‚¶‚Ä‚ÍÁ‚¦‚Ü‚·‚ªAŠC‚»‚Ì‚à‚͎̂c‚éA‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚à‚̂łµ‚½B

”g‚Æ‚µ‚Ķ‚«‚錠—˜‚Í’N‚É‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í…‚Æ‚µ‚Ķ‚«‚é•K—v‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

l¶‚ÍÁ‚¦‹Ž‚é‚à‚̂ł͂Ȃ­AŠC…‚̂悤‚ÉŒ`‚ð•Ï‚¦A₦‚¸“®‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚邾‚¯‚Ȃ̂ł·B

ƒyƒ‹ƒVƒƒ‚ÌŽlƒ‹[ƒ~[‚àŽó—e‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä”ü‚µ‚¢Œ¾—t‚ðŽc‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‚µ‚©‚µA10ŒŽ28“ú‚ª‹ß‚¢‚Ä‚­‚邯A‚±‚¤‚µ‚½‘f“G‚Èl‚¦•û‚ÍACTƒXƒLƒƒƒ“‚ŃKƒ“‚Ì“]ˆÚ‚ð‚°‚ç‚ê‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‹°•|S‚ð˜a‚ç‚°‚é‚à‚̂ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚É–ß‚Á‚ÄAŒŸ¸Œ‹‰Ê‚Ì“ú‚ÉŽ„‚ªŒ©‚‚¯‚½‚±‚Æ‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Æ‚Íg‘Ì\‘¢‘S‘̂̂ ‚ç‚ä‚銴Šo‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ă͉߂¬‹Ž‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Ì‚ðƒVƒ“ƒvƒ‹‚ɑ̌±‚·‚éA‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃłµ‚½B

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ł͊´Šo‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA‚·‚ׂĂ̑¶Ý‚Ì–{“–‚Ì«Ž¿A‚‚܂èu“®“I‚ňꎞ“I‚à‚̂ł ‚év‚Æ‚¢‚¤ŒoŒ±‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚»‚̂悤‚ÉŽ©•ª‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ðŒoŒ±‚·‚邯‚«A‰½‚ð‚Ç‚¤‚µ‚Ä‹°‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚ªA‚æ‚è‘å‚«‚È₦ŠÔ‚È‚­“WŠJ‚·‚鎩‘RŒ»Û‚Ì•s‰ÂŒ‡‚Ȉꕔ‚Å‚ ‚邱‚ƂɋC‚¯‚ÎA•sŠmŽÀ«‚Í‚»‚ê‚Ù‚Ç‹ºˆÐ‚Å‚à‹°•|‚Å‚à‚È‚­‚Ȃ邩‚ç‚Å‚·B

¡‚â‚»‚ê‚Í—\Šú‚³‚ꂽ‚±‚Ƃł ‚èAˆÙŽ¿‚È‚à‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚Ì‚ÅA¶‚«‚邱‚Ƃ͊y‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

•a‰@‚És‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«‚à—Ž‚¿’…‚¢‚Ä‚¨‚èAŒŸ¸Œ‹‰Ê‚ð‘҂ŠÔAŠw¶‚Æ‘²˜_‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚µ‚½‚è‚à‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Œ‹‰Ê“I‚É‚ÍA‚»‚Ì“ú‚É—Ç‚¢’m‚点‚ª“Í‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

              ’m“I—‰ð‚ÆŒoŒ±“I—‰ð‚̈Ⴂ‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚܂ł͂ ‚Ü‚èl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚±‚ƂɋC‚©‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚͈«‚¢’m‚点‚É”õ‚¦‚邽‚߂ɂ¢‚ë‚¢‚ë‚ÆƒAƒCƒfƒA‚ð’T‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚̂łµ‚½B Œ‹‹ÇAW‚ß‚½—L—p‚Èî•ñ‚ÍŽ„‚É’m“I—‰ð‚ð—^‚¦‚Ă͂­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‹°•|‚ð˜a‚ç‚°‚Ă͂­‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B’m“I‚È—‰ð‚Í‚µ‚΂µ‚Ζ{“–‚Ì—‰ð‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŒ‹‹Ç‚̂Ƃ±‚ëAŽ„‚Ͷ‚ÆŽ€‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚é^ŽÀ‚ðAŠ´Šo‚ð’Ê‚µ‚ÄŠ´‚¶‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

‚ ‚Ì“ú‚ðæ‚èØ‚é‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚½‚Ì‚ÍA’m“I‚È^—‚ł͂Ȃ­AŽÀ‘H“I‚ÅŠ´Šo“I‚È‹C‚«‚Ì‚¨‚©‚°‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

‚»‚Ì‹C‚«‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ÉŽ©M‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½‚©H

‚Í‚¢AŽ©M‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚̉߂¿‚ÍAŽ€‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä—˜_“I‚È—‰ð‚ð‹‚߂Ă¢‚½‚±‚Ƃł ‚èAŽ€‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä’P‚É’m“I‚È—‰ð‚¾‚¯‚Å‚ÍAŽ€‚ÆŒü‚«‡‚¤•‚¯‚ɂ͂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚Æ‹C‚¢‚½‚̂ł·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠFA‚¢‚ÂŽ€‚ñ‚Å‚à‚¨‚©‚µ‚­‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ð’m“I‚ɂ͒m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚»‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ªŽÀÛ‚ÉŽ©•ª‚É“–‚Ä‚Í‚Ü‚é‚Æ‚ÍŽv‚Á‚Ă܂¹‚ñB’ŠÛ“I‚Ȃ̂ł·BM‚¶‚Ă͂¢‚Ü‚·‚ªAM‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚Ì^—‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ă͂¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª‚Ç‚¤¶‚«‚é‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤ŽÀÛ‚Ì–ðŠ„‚ð‰Ê‚½‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚̂ł·B‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ìl¶‚ɂƂÁ‚Äd—v‚ł͂Ȃ¢^ŽÀ‚Ȃ̂ł·B

áÒ‘z‚Æ‚ÍA‘¶Ý‚Ì•sŠm‚©‚È–{Ž¿‚ðˆê‚Ƒ̌±‚·‚邱‚Ƃł ‚èA‚»‚̂悤‚ȑ̌±‚ð‚·‚é‚Æ‚«AŽ€‚ð’ŠÛ‰»‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÍAŽ€‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ªi“®“I‚ňꎞ“I‚ÈjŒ»ŽÀ‚Ì”Fޝ‚ÌŠeuŠÔ‚É‘¶Ý‚·‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

 

              ƒgƒƒ“ƒg‚̃vƒŠƒ“ƒZƒXEƒ}[ƒKƒŒƒbƒg•a‰@‚Å•úŽËüŽ¡—ÂðŽn‚߂܂µ‚½B•a‰@‚̃ƒbƒW‚É5TŠÔ‘ØÝ‚µA1“ú2‰ñ‚̂ƂĂà’É‚¢•úŽËüŽ¡—Â͕a‰@‚Å‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ÌŠÔAŽ©•ª‚̃oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ªŽæ‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚ÍŽv‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B’ɂ݂à‚Ђǂ©‚Á‚½‚µA‰Æ‚©‚ç—£‚ê‚é‚Ì‚àŒ™‚Å‚µ‚½Bg‘Ì“I‚É‚à‹C•ª‚ªˆ«‚©‚Á‚½‚µAŠó–]‚àŽ¸‚¢‚‚‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B“÷‘Ì“I‚ɂЂǂ¢‹C•ª‚̂Ƃ«‚ÉŠó–]‚ðŽ¸‚¤‚̂͊ȒP‚È‚±‚Ƃł·B

 

              ‚»‚ÌŽžAŽ„‚̓}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì•½‰¸‚ª‚ ‚܂肠‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‚ ‚郔ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[EƒCƒ“ƒXƒgƒ‰ƒNƒ^[‚ÉŒ¾‚í‚ꂽ‚±‚Æ‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Buƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ð•ۂĂȂ¢‚Æ‚«‚ÍAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ªŽæ‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ðˆÓޝ‚·‚ê‚΂¢‚¢B‚»‚¤‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‘O‚Éi‚Þ‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·Bv

‚±‚ê‚̓uƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚Ì‹­—͂ȕ”•ª‚Å‚·B‚·‚®‚ɬŒ÷‚·‚邱‚Ƃł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB•¨Ž–‚ª‚¤‚Ü‚­‚¢‚©‚È‚¢‚Æ‚«‚Å‚àAŽ©•ª‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚‚ßA‚»‚Ì‹†‹É“I‚Èu•ω»‚µ‘±‚¯‚邯‚¢‚¤–{Ž¿v‚ðŽ©Šo‚µA‚»‚±‚©‚çÄo”­‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

 

              ‹r‚ð‹~‚¤‚½‚߂Ɏîᇂð“Eo‚·‚éŽèp‚Í13ŽžŠÔ‚É‚à‹y‚ÑA‰ñ•œ‚Í¢“ï‚Å‚µ‚½B‚悤‚â‚­‰Æ‚É‹A‚èA•¨——Ö@‚ðŽn‚߂܂µ‚½B2006”N4ŒŽ‚Ì‚±‚Ƃłµ‚½BƒKƒ“‚ÍÁ‚¦At‚ª–K‚êAŽ„‚ÍĂѓ®‚¯‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µA‘Þ‰@‚µ‚Ă킸‚©1TŠÔŒãA”x‚É‚ª‚ñ‚ª‚ ‚邯‚°‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½BƒKƒ“‚ª“]ˆÚ‚·‚邯‚»‚ÌŒã‚ÌŒo‰ß‚ÌŒ©’Ê‚µ‚ªˆ«‚­‚È‚é‚Ì‚ÅA‚±‚ê‚͔ߎS‚ȃjƒ…[ƒX‚Å‚µ‚½B‚ ‚Æ5”N¶‚«‚ç‚ê‚é‰Â”\«‚Í20“‚¾‚ÆŒ¾‚í‚êA‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñ‚»‚ê‚ð•·‚­‚Ì‚Íh‚¢‚±‚Ƃłµ‚½B

              ‚±‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚Å3A4“ú“®—h‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA2005”N10ŒŽ‚Æ“¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉA‹°•|‚ÆŽ¸–]‚ðŒ©‚Â‚ß‚Ä‘Ò‚Â‚µ‚©‚È‚¢‚ÆŒå‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ÌŽž‚àŽ©•ª‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Æ‹°•|‚̶ˆ¬‚ɑΈ‚·‚邽‚߂̃c[ƒ‹‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ÉS‚©‚犴ŽÓ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

lX‚Í‚±‚̂悤‚È󋵂Ŗð‚É—§‚Æ‚¤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚·‚ªAŒ‹‹Ç‚ÍŽ©•ª‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÍŽc‚³‚ê‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚·B •sˆÀ‚Æ‹ê”Y‚ðˆêl‚Å•ø‚¦ž‚Þ‚±‚ƂɂȂ邩‚ç‚Å‚·BŽ„‚͉½ŽžŠÔ‚à‰½ŽžŠÔ‚àÀ‚葱‚¯A‚悤‚â‚­•½‰¸‚È‹CŽ‚¿‚Å‚¢‚ç‚ê‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‹Á‚¢‚½‚±‚Æ‚ÉAŽ€‚ÌŠm—¦‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚µ‚½‚èAç’k‚ðŒ¾‚Á‚½‚è‚·‚邱‚Æ‚à‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

              ‚±‚Ì󋵂ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚邤‚¿‚ÉAŽ€‚ʂƂ¢‚¤l‚¦•û‚ª‚‚炢‚Ì‚ÍAŽ„‚ª—\‘z‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½83΂ł͂Ȃ­53Î‚Å‚à‚¤‚·‚®Ž€‚ʂƂ¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł͂Ȃ­AŒ‹‹ÇŽ€‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚Ü‚¤‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚ƂȂ̂¾‚Æ‹C‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

h‚¢‚̂͑‚·‚¬‚鎀‚ł͂Ȃ­AŽ€‚»‚Ì‚à‚̂łµ‚½B

‘‚·‚¬‚鎀‚Å‚à‚È‚­AƒKƒ“‚É‚æ‚鎀‚Å‚à‚È‚­AŽ©•ª‚É‚Íâ‘΂ɋN‚±‚肦‚È‚¢‚ÆŽv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½Ž€‚¾‚Æ‹C‚¢‚½‚̂łµ‚½B

              Ž„‚ªŽ€‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚æ‚¤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä—Š‚è‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½l‚¦•û‚̂ЂƂ‚ÉAƒAƒ‹ƒo[ƒgEƒAƒCƒ“ƒVƒ…ƒ^ƒCƒ“‚ÌŒ¾—t‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BuŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªŽ€‚ð‹°‚ê‚é‚Ì‚ÍAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ðŒÂ•ʂ̌Âl‚Å‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤l‚¦‚É‚µ‚ª‚݂‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·‚ªA‚à‚µŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ðA‚»‚Ì•¡ŽG‚³‚Æ“ä‚È‚é”ü‚µ‚¢‰F’ˆ‚Ì“WŠJ‚̈ꕔ‚Å‚ ‚邯l‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚ê‚ÎA‚»‚ê‚Ù‚Ç‹°‚ê‚邱‚Ƃ͂Ȃ­‚È‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤Bv

‚±‚ꂪáÒ‘z‚ÅŒoŒ±“I‚ɂł«‚邱‚Ƃł ‚èA“ä‚Ì’†‚É‚ ‚é”ü‚µ‚¢‰F’ˆ‚Ì“WŠJ‚̈ꕔ‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŽ©•ª‚ð—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B

 

áÒ‘z‚Ås‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÍA‘Ì“à‚Ì‚ ‚ç‚ä‚銴Šo‚Ì”­¶‚ÆÁ–łƂ¢‚¤•ω»‚µ‘±‚¯‚郊ƒAƒ‹‚ðŽžŠÔ‚²‚Ƃɑ̌±‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B Ž„‚ÌŒ»ŽÀAŽ„‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̓÷‘̂ƃƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì\‘¢‘S‘͖̂³í‚Å‚ ‚èAX‚ƕω»‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Ž„‚̈ꕔ‚Å‚ ‚é‚·‚ׂĂ̂à‚Ì‚àAí‚ÉX‚ƕω»‚µ‚Ä‚¨‚èA‚»‚ê‚䂦‚É”ü‚µ‚¢B

ƒAƒCƒ“ƒVƒ…ƒ^ƒCƒ“‚Í‚»‚̶ŠU‚ÌI‚í‚è‚ÉAŽ€‚̓GƒŒƒKƒ“ƒg‚ÉA‚‚܂苰‚ꂸ‚ɋ߂©‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚ꂼ‚êA‰F’ˆ‚Ì_”é“I‚È“WŠJ‚Ì•s‰ÂŒ‡‚Ȉꕔ‚Å‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤‚Ì‚ªAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Ì–{Ž¿‚Ȃ̂ł·B

 

              ‚±‚Ì_”é“I‚Å•¡ŽG‚ȉF’ˆ‚Ì“WŠJ‚̈ꕔ‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð‘ÌŒ±‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邱‚ƂɋC‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÍAáÒ‘z‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ð’Ê‚µ‚Ăłµ‚½BŽ©•ª‚Ì“÷‘̂ƃƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì‘S‘Ì‚ªí‚ɕω»‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ðí‚Ɉӎ¯‚µ‘±‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚ê‚ÎAŽ€‚Í‚»‚ê‚قǓ‚¢‚±‚Ƃł͂Ȃ¢‚ÆŽv‚¤‚悤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ɂ͗ûK‚ª•K—v‚Å‚·B

Thomas Merton‚Íu’¾–Ù‚Ì’†‚ÉŽ€‚Ö‚ÌŸ—˜‚ª‚ ‚é v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚̓ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì’¾–Ù‚ðˆÓ–¡‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BÃŽâ‚Ì’†‚É‚±‚»AŽ€‚ɑ΂·‚韗˜‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚È‚º‚È‚çAŽ©•ª‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Ì–{Ž¿‚ð—‰ð‚Å‚«‚é‚Ì‚ÍAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªÃ‚©‚ȂƂ«‚¾‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B‚»‚ÌuŠÔA‹°•|‚ÍŽx”z—Í‚ðŽ¸‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

 

‚ ‚È‚½‚Ìl¶‚ɂ͂܂¾ŽžŠÔ‚ªŽc‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚ǂꂾ‚¯‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ªŽc‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚ ‚È‚½‚Í“NŠwŽÒ‚Æ‚µ‚ÄĂы³‚¦‚邯‚¢‚¤–Ú“I‚ÍŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŒoŒ±‚É‚æ‚èAŠw¶‚ɑ΂·‚éƒvƒŒƒ[ƒ“ƒe[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚͕ςí‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚©?

 

ƒJƒiƒ_‚â•Ä‘‚Ì‘åŠw‚ÅŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª‹³‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚é“NŠw‚Ì“`“‚ÍAŒoŒ±“I‚È—‰ð‚ðdŽ‹‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚±‚Ì‚±‚Ƃɂ‚¢‚ÄŒê‚Á‚½“NŠwŽÒ‚ª‚¢‚È‚¢‚킯‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽå‚ÉlX‚ÉA•ªÍ‚·‚邱‚ÆAŠT”O‚ð‹æ•Ê‚·‚邱‚ÆA—pŒê‚𖾊m‚É’è‹`‚·‚邱‚ÆA‹c˜_‚ðs‚Á‚Ä”½˜_‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

ŒoŒ±“I—‰ð‚ÌŠT”O‚ª¼—m“NŠw‚Ì“`“‚É‘¶Ý‚·‚邯‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚ÍŒ°’˜‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚ª‹³‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚é 2 ‚‚̃R[ƒX‚ð—˜—p‚µ‚ÄA¶“k‚½‚¿‚ªŒoŒ±‚ÉŠî‚¢‚½—‰ð‚Ìd—v«‚ð—‰ð‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚É‚µ‚½‚¢‚Æl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Thomas Merton‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌŽ©—R‚ɑ΂·‚éÅ‘å‚ÌŽŽ—û‚ÍŽ€‚Å‚ ‚邯Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠFA‚¢‚‚©‚ÍŽ€‚ɂ܂·‚ªAŽ€‚ɑ΂·‚鎄‚½‚¿‚ÌŽæ‚è‘g‚Ý•û‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄAŽ€‚ªŽ€‚ł͂Ȃ­¶‚Ì‘I‘ð‚ɂȂé‰Â”\«‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Ž©•ª‚ÌŽ€‚ðŒˆ‚µ‚ÄK‚¹‚ɂ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªAK‚¹‚ł͂Ȃ­‚Ä‚àŽ©—R‚Å‚¢‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚ÍŽ©—R‚É‚»‚Ì•sK‚ðŒ©‚Â‚ßA‚»‚ê‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚êA‚»‚ê‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä•½˜a‚Å‚¢‚ç‚ê‚é‚̂ł·B

Ž„‚Í¡A–ˆ“úŽ€‚ð–Ú‚Ì‘O‚É‚µ‚Äl¶‚ð¶‚«‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é—§ê‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ìl¶‚ªŠÔ‚à‚È‚­I‚í‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ»ŽÀ‚É–ÚŠo‚߂܂µ‚½‚ªAŽ©•ª‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Ì«Ž¿‚ðˆÓޝ‚µ‘±‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚ê‚ÎA‚±‚Ì󋵂ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž©•ª‚Ì’m“I—‰ð‚¾‚¯‚ł͂Ȃ­AŒoŒ±“I‚·‚È‚í‚¿Š´‚¶‚ç‚ê‚é^ŽÀ‚ð—‰ð‚·‚ê‚ÎAŽ„‚Í‹°•|‚©‚玩—R‚ɶ‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

 

‚»‚±‚ÅAŽ„‚Ͷ“k‚½‚¿‚ÉAŽ©—R‚Æ‚»‚ê‚É•K—v‚È‚à‚̂ɂ‚¢‚Äl‚¦‚邿‚¤‘£‚µA‚Ü‚½¶‚«‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃ̌‹‰Ê‚Æ‚µ‚Ä“¾‚ç‚ê‚é’qŒd‚à‹‚ß‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚à‚ç‚¢‚½‚¢‚Æl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

“NŠw‚Æ‚Íu’qv‚ւ̈¤‚Å‚·B ‚»‚ꂪ‚±‚ÌŒ¾—t‚̈Ӗ¡‚Å‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‰b’q‚ÍŒoŒ±‚É‚æ‚Á‚Äg‚ɂ‚«‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª‹³‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃ͓NŠw‚Å‚·‚ç‚È‚¢‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚Í’q‚Ì–â‘è‚ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚ç‚Å‚·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍlX‚ɶ‚«‚邱‚Æ‚âl¶‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðŒoŒ±‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‘ã‚í‚è‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚͔ނç‚ÉAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð¶‚«‚ÄŠÏŽ@‚µAŽ©•ª‚ª’N‚Å‚ ‚èA‰½‚ð‚µ‚½‚©‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄA—Ç‚¢•¨ŒêA‚·‚Ȃ킿’m“I‚Ř_—“I‚ɈêŠÑ‚µ‚½•¨Œê‚ðŒê‚ê‚邱‚Ƃɖž‘«‚·‚邿‚¤‚É‹³‚¦‚Ü‚·B Šw¶‚½‚¿‚É‚ÍAŽ€‚̂悤‚È‚à‚ÌA‚‚܂葶݂̗‰ðA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ©—R‚Ƃ͂ǂ¤‚¢‚¤ˆÓ–¡‚©‚ð—‰ð‚·‚é‚Ì‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì’m“IŽ‘Œ¹‚ª‚È‚º‚±‚ê‚Ù‚Ç–ð‚É—§‚½‚È‚¢‚Ì‚©‚ðl‚¦‚Ä‚à‚ç‚¢‚½‚¢‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

 

ƒtƒHƒ[ƒAƒbƒv ƒCƒ“ƒ^ƒrƒ…[2007 ”N 12 ŒŽ

ÅŒã‚ɘb‚ð‚µ‚½‚Ì‚Í 2006 ”N‚Ì”Ót‚Å‚µ‚½BŒ‹‹ÇA‚»‚Ì”N‚É‚³‚ç‚ÉŽèp‚ðŽó‚¯‚邱‚ƂɂȂèA2007 ”N‚É‚àÄ“xŽèp‚ðŽó‚¯‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚ǂ̂悤‚É‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚Ä‹³E‚É–ß‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚©?

‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ÌŒã‚͂ǂ¤‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚©?

 

2006 ”N 4 ŒŽAŽ„‚̓Kƒ“‚ª“]ˆÚ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ä—\Œã‚ª—Ç‚­‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚Í‚±‚Ì•a‹C‚ª•sŽ¡‚Å‚ ‚邯‚ÍŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B “÷Žî‚Ìꇂ͔x“]ˆÚ‚ðŽèp‚ÅϋɓI‚ÉŽ¡—µ‚Ķ‚«Žc‚él‚à‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ„‚̉”\«‚Í’á‚¢‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ç‚Í2006”N5ŒŽ‚Éʼn‚Ì”xŽèp‚ðs‚¢A7ŒÂ‚̈««Žîá‡‚ðØœ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚»‚̂قڒ¼Œã‚Ì 6 ŒŽ‚ɃXƒLƒƒƒ“‰æ‘œ‚É‚³‚ç‚É‘½‚­‚ÌuŒ‹ßv‚ªŒ»‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚̉ÄA”Þ‚ç‚ÍĂюèp‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Ƃ͊©‚߂܂¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽ„‚ÍH‚É‹³E‚É–ß‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚ª‚ñ‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚Í\•ª³’m‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‹³Žt‚ɖ߂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ä‚¤‚ꂵ‚©‚Á‚½‚Å‚·B Å‹ßA—Fl‚⓯—»‚ªŽ„‚ÉAŽ©•ª‚Ìl¶‚ª‚à‚¤‚·‚®I‚í‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð³’m‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚ª‚çA‚È‚º‹³Žt‚ɖ߂肽‚¢‚Ì‚©‚Æq‚˂܂µ‚½B

Ž„‚͔ޗ‚ÉAŠm‚©‚É 2006 ”N‚̉ĂÉA’Z‚­‚È‚Á‚½Žc‚è‚Ìl¶‚ʼn½‚©“Á•ʂȂ±‚Æ‚ð‚·‚×‚«‚¾‚Æl‚¦‚½ŽžŠú‚ª‚ ‚Á‚½‚±‚Æ‚ð˜b‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚¨‚»‚ç‚­AV‚µ‚¢êЂɗ·s‚µ‚½‚èAd—v‚È–{‚ð‘‚¢‚½‚è‚·‚邿‚¤‚ÈB

‚µ‚©‚µA‚æ‚­l‚¦‚Ä‚Ý‚é‚ÆA‚»‚Ìl‚¦‚͂΂©‚°‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÉŽv‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

¶‚«‚Ä‚¢‚½‚ç‚â‚Á‚½‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚â’B¬‚µ‚½‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚±‚ƂŖ½‚𗎂Ƃ·‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚Ȃǂ͋C‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Íl¶‚»‚Ì‚à‚ÌA‚»‚ÌuŠÔuŠÔ‚ÌŒoŒ±‚Ì‚¹‚¢‚Å–½‚𗎂Ƃ·‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚ð‹C‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Ž„‚Í‚©‚‚ÄA—]–½”ƒJŒŽ‚¾‚Ƃ킩‚Á‚½‚ç‚Ç‚¤‚·‚é‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤‹^–â‚ð‹»–¡[‚¢‚Æl‚¦‚½‚±‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µAŽÀÛ‚É‚»‚Ì󋵂ɊׂÁ‚½‚Æ‚«A‚»‚ñ‚È‹^–â‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BŽ„‚ª‚â‚肽‚©‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÍAŽ„‚ª‚¢‚Â‚à‚µ‚Ä‚«‚½•½–}‚È“úí‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚¾‚¯‚Å‚µ‚½B ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Ì‚¨‚©‚°‚Å‚±‚ÌŒ‹˜_‚É’B‚µ‚½‚Ƃ͌¾‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñBáÒ‘z‚¹‚¸‚É“¯‚¶Œ‹˜_‚É’B‚µ‚½‘¼‚̃Kƒ“гŽÒ‚ðŽ„‚Í’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ª”ñí‚ÉŠÈ’P‚Ɏ󂯓ü‚ê‚ç‚êAŽ„‚ÌŽc‚è‚Ìl¶‚É“K—p‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚Ì‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚½Œ‹‰Ê‚¾‚ÆŽ„‚ÍŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚±‚ê‚ɂ‚¢‚ĉ½‚̔߂µ‚Ý‚àŠ´‚¶‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ì‚¨‚©‚°‚Å‚ ‚邯ބ‚ÍŠmM‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Ž€‚̓hƒ‰ƒ}ƒ`ƒbƒN‚Å‚ ‚é‚ׂ«‚ÅA‚»‚Ìo—ˆŽ–‚Í‚·‚ׂĂÌuˆÓ–¡v‚ð‹­’²‚·‚é‚©‚̂悤‚ÉAŽ€‚ð‹L”O‚µ‚ĉ½‚©d—v‚È‚±‚Æ‚ð‚µ‚½‚茾‚Á‚½‚è‚·‚ׂ«‚¾‚Æ‚¢‚¤l‚¦‚É‚ÍA‰½‚©–£—Í“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µAŽ„‚ª‚²‚­•’Ê‚Ì¶Šˆ‚ÉŽc‚³‚ꂽ‚à‚̂ɖ]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÍA‚»‚ÌÅ‚à•½–}‚È‘¤–Ê‚ð©‚É’Pƒ‚É”Fޝ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚¾‚¯‚Å‚µ‚½B

—]•ª‚ÈŠy‚µ‚݂⋻•±‚ł͂Ȃ­A‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñƒhƒ‰ƒ}‚⊴‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž€‚ª‹ß‚­‚ÆA•½–}‚È‚±‚Æ‚ª‚³‚ç‚ÉŠïÕ“I‚ÉŠ´‚¶‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚ªƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ð’Ê‚¶‚Ä‚·‚łɌoŒ±‚µ‚½^ŽÀ‚Å‚·B

 

‚»‚¤‚µ‚ÄŽ„‚Í‹³‚¦‚邱‚Ƃɖ߂è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚±‚ê‚܂łɂȂ¢‚Ù‚ÇŠÈ’P‚È‚±‚Æ‚ª‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚ÆA‚¢‚Â‚à‚µ‚Ä‚«‚½‚±‚ÆAŽ„‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ªM‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚½‚±‚ÆA‚Ìd—v«‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă͋C‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃł·Bd—v‚ł͂Ȃ©‚Á‚½‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚킯‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚ª‚â‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ÆA‹³‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ÍA‚±‚ê‚܂łƕςí‚ç‚¸Ž„‚ɂƂÁ‚Äd—v‚ňӖ¡‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ꂪŗDæ‚ł͂Ȃ­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚±‚ê‚ÍAŽ©g‚Ìl¶‚ð¶‚«‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚é‚±‚ƂȂ­A‚ǂ̂悤‚ÉA‚»‚µ‚ĂȂº‚±‚Ìl¶‚ð¶‚«‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤•¨Œê‚ðŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ÉŒê‚邱‚ƂȂ­A¶‚«‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɎ„‚ª‹C‚¢‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B

 

Šw¶‚½‚¿‚Ƃ̊֌W‚͂ǂ¤‚¢‚¤‚킯‚©‚¸‚Á‚ÆŠÈ’P‚ÅA‚æ‚è’¼Ú“I‚È‚à‚̂ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚Í‚»‚ÌHŠwŠú‚ðI‚¦A2006 ”N‚©‚ç 2007 ”N‚Ì“~‚É‚³‚ç‚ÉŽèp‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B ŠO‰ÈŽèp‚Ì1‚‚ªŽ¸”s‚µA–«“I‚Ȓɂ݂Ɖ“®«‚̒ቺ‚ÉŒ©•‘‚í‚ꂽ‚½‚ßA‘å•ςȎžŠú‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µAH‚܂łɎ„‚Í‹³E‚É–ß‚èAŠwŠú‚ðI‚¦‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©Ä‚Ñ”Y‚݂܂µ‚½B

‚»‚µ‚Äð”N‚Ì10ŒŽ’†{AŽîá‡ê–åˆã‚©‚çu‚·‚ׂĂ͑åä•vv‚ÆŒ¾‚í‚ꂽ’¼Œã‚ÉAS‘Ÿ‚̋߂­‚ɑ傫‚ÈŽîᇂª‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤’m‚点‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚̃jƒ…[ƒX‚Í•úŽËü‰Èˆã‚Ì•ñ‘‚Å–¾‚ç‚©‚É‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ç‚Í‚±‚ê‚܂łÌ2‰ñ‚̃XƒLƒƒƒ“‚Å‚»‚ê‚ðŒ©“¦‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”TŠÔŒãAˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚ÍŽîᇂ͎èp•s”\‚¾‚ªA‰»Šw—Ö@‚ðŽŽ‚µ‚Ä‚à‚æ‚¢‚Æ‚°‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µA‚»‚ê‚Í’P‚È‚éŠÉ˜aôA‚‚܂èÇó‚ð—}‚¦‚邽‚߂ł ‚èA‚¨‚»‚ç‚­Ž„‚É‚à‚Á‚ƶ‘¶ŽžŠÔ‚ð—^‚¦‚邱‚Ƃɂ͂Ȃé‚Å‚µ‚傤B ‚»‚ꂪ 2007 ”N 11 ŒŽ‰{‚ÉŽ„‚ªŽó‚¯Žæ‚Á‚½’m‚点‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

ˆãŽt‚©‚çŠÉ˜aŽ¡—µ‚©’ñ‹Ÿ‚Å‚«‚È‚¢‚ÆŒ¾‚í‚ꂽ‚Æ‚«A‚»‚ÌŽž‚Ç‚¤Žv‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚©? ‰½‚ðŠú‘Ò‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚©H

11ŒŽ5“ú‚Ì–éAŽ„‚ÍŽîá‡ê–åˆã‚É“d˜b‚őВk‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚̂Ƃ«”Þ‚ÍA‚à‚µ‰»Šw—Ö@‚ªŒø‚©‚È‚¢‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚¨‚»‚ç‚­‚ ‚Æ3`6‚©ŒŽ‚Ͷ‚«‚ç‚ê‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤A‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚̉”\«‚Í‚ ‚܂肂­‚È‚¢‚ÆŒ¾‚í‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚±‚ñ‚Ȃɉ¸‚â‚©‚ɉï˜b‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚Ì‚©‚Æ‹Á‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͂ł«‚éŒÀ‚葽‚­‚Ìî•ñ‚𓾂悤‚Æ‚µA8ŒŽ‚É•úŽËü‰Èˆã‚ªŽîá‡‚ðŒ©“¦‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚à•s•½‚ðŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µAŒ‹‹Ç¶‚«Žc‚ê‚È‚¢‚悤‚ÉŽv‚¦‚½‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸A”Þ‚ªŽ„‚Ì‘«‚ð‹~‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚±‚ƂɊ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚àŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‰ï˜b‚ðI‚¦‚½ŒãAŽ„‚Í•ê‚É“d˜b‚µ‚ÄA•ê‚ɂƂÁ‚Ă͑å•ςȂ±‚Ƃłµ‚½‚ªA—Ž‚¿’…‚¢‚Ä‚»‚Ì’m‚点‚ð“`‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚©‚玄‚ÍˆÃˆÅ‚ÌƒŠƒrƒ“ƒOƒ‹[ƒ€‚É”ŽžŠÔÀ‚èA‹°•|Aâ–]A”ß‚µ‚ÝA•sˆÀ‚ÌŠ´î‚ð©‚É—âÂɊώ@‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Ͷ‚«Žc‚邱‚Æ‚ð–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½A¡‚Ȃ炻‚¤‚Í‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªB ŽîᇂªH“¹‚ðˆ³”—‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ð‚·‚Å‚ÉŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅAÅI“I‚ɂ͒‚‘§‚·‚邾‚낤‚Æ—\‘z‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ÍŽ€‚̃vƒƒZƒX‚Æ‚»‚ê‚É”õ‚¦‚邽‚߂ɉ½‚ð‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚©‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‘½‚­‚Ì•sˆÀ‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚½‚¾‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÌŠ´î‚𒭂߂Ă¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA’·‚¢ŽžŠÔ‚ªŒo‚Á‚Ä‚©‚çA‚È‚º‚©ˆÔ‚ß‚ç‚ꂽ‚悤‚ÉŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚È‚º‚È‚çA‚»‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉŽ„‚ªŒ©‚Ď󂯓ü‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÍA‚Ü‚³‚ÉŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌlŠÔ‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚Ì«Ž¿A‚‚܂èA¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔˆÈŠO‚É‚µ‚ª‚݂‚­‚à‚Ì‚ª‰½‚à‚È‚¢AŠ®‘S‚È•sˆÀ‚ƌǓƂ¾‚Á‚½‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B ‚»‚Ì–éAŽ„‚ÍŽ©—R‚Æ•½˜a‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶A‚»‚̂Ƃ«Ž©•ª‚Íl¶‚Ì^‚ñ’†‚É‚¢‚ÄAŽ©•ª‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Ì•sŠmŽÀ‚ÈŒ»ŽÀ‚ÆŠ®‘S‚ÉÚG‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯д‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚Ü‚¾ŠwŠú‚Ì”¼•ª‹ß‚­‚ªŽc‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ÍáÒ‘z‚É‘½‚­‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ð”ï‚₵‚Ä‚¢‚½‚½‚߂łµ‚傤‚©AŽ©•ª‚̑̂ʼn½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚ð”Fޝ‚µA‚·‚ׂĂð—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‰F’ˆ‚Å‚Í₦‚¸•ω»‚µAŽ€‚ñ‚¾‚èA¶‚«•Ô‚Á‚½‚è‚·‚é‚Ì‚ÅAŽ„‚ª3‚©ŒŽŒã‚ɶ‚«‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Æ‚¢‚¤ƒjƒ…[ƒX‚͂قƂñ‚Ç–³ˆÓ–¡‚ÉŽv‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñƒVƒ‡ƒbƒN‚Å‚µ‚½‚µA‘å•ςłµ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µAŽ„‚Í­‚È‚­‚Æ‚à‰½‚ç‚©‚ÌŒ`‚ÅAŽ©•ª‚ɂ͌»Ý‚µ‚©‚È‚­A‘¼‚Ìl‚½‚¿‚àŒ»Ý‚µ‚©‚È‚¢A‚Æ‚¢‚¤l‚¦‚ÉŠµ‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

2006 ”N‚Æ“¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉAŽ„‚͈êuA—]–½ 3 ‚©ŒŽ‚قǂȂ̂ÅA¶“k‚½‚¿‚ɉ½‚©d—v‚È‚±‚Æ‚ðŒ¾‚¤‚ׂ«‚©A‰½‚©“Á•ʂȂ±‚Æ‚ð‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚Æl‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µAŽ„‚ª”Þ‚ç‚É’ñ‹Ÿ‚Å‚«‚éÅ‘P‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚Íu—Ⴆv‚Å‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃɂà‹C‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚à‚µŽ„‚ªŽ€‚ñ‚¾‚çA”Þ‚ç‚Í”‚©ŒŽˆÈ“à‚ÉŽ„‚ª‰½‚ð•ø‚¦‚Ķ‚«‚Ä‚«‚½‚Ì‚©‚ð’m‚邾‚낤‚µAŽ€‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ»ŽÀ‚ð•ø‚¦‚È‚ª‚畒ʂɶ‚«‚邱‚Ƃ͉”\‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð”Þ‚ç‚ÉŽ¦‚µA‚»‚ê‚Í‹°•|‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä–½‚𗎂Ƃ³‚È‚¢‚½‚߂Ɏ„‚½‚¿‘Sˆõ‚ª‚»‚¤‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B

 

Ž„‚͔ނç‚É‚àA‘¼‚Ì’N‚É‚àA’P‚Ȃ錾—t‚ð—^‚¦‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚Ç‚¤‚¢‚¤‚킯‚©‚»‚ê‚ÍŠÔˆá‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÉŽv‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B Œ¾—t‚ÍŽ„‚ªŽ€‚Ì‹°•|‚É—§‚¿Œü‚©‚¤‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚µA•½˜a‚ÉŽ€‚Ì‹°•|‚ƂƂà‚ɶ‚«‚邱‚Æ‚à‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž€‚ªŠÔ‹ß‚É”—‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚鎄‚𕂯‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚Ì‚ÍA—⩂©‚É•¨Ž–‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚郔ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚¾‚©‚玄‚ÍŠw¶‚É‚à“¯—»‚É‚àŽ©•ª‚Ì󋵂ð˜b‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚à‚µ‚»‚¤‚µ‚½‚È‚çAŽ„‚ªˆê”Ô–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½¡‚܂Œʂè‚Ì•’Ê‚Ì¶Šˆ‚𑱂¯‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

‚»‚Ìd‘å‚È’m‚点‚ð•·‚¢‚½Œã‚Å‚àAŽ„‚Ìl¶‚ɑ傫‚ȕω»‚͉½‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Ͷ“k‚½‚¿‚É‹³‚¦‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ꂪ‚Å‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ª•ª‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ŽžXAŠw¶‚½‚¿‚Ƙb‚µ‚½‚èA”Þ‚ç‚̃vƒŒƒ[ƒ“ƒe[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ð•·‚¢‚½‚肵‚ÄAuŽ„‚Í‚à‚¤‚·‚®Ž€‚ʂ̂ÉAŽ„‚Í‚±‚±‚ÉÀ‚Á‚ăvƒŒƒ[ƒ“ƒe[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ð•·‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚év‚ÆŽv‚¢„‚ç‚·‚Ì‚ªŠï–­‚ÉŠ´‚¶‚ç‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚̂Ƃ«AŽ„‚Í‚±‚¤Žv‚¢‚Ü‚·Bu‚Å‚àA‚»‚ê‚Í–³ŠÖŒW‚Å‚·A–{“–‚ÉŠÖŒW‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠFA‚±‚Ì󋵂ɂ¢‚é‚̂ł·‚©‚çB Ž„‚ɂ͂±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ª‚ ‚èA‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚¾‚¯‚ª‚ ‚èA”Þ‚ç‚É‚à‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ª‚ ‚èA‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚¾‚¯‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚±‚Ì‘¨‚¦•û‚ð”Þ‚ç‚ÍM‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚µAŽ„‚ª”Þ‚ç‚ɘb‚µ‚Ä‚àM‚¶‚È‚¢‚¾‚낤‚¯‚ÇA‚±‚ê‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‘Sˆõ‚ª‹¤—L‚·‚錻ŽÀ‚¾Bv‚ÆB

 

‚±‚̂悤‚ÈŽ–‘Ô‚ð—\Šú‚µ‚Ä1”N”¼‚ª‚ ‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÍK‰^‚¾‚Á‚½‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚ê‚ÍAŽ„‚ªÁ‹É“I‚ÅŠó–]‚ª‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł͂Ȃ­A‚Þ‚µ‚ëAň«‚ÌŽ–‘Ô‚ð‘z’肵A‚»‚ê‚Æ‚Æ‚à‚ɶ‚«‚邱‚ÆA‚‚܂èAŽ€‚ð‘z’肵A‚»‚Ì‘z’è‚Æ‚Æ‚à‚É•’ʂɶ‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠw‚ׂÎAŒ»ŽÀ“I‚ÉA•a‹C‚ƂƂà‚É‚æ‚è‚æ‚­¶‚«‚ç‚ê‚邯”»’f‚Å‚«‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ðŽn‚ß‚½‚Æ‚«AŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Í”ñí‚ÉŽã‚­•sˆÀ’è‚Å‚ ‚邽‚ßAŽ€‚Æ‚Æ‚à•’Ê‚É¶‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Ü‚³‚É’N‚Å‚à‚»‚¤‚·‚ׂ«‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠw‚т܂µ‚½B@

 

@@@3”NŠÔ‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ŽÀ‘H‚ÌŒ‹‰ÊA’N‚à‚ªŽ©•ª‚Ìl¶‚Å‚ ‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÍAŒ»Ý‚Ì•½–}‚È’Pƒ‚È“úí‚ÌŠˆ“®‚Æ‚»‚ê‚ç‚É‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚¾‚ÆŽ„‚ɂ͖¾‚ç‚©‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñA‚±‚ê‚ðŒ¾‚¤‚̂͊ȒP‚Å‚·‚µAŽ„‚à‚©‚‚Ă»‚¤‚Å‚µ‚½‚悤‚ÉAŽÀÛ‚É‚»‚¤Œ¾‚¤l‚Í‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ð^‚É”Fޝ‚Å‚«‚éƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̯‚³‚ð’Ç‹‚·‚él‚͂قƂñ‚Ç‚¢‚È‚¢‚½‚ßA‘½‚­‚Ìl‚ª‚½‚¾‚»‚¤Œ¾‚¤‚¾‚¯‚Å“¯Žž‚É–½‚𗎂Ƃµ‚Ü‚·B

ƒLƒ…[ƒo‚Ì“NŠwŽÒJosé Mart킪Œx‚µ‚½‚悤‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ì‘¶Ý‚ðŽå’£‚·‚邽‚߂Ɉ권œ–½“­‚©‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚¤‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ìl¶‚ÍA’n’ê‚ð‘f‘‚­A©‚ÉA‚»‚µ‚Ä–Ú‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚È‚¢‚悤‚É—¬‚ê‚éiƒXƒyƒCƒ“‚ÌjƒOƒAƒfƒBƒAƒiì‚̂悤‚ɉ߂¬‹Ž‚Á‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚·A‚»‚µ‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚̉߂¬‹Ž‚邱‚ƂɂقƂñ‚Ç‹C•t‚©‚È‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B

Ž„‚̈ӎ¯‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ¾‚¤‘ã‚í‚è‚ÉA‚ ‚È‚½‚ª‚»‚̈ӎ¯‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚Ü‚·B

‚È‚º‚È‚çA‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÍAuŠÔ“I‚Èu‚킽‚µv‚Ìɸ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚Å‚ ‚èA‚»‚ê‚ÍŽŸ‚ÌuŠÔA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽŸ‚ÌuŠÔ‚Æ‚¢‚¤¢ŠE‚Ì’†‚ÅAŽŸ‚ÌuŠÔ‚Ìu‚킽‚µv‚ɂ‚Ȃª‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

 

‚¨‚»‚ç‚­A–ˆ“úáÒ‘z‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邯‚«‚É‹N‚±‚éÅ‚à‹­—͂Ȍ»Û‚ÍAƒGƒS‚ªŽ©Šo‚µ‚È‚¢‚¤‚¿‚ÉÁ‚¦‹Ž‚邱‚Ƃł·B

ŽÀÛA’N‚à‚»‚ê‚É‹C‚©‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÍA‚»‚ꂪƒGƒS‚ðŽ¸‚¤ŒoŒ±‚ª‚à‚Â«Ž¿‚Ì‚P‚‚¾‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B‚»‚ÌŒ‹‰Ê‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŒ»Ý‚ð‚æ‚è‹C‚­‚悤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚ꂪ¡˜b‘è‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒhƒtƒ‹ƒlƒX‚ɑ΂·‚éŒë‰ð‚̈ê‚‚¾‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B

”Þ‚ç‚ÍŽ©•ª‚½‚¿‚ª‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ðˆÓޝ‚·‚邽‚߂ɔñí‚É“w—Í‚·‚é‚Ì‚ÅAŽ©•ª‚½‚¿‚ªs‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é“w—͂ɂ³‚ç‚ÉW’†‚µ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

‚µ‚©‚µAŒÃ‘ã’†‘‚Ì“NŠwŽÒ‘‘Žq‚ÍAŒC‚ª‚Ò‚Á‚½‚臂Á‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚«AŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚ê‚É‹C‚©‚È‚¢‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B –ˆ“úáÒ‘z‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邯Aƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Í©‚ɂȂèA‚»‚ÌŒ‹‰ÊA‚æ‚è’ˆÓ[‚­‚È‚èAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒhƒtƒ‹‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ª‰½‚ðˆÓ–¡‚·‚é‚©‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚ ‚Ü‚è‹C‚ɂȂç‚È‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B ’N‚à‚ª‚»‚¤‚Å‚ ‚邿‚¤‚ÉB ‚»‚µ‚ÄAŽÀۂɃ}ƒCƒ“ƒhƒtƒ‹‚ÅA¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚É‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚«A’N‚àŽ©•ª‚ÌuŽ©ŒÈv‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄS”z‚Í‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚È‚º‚È‚çAŽ©ŒÈ‚ÍÁ‚¦‹Ž‚Á‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B‚»‚̂͂¸‚Å‚·‚æB

‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚ê‚ÍŽžŠÔ‚ð‚©‚¯‚ÄŽÀ‘H‚µ‚½ê‡‚ɂ̂݋N‚±‚è‚Ü‚·B uŽ©‰äv‚ªÁ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚ä‚Á‚­‚è‚Æ‚µ‚½”E‘Ï‹­‚¢ƒvƒƒZƒX‚ª‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎAu‚¢‚Üv‚ð–{“–‚ɶ‚«‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚È‚º‚È‚çAí‚É‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚É‹C‚­ŽÀ‘H‚̈Ӗ¡‚ðuŽ©‰äv‚ª‹C‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

Ž©•ª‚Ìl¶‚ÍŒ»Ý‚É‚¨‚¢‚Ă݈̂Ӗ¡‚ª‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð–{“–‚É—‰ð‚·‚邯AŽ©ŒÈ‚Ìd—v«‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚é‚»‚ê‚ç‚ÌŽ¿–â‚Íd—v‚ł͂Ȃ­‚È‚èAŽå‚É‹°•|‚𔺂¤Ž©•ª‚ðŠŽã‚³‚¹‚鎩ŒÈ•ªÍ‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

‚à‚µƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒhƒtƒ‹ƒlƒX‚Ö‚Ì“w—Í‚ªŽ©•ªŽ©g‚Ö‚ÌŠÖS‚Å‚ ‚é‚È‚çA­‚È‚­‚Æ‚àƒuƒbƒ_‚ª‹³‚¦‚½‰ð•ú“I‚ȈӖ¡‚É‚¨‚¢‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚͂܂Á‚½‚­ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒhƒtƒ‹ƒlƒX‚ƌĂׂé‚à‚̂ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠFAƒGƒS‚Æ‚¢‚¤ŠT”OAuŽ„v‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ¶‘z‚ÉŽú‚í‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚µ‚½‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤—~‹‚ªA‚µ‚ª‚݂‚±‚¤‚Æ‚·‚éƒGƒS‚Ìl‚¦‚ÌŒ‹‰Ê‚¾‚Æ‚µ‚½‚çAƒGƒS‚ª”–‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚­‚ɂ‚ê‚ÄA‚±‚Ì—~‹‚à”–‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚­‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·‚©?

‚à‚µƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚ª‚È‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚çA‚»‚ê‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚Ìɸ‚³‚âƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì•½˜a‚ð[‚ß‚é‚̂ɂǂ̂悤‚ɖ𗧂‚łµ‚傤‚©H

 

Ž©•ª‚Ì–½‚â«—ˆ‚ðŽ¸‚¢‚»‚¤‚É‚È‚é‚ÆAl‚ÍŽ©•ªŽ©gƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚Å‚«‚È‚­‚È‚é‚Ì‚ÅAŽ€‚ÌŒ©’Ê‚µ‚Í”ñí‚ÉŒª‹•‚È‚à‚̂ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

Žèp•s‰Â”\‚ÈŽîᇂɂ‚¢‚Ä’m‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«A8ŒŽ‚ÌŒŸ¸Œ‹‰Ê‚ł͕úŽËü‰Èˆã‚ªŒ©“¦‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚à’m‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚ÌŽîᇂð8ŒŽA‚à‚µ‚©‚µ‚½‚ç6ŒŽ‚É‚à”­Œ©‚Å‚«‚½‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA‚»‚¤‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ÍŽîá‡ê–åˆã‚ÉA‚±‚̊ԈႢ‚ɂ͑Έ‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚邯Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚ ‚Ü‚è“{‚è‚â•®‚è‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚Ä–â‘è‚ð‚»‚Ì‚Ü‚Ü‚É‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

”ނ炪6ŒŽ‚ÉŽîá‡‚ðŒ©“¦‚µ‚½‚±‚Ƃɑ傫‚È“{‚è‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚©H

Ž„‚ÍŽîᇓà‰Èˆã‚ÉA‚±‚ÌŽ¿–â‚ð’Ç‹y‚·‚é‹C‚͂Ȃ¢‚ªA’N‚©‚ÌŽ¸”s‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄŽ„‚Í–½‚𗎂Ƃ·‚±‚ƂɂȂÁ‚½‚Ì‚¾‚©‚çA’N‚©‚ª–Ê“|‚ð‚Ý‚é‚ׂ«‚¾‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍAuгŽÒ‚ª\‚·‚ê‚ΑgD‚Ìã•”‚É‚¢‚­‚Ì‚ÅA\‚·‚ׂ«‚Å‚·Bv‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B u‚»‚¤‚Å‚·‚ËA‚Å‚à—]–½‚Ì”ƒ–ŒŽ‚ð‚±‚Ì‚æ‚¤‚È‚±‚ƂɊւí‚é‚͔̂nŽ­‚°‚½‚±‚Ƃł·‚æ‚ËB‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‚à‚¤‚·‚®Ž€‚ʂƎ„‚É‚°‚½‚΂©‚è‚Å‚·B ‚È‚ºŽ¸”s‚µ‚½l‚ð’Ç‚¢‚©‚¯‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚ ‚È‚½‚ª ‚·‚ׂ«‚±‚Ƃł·B‚»‚ê‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŽdŽ–‚Å‚·‚©‚çB‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì•a‰@‚È‚ñ‚Å‚·‚æBv‚ÆŽ„‚Í“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚êˆÈ—ˆA‚»‚Ì‚±‚Ƃɂ‚¢‚Äl‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚Í2“x‚Æ‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

‚»‚ê‚̓Rƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚Ì‘rޏ‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©A‚»‚ê‚Æ‚àŽ©‰ä‚Ì‘rޏ‚Ȃ̂łµ‚傤‚©H

‘¼‚Ìl‚É“¯‚¶‚悤‚È‚±‚Æ‚ª‹N‚±‚ç‚È‚¢‚悤‚É–â‘肪C³‚³‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠm”F‚µ‚½‚©‚Á‚½‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚»‚̊ԈႢ‚ÍŽ„‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä”ñí‚ɑ傫‚È‘¹Ž¸‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·‚à‚̂ł ‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÉAŽ„‚Í‚»‚êˆÈã‹C‚É‚µ‚È‚¢‚±‚ƂɋÁ‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚¨‚»‚ç‚­”ނ炪6ŒŽ‚©8ŒŽ‚ÉŽîᇂ𔭌©‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚ê‚ÎA”Þ‚ç‚ÍŽ„‚Ì–½‚Í‹~‚¦‚½‚Ì‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

‰ß‹Ž‚És‚È‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃɑ΂µ‚ÄŠ®‘S‚ÉÓ”C‚ª‚ ‚é‚͎̂„‚½‚¿‚Å‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤ƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚͂ǂ¤‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

‰ß‹Ž‚É‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄAŒ»Ý‚ɉ½‚ª‹N‚±‚é‚Ì‚©‚ªŒˆ‚܂邯‚¢‚¤B

‚»‚¤‚Å‚·‚ËAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚ɂ͡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉÓ”C‚ª‚ ‚邯Œ¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ð‚¢‚Â‚àŠo‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ŽžÜAŽ„‚Í‰ß‹Ž‚É‰½‚ð‚µ‚ÄA4 ”NŠÔ‚Ì‚ª‚ñŽ¡—Ã‚ðŽ©•ª‚É‚à‚½‚炵‚½‚Ì‚¾‚낤‚Æl‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚»‚̂Ƃ«AŽ„‚ɂ͡‚±‚±‚É‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃɑ΂µ‚Ă̂ÝÓ”C‚ª‚ ‚èA‚»‚ê‚Å\•ª‚¾‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µ‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚Ì•”•ª‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ǝv‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚ð•®‚è‚â“{‚è‚Ì‘©”›‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚é•”•ª‚Å‚·B ’É‚ÝAˆãŽt‚ÌfŽ@A“Š–òAŽ¡—ÃA“_“HA‰îŒìA]‘®A‰½“x‚à“ü‰@‚·‚邱‚ƂȂÇA‚ ‚éˆÓ–¡‚ÅŽ„‚Í‚±‚ê‚ç‚·‚ׂĂªŒ™‚¢‚Å‚·B ‚±‚ê‚܂Ŏ„‚Í‚Æ‚Ä‚àŒ’N‚ÅA‹­‚­A‰^“®”\—Í‚ª‚‚©‚Á‚½‚̂ł·B •®‚è‚ÌŒŠ‚ÉŠ×‚é‚̂͊ȒP‚Å‚ ‚èA‚¨‚»‚ç‚­“–‘R‚Ì‚±‚Ƃł·‚ç‚ ‚邯Žv‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

‚»‚Ì•®‚è‚ÉZ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邯A¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ðŽ¸‚Á‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚·‚æ‚ËB

‚Í‚¢B ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Í”ñí‚Éd—v‚ȃc[ƒ‹‚Å‚·B Ž„‚Í‚¿‚傤‚njċz‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µŽn‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚·B •a‰@‚ʼn߂²‚·–é‚ÍA‹‚­‚ÄA‘§‹ê‚µ‚­A•Š‹°•|Ç‚É‚È‚é‚æ‚¤‚ÈAŠy‚µ‚¢‚±‚Ƃ͉½‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚µ‚©‚µAŒÄ‹z‚ÉW’†‚·‚邯A‚»‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉW’†‚µA‚₪‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ç‚̈óÛ‚ªI‚í‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚ç‚̈óÛ‚ÍŽŸ‰ñ‚܂ŕú’u‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚ê‚à‘¼‚Ì‚±‚ƂƓ¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉAŽÀ‘H‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

—]–½‚Í 2 ‚©ŒŽ‚ ‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB 2”NˆÈã‚ ‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚ÌŠÔA•¨Ž–‚ð‚¤‚Ü‚­I‚í‚点‚邽‚ß‚É

‚ ‚È‚½‚ɂƂÁ‚ÄÅ‚àd—v‚È‚±‚Ƃ͉½‚Å‚·‚©?

Ž„‚̓Vƒ“ƒvƒ‹‚³‚Æ’¾–ÙA‚‚܂èƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì’¾–Ù‚ð‚Æ‚Ä‚àM‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚ÍŽ€‚ʂ܂łǂ¤‚Ȃ邩‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚ ‚Ü‚èl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚̓SƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÌŒ¾—t‚ðM—p‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B–ˆ“úŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚ê‚ÎAÅI“I‚ɂ͂»‚ê‚ɑΈ‚·‚邽‚ß‚ÌƒŠƒ\[ƒXiŽ‘—Íj‚ª“¾‚ç‚ê‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B ŠÉ˜aˆã—ÂɌg‚í‚élX‚Ƙb‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Æ‚ÅAŽ€‚ÉŽŠ‚éƒvƒƒZƒX‚Í‚³‚Ü‚´‚܂Ȍ`‚Å“WŠJ‚·‚é‰Â”\«‚ª‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽ„‚Í’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚¾‚©‚玄‚Í‚½‚¾A‚Å‚«‚éŒÀ‚蕽˜a‚Æ‹C‚«‚ðŽ‚Á‚ÄAˆêuˆêu‚ð¶‚«‚½‚¢‚ÆŽv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ÍAŽ©•ª‚ɇ‚Á‚½ŒC‚̂悤‚ÉŠy‚ÉŽÀŒ»‚µ‚½‚¢‚̂ł·B ‚»‚ê‚Í‘f°‚炵‚¢–ˆ“ú‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÀ‘H‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä’z‚«ã‚°‚ç‚ꂽƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I’b˜B‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ă̂݋N‚±‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽ„‚Í’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚Í’¾–Ù‚ÌŠïÕ‚ðŠw‚ׂ½‚±‚ƂɊ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B“®—h‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚«‚Å‚àŒoŒ±‚Å‚«‚éŠO‘¤‚Ì’¾–قł͂Ȃ­A‹°•|‚ÆŽ©ŒÈdŽ‹‚ɪ‚´‚µ‚½ƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚̉ï˜b‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚êAu‚¢‚ÜE‚±‚±v‚Ö‚ÌŠ´Žó«‚ÅŽ©ŒÈ‚ðÁ–Å‚³‚¹‚é“à‘¤‚Ì’¾–Ù‚Å‚·B

ŽŸ‚̉»Šw—Ö@‚ðŽó‚¯‚é‚Ì‚ª‚¢‚‚ɂȂ邩A”TŠÔŒã‚Ì 1 ŒŽˆÈ~‚É‚±‚Ƃ͂܂Á‚½‚­l‚¦‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ÅŒã‚É•a‰@‚És‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«AˆãŽt‚ÍŽîᇂª‘å‚«‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅA‚±‚êˆÈã‚ÌŽ¡—Â͂¹‚¸‚ɉƂŕé‚ç‚·‚±‚Æ‚ðŠ©‚ß‚é‚‚à‚肾‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ¡—Â̂½‚߂ɎԂ͉Ƃɒu‚¢‚½‚܂܂ɂµ‚Ä4“úŠÔ“ü‰@‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚ ‚é“ú‚̉»Šw—Ö@‚ÌŒãAŽ„‚Í•a‰@‚ňêl‚ÅÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚µ‚ĈãŽt‚ÍA‚»‚ÌŽîᇂÍk‚Ý‚àˆÀ’è‚à‚¹‚¸A‘å‚«‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚ÆŽ„‚ÉŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚͔ނ̘b‚ð‚½‚¾•·‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚ÄA“Á‚É“®—h‚à‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚±‚ƂɋÁ‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚Ì“ú‚͈«‚¢ƒjƒ…[ƒX‚ðŠú‘Ò‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‚±‚ê‚Í–{“–‚Ɉ«‚¢ƒjƒ…[ƒX‚Å‚µ‚½B Œ‹‹ÇA4ŽžŠÔŒãAŽîᇊwŽÒ‚ÍÄ“x‚̃XƒLƒƒƒ“‚ðŽwަ‚µAŽîᇂ͑傫‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚à‚Ì‚ÌAŽ¿—Ê‚Ì75ƒp[ƒZƒ“ƒg‚ªŽ¸‚í‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邯”»’f‚µ‚½‚½‚ßA‰»Šw—Ö@‚ðŒp‘±‚·‚邱‚ƂɌˆ‚߂܂µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚͂܂½‘å•ςȈê“ú‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚±‚ê‚ç‚ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚é—Bˆê‚Ì•û–@‚ÍA¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚Ì‚±‚±‚É—¯‚Ü‚éŽÀ‘H‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Ƃł·B

 

‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‹Á‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚¤‚·‚邿‚¤‚ÉŽ©•ª‚ðŒP—û‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªŠ´Šo‚ðɸ‚ÉŠÏŽ@‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚̂ł·‚©H@

‘½•ª‚»‚¤‚Å‚·B l‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªƒoƒ‰ƒoƒ‰‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¤‚̂͑z‘œ‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚Ü‚½Ž©•ª‚ª•ö‰ó‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Ì‚à—eˆÕ‚É‘z‘œ‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ê‚Íň«‚̃jƒ…[ƒX‚Å‚µ‚½B ˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚͉»Šw—Ö@‚ɂͬ‚³‚¢‚ª‰Â”\«‚Í‚ ‚邯Œ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÉA¡“x‚Í‚»‚̬‚³‚ȉ”\«‚ª‹N‚±‚邱‚Ƃ͂Ȃ¢A‰Â”\«‚Í‘¶Ý‚µ‚È‚¢A‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍA‚½‚Æ‚¦’·Šú‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA‚±‚ÌŽžŠú‚Ìl¶‚ð’D‚í‚ꂽ‚­‚È‚¢A¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ð¶‚«‚½‚¢‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚Ìl‚¦‚ð‚à‚¤ˆê“xŒ¾—t‚É‚µ‚Ä‚à‚炦‚Ü‚·‚©H

‚Í‚¢A‚»‚ê‚ÍŒ»ŽÀ“I‚È–â‘è‚Å‚·B Ž„‚Í‹°•|A“{‚èA•®‚èAŒã‰÷‚Ì‚½‚ß‚Él¶‚ÉŽc‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚Ì‚ðŽ¸‚¢‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚»‚µ‚Ä—Bˆê‚ÌŽ„‚ɂł«‚é•û–@‚ÍAŽ©•ª‚ª‹N‚«‚Ăقµ‚¢‚±‚Ƃł͂Ȃ­A¡‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɖڂðŒü‚¯‚邱‚ÆA‚Â‚Ü‚è•¨Ž–‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɍ©‚ÄA•¨Ž–‚ª‚Ç‚¤‚ ‚é‚ׂ«‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤Šú‘Ò‚©‚玩—R‚ɂȂ邱‚Ƃł·B

 

‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŽ©—R‚ÍA¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚É‘¶Ý‚µA”½‰ž‚µ‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚©‚瓾‚ç‚ê‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H

‚Í‚¢B Ž„‚Í¡A‚±‚Ìl‚¦‚Ì^ŽÀ«‚ðŠ´‚¶‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

¡AlX‚̓}ƒCƒ“ƒhƒtƒ‹ƒlƒX‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă悭˜b‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ƒgƒŒƒ“ƒh‚Å‚·‚ËB ‚µ‚©‚µA‚»‚ê‚Í‚·‚ׂĎ©ŒÈd—vŠ´‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚é‚à‚̂ł·B

Ž„‚Í‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚Íu‚¢‚ÜE‚±‚±v‚É‚¢‚Ü‚·B Œ»Ý‚ÌŽ©•ªŽ©g‚É–{“–‚É‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚«AŽ©•ª‚ª‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɋC‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚Ì‹C‚Â«Ž©‘̂ɂ‚¢‚Äl‚¦‚È‚¢‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

 

‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÍAŽžŠÔ‚ÌŠeuŠÔ‚É‚¨‚¯‚é”­¶‚ÆÁ–łł·B “¯Žž‚ÉŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ÆŽ©•ª‚Ìd—v«‚ɌŎ·‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚ê‚ç‚à‰i‰“‚ɶ‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚ÍÁ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚­‚à‚Ì‚¾‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

 

Œ‹‹Ç‚̂Ƃ±‚ëAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Ì«Ž¿‚͉i‘±“I‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠFA‚±‚ê‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¨‚èA‰½“x‚àŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éuŠÔ‚É‚±‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邯AŽ©•ªŽ©g‚Ö‚ÌŠÖS‚àŽ¸‚í‚ê‚Ü‚·B

‚½‚¢‚µ‚½‚±‚Æ‚¶‚á‚È‚¢A‚ÆB

ƒVƒ“ƒvƒ‹‚ȃAƒCƒfƒA‚Å‚·‚ªA“¯Žž‚É”ñí‚ɓ‚¢‚à‚̂ł·B

‚à‚¤‚·‚®Ž€‚ʂ̂©A‚·‚®‚ɂ͎€‚ȂȂ¢‚Ì‚©AŽ„‚ɂ͖{“–‚É‚±‚ꂵ‚©‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Œ»Ý‚ÌuŠÔ‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B

 

 

Khaa  khaa  khaa  khaa  bītate,

jīvana  bītā  jāya.

Khaa  khaa  kā upayoga  kara,

bītā khaa  nā āya.

 

Moment after moment after moment,

life keeps slipping by.

Make use of every moment;

the moment past will never come again.

 

Hindi doha,  S.N. Goenka

 

 

uŠÔ‚©‚çuŠÔA‚»‚µ‚ÄuŠÔAA

l¶‚ÍÁ‚¦‹Ž‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚­B

ˆêuˆêu‚ð‘娂ÉA

‰ß‹Ž‚ÌuŠÔ‚Í“ñ“x‚Æ—ˆ‚È‚¢B

 

—ƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚ÌŽA@S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

 

Kamma—the Real Inheritance

Experiential  wisdom  that  comes  from  meditation  practice confirms that we  alone  are  solely  responsible  for who and what we are. We  cannot escape  this law of nature. This understanding strengthens  our  desire to practice and serve Dhamma. It has  a strong driving power  that supports  us  in the dark moments  of meditation or at times when we are tired and the mundane world seems  to be winning  us over.

              As plants from sprouted seeds eventually bear more such seeds  in future, in our  daily lives  momentary thoughts, words, and  deeds sooner  or  later  give their results accordingly.  That  future might  be bright  or dark.  If  in the present  we make right efforts toward wholesomeness, awareness, and equanimity, the  future becomes brighter.  If  through ignorance we react  with craving and aversion, the  future  will be  fraught with darkness.

              The teachings of the Buddha show us how to develop the awareness of  anicca and  the habit pattern  of equanimity in  the face of  both pleasant  and unpleasant  sensations.  Knowing that  this and only this is what  dissolves the old habit  patterns that  make life so hard for us and for those around us is a supreme wisdom.  This  is  what  draws  us  out  of  misery  and  towards nibbāna.   This  is  why  we  practice.   If   in  the  present   we  are watchful, prudent and diligent, we can bring to our futures a profound  change for the better.

              During  the  final  discourse  given  in  all  long  Vipassana courses,  Goenkaji  elaborates on the following exhortation of  the Buddha.   This  article,   excerpted  from  that   discourse,  was published  in  the June 1995  Vipassana Newsletter.

 

Kammassakā, bhikkhave,

sattā kammadāyādā kammayonī

kammabandhū kammapaisaraā.

ya kamma karonti—kalyāa vā pāpaka vā—

tassa  dāyādā bhāvanti.

 

O meditators, beings are the owners of their deeds,

the  heirs  of  their  deeds,  born  of  their  deeds,

kin  to  their deeds; their deeds are their refuge.

Whatever actions they  perform, whether good  or evil,

such will be their inheritance.

 

Aguttara  Nikāya  10.216

 

 

Kammassakā:  O   meditators,  beings  are  the  owners  of  their deeds.

              The law of paicca samuppāda (dependent origination)  is the universal law of cause and  effect: As the action  is, so  the result will be. Mental volition is the driving force for action, vocal or physical. If this driving  force is unwholesome, the vocal and  physical  actions  will  be  unwholesome;  if  the  seeds  are unwholesome, then  the fruits are bound  to  be unwholesome. But if this driving force is wholesome,  then the results of the actions are   bound  to  be   wholesome.  For  a   Vipassana   student  who develops the ability  to  observe this law at the level  of direct  experience, the  answer to the  question gWho am I?h becomes clear. You are  nothing but the  sum total of your kamma,  your sakhāras.  All  your accumulated actions together equal  gIh at the  conventional le l level. 

              Kamma dāyādā: heirs of their deeds.

              In the worldly, conventional sense one says, gI  received this inheritance from my mother or my father or my elders,h and yes, at  the   apparent  level  this  is  true.  But  what  is  onefs   real inheritance? Kamma dāyādā.  One inherits onefs  own kamma,  the results, the fruits of onefs  own kamma.  Whatever you are now,  the present  reality of this mind-matter structure is nothing but the result, the sum total, of your  own accumulated past kamma.  The experience  of the  present moment is the  sum total of all that is acquired, inherited—kamma dāyādā.           Kammayonī: born  of their deeds.

              One says, gI  am the product of a womb; I  have come out of the  womb  of  my  motherh—but  this  is  only   apparent  truth. Actually, your birth is because of your past kamma.  You come from the womb of  your own kamma.  As you start  understanding Dhamma in a deeper and more experiential  manner, you  realize this.  This is kammayonī,  the womb that  every moment  produces the  fruit o it of  accumulated kamma.

              Kammabandhū: kin  to  their deeds.

              No one else is your relative—not your father, your mother, your brother, nor your sister. In  the worldly  way  we say, gThis is my brother, my relative, or my near or dear one; they are so close  to me.h  Actually, no one is close to you; no one can accompany  you  or help  you  when  the time comes. When  you  die, nothing  accompanies you  but your kamma.  Those whom you  call your relatives remain here, but your kamma continues to follow you from one life to another. You are not in possession of  anything  but  your  own  kamma.   It   is  your  only  kin  and companion.

              Kamma paisaraā: their  deeds  are  their  refuge

              Refuge is only in onefs  own kamma.  Wholesome kamma provides   a   refuge;   unwholesome   kamma   produces   more suffering. No other being can give you refuge. When you say gBuddha  saraa  gacchāmih (I  take refuge in the Buddha), you  understand  fully  well that a person  by  the name of Gotama, who became the Buddha, cannot give you refuge. Your own kamma gives you  refuge. Nobody  can  protect you, not even  a buddha. Refuge in  the Buddha is refuge in the quality of the Buddha:  the  enlightenment,  the  teaching   that  he  gave.  By  following the teaching, you can develop enlightenment within you. And  the enlightenment that you  develop  within  you, that is your wholesome kamma.  This alone will  give you refuge;  this alone  will give  you protection.

              Ya   kamma   karonti—kalyāam    pāpaka     tassa— dāyādā  bhāvanti: whatever actions they perform, whether good or evil, such  will be their inheritance.

              This should become clear to  one who  is on  the path. This law of  nature  should   become  very   clear.  Then   you   will  become inspired to take responsibility for your own kamma.  Remain alert  and on guard each moment so that every action, physical or mental, is wholesome. You will not be perfect, but keep trying. You may fall down, but see how  quickly you can get up. With renewed   determination,   renewed   inspiration,   and   renewed courage, get up and try again. This is how you become  strong in Dhamma.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

Na santi puttā tāāya,

na  pitā nāpi bandhavā;

antakenādhipannassa,

natthi ñātīsu  atā.

Etamatthavasa ñatvā,

paṇḍito  sīlasavuto

nibbānagamana magga,

khippameva visodhaye.

 

Sons are no protection,

neither father nor kinsfolk;

when assailed by death,

therefs no  protection  among  kin.

Perceiving thus, 

the  wise  and  self-restrained

quickly  clear the path 

that let leads to nibbāna.

 

Dhammapada 20.288-289

 

 

Atīta nānvāgameyya, nappaikakhe  anāgata;

yadatīta pahīna ta, a , appattañca  anāgata.

Paccuppannañca yo dhamma, ta , tattha  tattha  vipassati;

asahīra asakuppa, ta , ta vidvāmanubrūhaye.

Ajjeva kiccamātappa ko jaññā maraa suve;

Na hi no sagara tena  mahāsenena  maccunā.

Eva vihāri ātāpi, a , ahorattamatandita;

ta ve  bhaddekarattofti

santo ācikkhate muni.

 

One should not linger on the past nor yearn for what is yet to come.

The past is left behind, the future out of reach.

But in the present he observes with insight each phenomenon,

immovable, unshakable. Let the wise practice  this.

Today, strive at the task. Tomorrow  death  may  come—who knows?

We can have no truce with death and his mighty horde.

Thus practicing ardently, tireless by day and night;

for such a person, even one night is auspicious,

says  the Tranquil Sage.

 

  Bhaddekarattasutta, M , Majjhimanikāya,

Uparipaṇṇāsapāi, V i, Vibhagavaggo

 

 

 

 

kamma \ –{“–‚ÌŒp³

áÒ‘z‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚©‚瓾‚ç‚ê‚éŒoŒ±“I‚È’qŒd‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª‰½ŽÒ‚ʼn½‚Å‚ ‚é‚©‚ÉŠÖ‚µ‚ÄÓ”C‚𕉂Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂͂½‚¾Ž„‚½‚¿‚¾‚¯‚Å‚ ‚éA‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B@Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚±‚ÌŽ©‘R‚Ì–@‘¥‚©‚瓦‚ê‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚±‚Ì—‰ð‚É‚æ‚èADhamma‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‹Î‚ß‚½‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÌŠè–]‚Í‹­‰»‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

áÒ‘z’†‚̈¢uŠÔ‚âA”æ‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ä¢‘­“I‚È¢ŠE‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚ð–£—¹‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚邯‚«‚ÉAdhamma‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ðƒTƒ|[ƒg‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚é‹­—͂Ȍ´“®—Í‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B@

ŽíŽq‚©‚ç”­‰è‚µ‚½A•¨‚ª«—ˆ‚³‚ç‚É‚»‚̂悤‚ÈŽíŽq‚ðŽÀ‚点‚邿‚¤‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì“úí¶Šˆ‚É‚¨‚¯‚éˆêu‚ÌŽvlAŒ¾—tAs“®‚Í’x‚©‚ê‘‚©‚êA‚»‚ê‚ɉž‚¶‚½Œ‹‰Ê‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚Ì–¢—ˆ‚Í–¾‚é‚¢‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚µAˆÃ‚¢‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª¡AŒ’‘S‚³A‹C‚«Aɸ‚ð–ÚŽw‚µ‚ij‚µ‚­“w—Í‚·‚ê‚ÎA–¢—ˆ‚Í–¾‚é‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚à‚µŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª–³’m‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄŠ‰–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚É”½‰ž‚·‚é‚È‚ç‚ÎA–¢—ˆ‚͈Èłɖž‚¿‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ÍAaniccaiŽvl‚µ‚½‚à‚̂𒷂­•ÛŽ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚¢j‚Ì”Fޝ‚ÆA‰õ‚¢Š´Šo‚Æ•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚Ì—¼•û‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«‚ÉS‚Ìɸ‚ð•Û‚ÂKеƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ðŠJ”­‚·‚é•û–@‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ꂾ‚¯‚ªŒÃ‚­‚©‚瑱‚­Kеƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ð‰ðÁ‚·‚邯’m‚邱‚Æ‚ÍÅ‚‚Ì’qŒd‚Å‚·B ‚±‚ê‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÆŽüˆÍ‚ÌlX‚Ìl¶‚ð”ñí‚É¢“ï‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é”ߎS‚³‚©‚çˆø‚«o‚µAŸ¸žÏ‚Ö‚Æ“±‚­‚à‚̂ł·B ‚±‚ê‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªŽÀ‘H‚ð‚·‚é——R‚Å‚·B ‚±‚Ì¡AŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª’ˆÓ[‚­ATd‚ÅA¸—ã‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì–¢—ˆ‚ÉA‚æ‚è—Ç‚¢•ûŒü‚ւ̑傫‚ȕω»‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

‚·‚ׂĂ̒·Šúƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ƒR[ƒX‚Ås‚í‚ê‚éÅŒã‚Ìà‹³‚Ì’†‚ÅAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÍŽŸ‚̂悤‚ȃuƒbƒ_‚ÌŠ©‚߂ɂ‚¢‚ÄÚ‚µ‚­à–¾‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚Ì‹LŽ–‚Í‚»‚Ì’k˜b‚©‚甲ˆ‚³‚ꂽ‚à‚Ì‚ÅA1995 ”N 6 ŒŽ‚ÌVipassana Newsletter‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

 

O meditators, beings are the owners of their deeds,

the  heirs  of  their  deeds,  born  of  their  deeds,

kin  to  their deeds; their deeds are their refuge.

Whatever actions they  perform, whether good  or evil,

such will be their inheritance.

 

‚¨‚¨áÒ‘zŽÒ‚æA‘¶Ýi‚±‚Ì¢‚É‚¢‚邱‚Æj‚Ƃ͎©‚ç‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}‚ðŽ‚ÂŽÒ‚Ì‚±‚Ƃł ‚éA

‘¶Ý‚Ƃ̓Jƒ‹ƒ}‚Ì‘Š‘±ŽÒ‚Å‚ ‚èAŽ©‚ç‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}‚©‚ç¶‚Ü‚ê‚éA

ƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚Í—Bˆê‚̈ꑰ‚Å‚ ‚èAƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚ª”ð“ª‚ ‚éB

‘¶Ý‚ª‘P‚Å‚ ‚ꈫ‚Å‚ ‚ê‚Ç‚ñ‚Èsˆ×‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚àA

ƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚ª‘Š‘±•¨‚ƂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚­B

 

ƒAƒOƒbƒ^ƒ‰ ƒjƒJ[ƒ„ 10.216

 

 

 

Kammassakā:  ‚¨‚¨AáÒ‘zŽÒ‚æA‘¶Ý‚ÍŽ©‚ç‚Ìsˆ×‚ÌŠ—LŽÒ‚Å‚·B

paicca samuppāda (‰‹N) ‚Ì–@‘¥‚ÍAŒ´ˆö‚ÆŒ‹‰Ê‚Ì••Õ“I‚È–@‘¥‚Å‚·B‚‚܂èAsˆ×‚ªs‚í‚ê‚邯Œ‹‰Ê‚à“¯—l‚ÉŒ»‚ê‚Ü‚·Bƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚̈ӎu‚ÍAº‚â‘̂̌¾“®‚ÌŒ´“®—͂ł·B‚±‚ÌŒ´“®—Í‚ª•sŒ’‘S‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎAº‚â‘̂̌¾“®‚à•sŒ’‘S‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B ŽíŽq‚ª•sŒ’‘S‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎA‰ÊŽÀ‚à•sŒ’‘S‚ɂȂé‚Í‚¸‚Å‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚ÌŒ´“®—Í‚ªŒ’‘S‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎAŒ¾“®‚ÌŒ‹‰Ê‚àŒ’‘S‚È‚à‚̂ɂȂé‚Í‚¸‚Å‚·B

’¼ÚŒoŒ±‚̃Œƒxƒ‹‚Å‚±‚Ì–@‘¥‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚é”\—Í‚ðŠJ”­‚·‚郔ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŠwKŽÒ‚ɂƂÁ‚ÄAuŽ„‚Í’N‚Å‚·‚©Hv‚Æ‚¢‚¤Ž¿–â‚ɑ΂·‚铚‚¦‚ª–¾‚ç‚©‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽ©•ª‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}A‚·‚Ȃ킿ƒTƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚Ì‘˜a‚ɂق©‚È‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž©•ª‚ÌŒ¾“®‚ÌÏ‚Ýd‚Ë‚ªA]—ˆ‚̈ê”Ê“IƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å‚¢‚¤uŽ„v‚ɑГ–‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

Kamma dāyādā: ”Þ‚ç‚Ìsˆ×‚Ì‘Š‘±l

¢‘­“I‚ÅŠµK“I‚ȈӖ¡‚Å‚ÍAuŽ„‚Í‚±‚̈âŽY‚ð•êA•ƒA‚ ‚é‚¢‚Í”N’·ŽÒ‚©‚çŽó‚¯Žæ‚Á‚½v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚·‚ªAŠm‚©‚ÉAŒ©‚©‚¯‚̃Œƒxƒ‹‚ł͂±‚ê‚Í^ŽÀ‚Å‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µAl‚Ì–{“–‚̈âŽY‚Ƃ͉½‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H @kamma dāyādā ‚Å‚·B

l‚ÍŽ©•ª‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}A‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ©g‚ªì‚éƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚ÌŒ‹‰Ê‚ð‰ÊŽÀ‚Æ‚µ‚Ď󂯌p‚¬‚Ü‚·B ‚ ‚È‚½‚ª¡‚ǂ̂悤‚Èó‘Ô‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA‚±‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚Ì\‘¢‚ÌŒ»Ý‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ÍA‚ ‚È‚½Ž©g‚ª’~Ï‚µ‚½‰ß‹Ž‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}‚ÌŒ‹‰ÊA‘Œv‚É‘¼‚È‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÌŒoŒ±‚Æ‚ÍAŠl“¾‚³‚êAŽó‚¯Œp‚ª‚ꂽ‚·‚ׂĂ̑ŒvA‚‚܂èkamma dāyādā‚Å‚·B

 

Kammayonī: Ž©‚ç‚Ìsˆ×‚©‚綂܂ꂽ

‚ ‚él‚ÍuŽ„‚ÍŽq‹{‚ÌŽY•¨‚Å‚·B Ž„‚Í•êe‚Ì‘Ù“à‚©‚ço‚Ä‚«‚½‚̂ł·Bv‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚ê‚Í’P‚È‚é•\–Ê“I‚È^ŽÀ‚Å‚·B

ŽÀÛA‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì’a¶‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì‰ß‹Ž‚ÌƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚É‚æ‚é‚à‚̂ł·B‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ÌuƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚ÌŽq‹{v‚©‚ç¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚æ‚è[‚­A‚æ‚èŒoŒ±“I‚ÉDhamma‚ð—‰ð‚µŽn‚߂邯A‚±‚Ì‚±‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚ê‚ÍKammayonīA’~Ï‚³‚ꂽƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚̉ʎÀ‚ð‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éuŠÔ‚ɶ‚Ýo‚·Žq‹{‚Ì‚±‚Ƃł·B

 

Kammabandhū: sˆ×‚̈ꑰ@@”Þ‚ç‚Ìsˆ×‚ɋ߂¢‚à‚ÌB

•ƒeA•êeAŒZ’íAŽo–…‚Ì’N‚à‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚Ìe‘°‚ł͂Ȃ­AƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚¾‚¯‚ª—Bˆê‚Ìe‘°‚Å‚·B

¢‘­“I‚É‚Íu‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚ÌŒZ’íAeÊA‚Ü‚½‚͋߂­‚É‚¢‚élA‚Ü‚½‚͈¤‚·‚él‚Å‚·BŽ„‚ɂƂĂà‹ß‚¢ŽÒ‚½‚¿‚Å‚·Bv‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚·B ŽÀÛ‚É‚ÍA‚ ‚È‚½‚̋߂­‚ɂ͒N‚à‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ’N‚à‚ ‚È‚½‚É“¯s‚µ‚½‚èA‚¢‚´‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚Æ‚«‚É•‚¯‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚è‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŽ€‚ʂƂ«A‚ ‚È‚½‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}ˆÈŠO‚ɂ͉½‚à”º‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚ ‚È‚½‚ªeʂƌĂÔlX‚Í‚±‚±‚ÉŽc‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚ ‚È‚½‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}‚Í‚P‚‚Ìl¶‚©‚ç•Ê‚Ìl¶‚Ö‚Æ‚ ‚È‚½‚É]‚¢‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B ‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽ©•ªŽ©g‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}ˆÈŠO‚ɂ͉½‚àŠ—L‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì—Bˆê‚Ìe‘°‚Å‚ ‚è’‡ŠÔ‚Å‚·B

             

Kamma paisaraā: ƒJƒ‹ƒ}‚ª”ð“ł ‚é

”ð“ï‚Å‚«‚é‚͎̂©•ªŽ©g‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}‚Ì’†‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·BŒ’‘S‚ȃJƒ‹ƒ}‚Í”ð“ð’ñ‹Ÿ‚µ‚Ü‚·B •sŒ’‘S‚ȃJƒ‹ƒ}‚Í‚³‚ç‚È‚é‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚ð¶‚Ýo‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‘¼‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚É”ð“ð—^‚¦‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

uBuddha saraa gacchāmiiƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì’†‚ð”ð“Ƃµ‚Ü‚·jv‚ÆŒ¾‚¤‚ÆAƒuƒbƒ_‚ƂȂÁ‚½ƒS[ƒ^ƒ}‚Æ‚¢‚¤–¼‘O‚Ìl‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚É”ð“ï‚ð—^‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð‚µ‚Á‚©‚è‚Æ—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B‚ ‚È‚½Ž©g‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚É”ð“ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚·B ƒuƒbƒ_‚³‚¦‚à’N‚à‚ ‚È‚½‚ðŽç‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒuƒbƒ_‚Ö‚Ì”ð“ï‚Æ‚ÍAƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì“ÁŽ¿A‚‚܂èƒuƒbƒ_‚ª—^‚¦‚½Œå‚èA‹³‚¦‚Ö‚Ì”ð“ï‚Å‚·B ‹³‚¦‚É]‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ÅAŽ©•ª‚Ì’†‚ÉŒå‚è‚ðŠJ‚­‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŽ©•ª‚Ì’†‚ňç‚ÞŒå‚èA‚»‚ꂪ‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŒ’‘S‚ȃJƒ‹ƒ}‚Å‚·B ‚±‚ꂾ‚¯‚Å‚à‚ ‚È‚½‚É”ð“ð—^‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«A•ی삪“¾‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

Ya kamma karonti—kalyāam vā pāpaka vā tassa— dāyādā bhāvanti: ”ނ炪s‚¤‚Ç‚ñ‚Èsˆ×‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA‘P‚Å‚ ‚낤‚ƈ«‚Å‚ ‚낤‚ÆA‚»‚ꂪ”Þ‚ç‚Ì‘Š‘±•¨‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ÍA“¹‚ði‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚él‚ɂ͖¾‚ç‚©‚ɂȂé‚Í‚¸‚Å‚·B ‚±‚ÌŽ©‘R–@‘¥‚Í”ñí‚É–¾Šm‚ɂȂê‚ÎAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚̃Jƒ‹ƒ}‚ɑ΂µ‚ÄÓ”C‚ðŽ‚Â‚æ‚¤‚ɂȂé‚Å‚µ‚傤B “÷‘Ì“I‚»‚µ‚ăƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚È‚ ‚ç‚ä‚és“®‚ªŒ’‘S‚È‚à‚Ì‚Æ‚È‚é‚æ‚¤Aí‚ÉŒx‰ú‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·BŠ®àø‚Å‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA“w—͂𑱂¯‚Ü‚·B“]‚Ô‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA‚ǂꂾ‚¯‘‚­‹N‚«ã‚ª‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚©Œ©‚Ă݂܂µ‚傤B V‚½‚ÈŒˆˆÓAV‚½‚ȃCƒ“ƒXƒsƒŒ[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“AV‚½‚È—E‹C‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä—§‚¿ã‚ª‚Á‚ÄA‚à‚¤ˆê“x’§í‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‚±‚ꂪ‚ ‚È‚½‚ªDhamma‚É‚¨‚¢‚Ä‹­‚­‚È‚é•û–@‚Å‚·B

 

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

‘§Žq‚½‚¿‚ɂ͉½‚̕یì‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

•ƒe‚àeÊ‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Ž€‚ÉP‚í‚ꂽ‚Æ‚«A

e‘°‚̕یì‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚±‚̂悤‚É”Fޝ‚·‚邯A

Œ«‚­‚ÄŽ©§S‚Ì‚ ‚él‚Í

‘‹}‚É“¹‚ªŠJ‚¯

Ÿ¸žÏ‚É“±‚©‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

\Dhammapada@ 20.288-289

 

 

‰ß‹Ž‚ÉŽv‚¢‚ð’y‚¹‚½‚èA‚±‚ê‚©‚ç‹N‚±‚邱‚Æ‚ðØ–]‚µ‚½‚è‚·‚ׂ«‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‰ß‹Ž‚Í’u‚«‹Ž‚è‚É‚³‚êA–¢—ˆ‚ÍŽè‚̓͂©‚È‚¢‚Æ‚±‚ë‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

‚µ‚©‚µŒ»ÝA‚»‚ꂼ‚ê‚ÌŒ»Û‚ð“´Ž@—Í‚ð‚à‚Á‚ÄŠÏŽ@‚µ‚ÄA

•s“®‚Å—h‚邬‚ª‚È‚¢B Œ«l‚Í‚±‚ê‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚傤B

¡“úA”C–±‚ð‘S—͂Ŏæ‚è‘g‚݂܂µ‚傤B –¾“úŽ€‚ª–K‚ê‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ª’N‚É‚à•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ€‚Æ‚»‚Ì‹­‘å‚ÈŒR¨‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä‹xí‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚±‚¤‚µ‚ÄA’‹‚à–é‚à”æ‚ê‚邱‚ƂȂ­”MS‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚̂悤‚Èl‚ɂƂÁ‚Ă͂½‚Á‚½ˆê”Ó‚Å‚à—Ç‚¢‰‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚·A

‚ÆÃ‰¸‚ÈŒ«ŽÒ‚ÍŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

BhaddekarattasuttaAMAMajjhimanikayaA

 

 

 

 

 

Rodney Bernier @      1944–2009

Smiling All the Way to Death Smiling All the Way to Death Smiling All the Way to Death Smiling All the Way to Death Smiling All the Way to Death Smiling All the Way to Death Rodney  Bernier  was  born  in  1944  in  eastern  Canada.  His parentsf relationship collapsed when he was  a young child and he ended  up in  an  orphanage in  England, with  insufficient  food and   often   bullied.   Illiterate  and  with  no  skills,   he  left   the rphanage while a  young  teenager and  found  work as a  laborer.

He  fought  drug  addiction,  which  he  eventually  overcame. Considering the harshness of his  early years, Rodneyfs  playful joviality,  delightful  sense of  humor,  and characteristically good-

hearted  nature were all the more extraordinary.

              He  traveled  to  India  and  in  1973  applied  for  a  10-day Vipassana meditation course with Goenkaji in Bombay. That  first  course had a powerful  impact  and he immediately attended two more.  By the end of  the second course,  at  only 28 years of  age, he made a  commitment to  himself to  practice Vipassana  for the rest  of  his life.  Meditation and the teaching of  the Buddha became  his cornerstones. One  aspect of the  practice, especially, resonated deeply: mettā.

              Rodney  eventually  settled  in  British  Columbia  where  he became a  legendary tree planter, planting  more than  one million  trees in 25 years.  In middle age he decided to return to school  to learn to read and write,  and during this time he sat  and served many Vipassana courses, including 30- and  45-day courses. He supported  the  local  meditation  community  in   Vancouver  by hosting  weekly group  sittings and  eventually, for almost three decades, daily 5  pm group  sittings.

              In May 2009 Rodney was diagnosed with metastasized liver cancer. He  remained at home, but by  July  the  tumors had spread to  his  spinal   cord  and  he  was  unable  to  walk.   He  was hospitalized  for the remaining  five weeks of his life.

              Rodney recognized when the end was near. He looked up at  the pictures of  Goenkaji  by his bed and drew his hands together in a gesture of  deep respect  for his teacher. A  friend sitting next to him asked if  he wanted his hand held.  Rodney indicated no; it  was time to focus inwardly and  prepare. At 5  pm he and  his fellow meditators had their customary afternoon group sitting. 

Although  he was awake throughout, as the   sitting  ended  he  slipped into a coma. For  several hours  a few Dhamma friends  meditated with him  as a recording of Goenkajifs  chanting played quietly. Rodney died  in  the early morning  hours of August 13, 2009. A profound  sense of calm and  peace enveloped  everyone  present.

              During his final weeks some meditators wondered whether Rodneyfs   seemingly  extraordinary  attitude  toward  death  was  merely bravado masking deeper fears; however, he continued  to  radiate joy and acceptance until the end.

              A   friend  commented  that   Rodney  had  very  few  material  possessions,  no   financial  security,  was  the  poorest  of  his friends—yet seemed to be  the  happiest. His last days and death only confirmed  his approach  to  life: contented  and  grateful with  whom he was and  what he had.

              Taken   from   an   interview   with   Evie   Chauncey,    these lighthearted   observations   reveal    Rodneyfs    down-to-earth perspective on  life and  on  death.

Ifve had  terminal cancer for more than  a month  now and  itfs  been  one of the best times of my  life, the best moments of my  life.  You know,  as a meditator,  you wonder what  it  will  be like to die. You  say  to  yourself, gIfm  not afraid of death.h However, truthfully,  if someone asks you,  you canft  really know until  you face it. But when they told me I had cancer, it was like  telling me, gOh, do  you  want some ice cream?h There was no negative reaction at all—nothing, not one bit of anxiety, not one bit of fear, not one bit of  depression. Actually, a smile came on my face. Once they tell you youfre terminal, now youfre getting somewhere.

              About five weeks ago I knew  for the first time that it wasnft  just a tumor, that it was malignant, right? Previously I hadnft  really known how bad it was. Ifm  lying in the hallway of the hospital and  Ifm  thinking, gIfm  still not sure if Ifm  terminal  or not.h And Ifm  thinking, gHow  many times in previous lives have I  lain somewhere waiting for  death?h It brought a big smile to my face. I looked around and saw all these people on stretchers, and I felt so much compassion for them. I didnft  want them to see me smiling at them because I didnft  want  to upset  them.  I just felt such a big smile: gWow, this is one more life.h

              I  got out of the hospital and a few days later  went with my daughter and  my  friend  Jerry  to  the G.I. guy  (gastro-intestinal  specialist). I walked in and we  shook hands, but he  seemed a  little perturbed.  He started off by declaring,  gItfs  too late, itfs  too late.h gToo late?h I  asked. gToo late for what?h He said, gItfs  too late.  I canft  even do chemotherapy on  you. Your cancer has spread all over the place.h

              gItfs  okay,h I  replied. gThen maybe I should buy a new pair of shoes to  wear into  the next life.h The doc stood staring at me, not  comprehending.  I  said   again,  gItfs   really  okay.h  And  I realized, hey, Ifm  not having any reaction. In  fact, the only  thing  thatfs  freaking me out is  that this  doctor is  freaking out. He said, gYoufre a tough guy.h gMe? Tough? What am I tough about?h

After we left the office Jerry suggested he was just trying to figure me out—Why is he not reacting? Next life?—because usually  everyone reacts. But actually  there was no  fear, no  upset, no  depression.

              For the last several weeks, Ifve been  getting  only  accolades. People come and say, gRodney, youfre amazing.h Now  I know  what  the  word  gamazingh  is:   Itfs   Rodney.  (He  laughs)  Ifm  watching this to make sure that Ifm  not getting into a big ego trip about it, because  you really donft  want  your final  journey to be an ego trip. (Laughs again.) Another impurity, right?

              Most of the time Ifm c m content.  Ifve gained  a lot more  tolerance for people who might be difficult to  deal with. If Ifm  talking to someone and I find hefs  getting upset or agitated or something, I just change the subject. He wonft  even notice.  You know,  I donft  have time for anger.

              Therefs   such  a  lot  of   mettā   from  everyone—their  body language,  the way they look into my eyes,  the way they talk to me, the way they touch me—everything they do tells me  itfs  very  different than  it was before. Itfs  on a much softer, much gentler level. People who  send  me e-mails and call  me—I  can feel it in the air, the mettā.

              Sometimes  I  sit  quietly  and  I  can  feel  my  whole  body dissipating, the pain  getting  quiet and  my  mind  being  quiet. The pain  can  be pretty  intense sometimes, but pain  is pain—it  all  depends on  your state of  mind in the moment. You can have a little bit  of pain and it  seems really intense,  especially if therefs  a lot  of negativity around.  Or you can have a great  deal  of pain,  but because the positive vibrations are so  strong  you  donft f t feel it. l it.   Though I donft feel sick, my body feels like itfs  breaking down. But my  mental state is not. I feel the vibrations here in  the hospital have really  gotten  a lot stronger, especially  because people have been  coming  to  visit and  to  meditate so  much. There have been  times, like at  11 at  night,  when Ifm  just sitting here and my whole  being goes quiet. No pain. No suffering. My mind is quiet.  My body is quiet.  Everything is just  so quiet.  Wow!

People are sending me mettā.  Ifve become quite in  tune with  that now since Ifve been  sick. Mettā works!

              When I was in the bush tree-planting, or anywhere, and  Ifd  see birds  or other animals, or dogs, or even a fly in the toilet and Ifd  put my  hand  in  to  get it out, I always wished  them to  be happy  and  to  have a better birth  in  their next life: gToo bad youfre like this now. May the rest of your  life be happy and your  next life be better. May  you  be peaceful and  happy.h

              My son asked me,  gHowfs  your mental state, Dad?h—not how is your physical state? How is your mental state?—which is really great. Hefs  been here when Dhamma friends  have been visiting, and  theyfve been  talking. Itfs  taken a little while, but now hefs  really getting to understand  that itfs  the mental state thatfs  most important.

              Hefs  realizing how good itfs  been during this  time wefve had  together,  rather than being sad that  someone is leaving.  He told me, gDad, you know, maybe years down the road I might get myself into a situation and I will think, eNow, how  would Dad deal with  this?fh So, to me, that was very good. Now he can see that th t the  Vipassana  practice  is  the  most important thing. 

              He once inquired, gDad, if someone was killing me, would you  kill him?h I  answered, gNo,  if  you  die  in  that  situation,  thatfs  okay.  My   commitment  is  not  to   destroy   life.  I  would   do  everything in my power to protect you, but I would not cross the  line  of  killing  or  stealing  or   lying  or   anything  against  my Dhamma practice, because thatfs  even worse than you getting killed. Even  if you  are killed, itfs  just one life, and Ifm  not going to  take  that step  backwards.h

              Reading things by Sayagyi U Ba Khin about death—itfs  very encouraging.  Itfs   encouraging  because  he  talks   about  how important  it  is to keep your sīla,  and give dāna,  which helps you into  the  celestial   planes.   On  top  of  that,   you  have  your meditation and you have your equanimity, and thatfs  like being in a car carrying you  forward  in  high  gear, speeding  ahead.

Youfre driving the car, going through all this Dhamma stuff, and all this mettā  is racing toward you all  the time.  And you have a big  smile on  your face.

              In the past, I  remember  telling people, gIfm  not afraid of death.h But I really didnft  know.  You canft  really know how itfs  going  to  be. Now, when  I see it coming, itfs  like, gWow! This is how I thought it would be.h I wasnft sure, but Dhamma gives you so much strength.

              The nurses say that the early part of the illness is the hardest. 

Towards the end, near death, we come to accept it. But Ifve accepted it right from the beginning. I havenft  seen any change in my mind in all  the time Ifve been going through this. I watch it to it to be sure, to see if therefs any change, but there isnft.

              So,  whatfs happening is Ifm facing death.  I have no negativity at all, none at all. I have the Dhamma with me; I feel the strong vibrations of Dhamma around me.  It feels good—it feels really good. Ifm smiling all the way to death.

 

 

Sukha  dukha  apane karma  ke,

avicala  vishva  vidhāna.

Tū terā Yamarāja hai,

  tāraka  bhagavāna.

 

Happiness and misery are the fruit

of your own  actions.

This is an immutable, universal law.

You are your own lord of death;

you  are your own  savior.

 

Hindi doha,  S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

 

ƒƒhƒj[Eƒo[ƒjƒG 19442009

Ž€‚ʂ܂Å΂Á‚Ä

ƒƒhƒj[Eƒo[ƒjƒG‚Í 1944 ”N‚ɃJƒiƒ_“Œ•”‚Ŷ‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ª—c‚¢ ‚É—¼e‚ÌŠÖŒW‚ª•ö‰ó‚µA”ނ̓CƒMƒŠƒX‚̌ǎ™‰@‚É—a‚¯‚ç‚ê‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚±‚Å‚Í\•ª‚ÈHŽ–‚ª—^‚¦‚ç‚ꂸA•p”ɂɂ¢‚¶‚ß‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B “ǂݑ‚«‚à‚Å‚«‚¸A‹Zp‚à‚È‚©‚Á‚½”Þ‚ÍA10‘ã‚Ì ‚Ɍǎ™‰@‚ðo‚ÄA˜J“­ŽÒ‚Æ‚µ‚Ă̎dŽ–‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚Í–ò•¨’†“łƓ¬‚¢AÅI“I‚ɂ͎•ž‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‰Šú‚̉ߓ‚ÈŽžŠú‚ðl‚¦‚邯Aƒƒhƒj[‚ÌŠy‚µ‚¢—z‹C‚³A–¾‚é‚¢ƒ†[ƒ‚ƒA‚̃Zƒ“ƒXA‚»‚µ‚Ä‘P—Ç‚ÈS‚Ì–L‚©‚È«Ž¿‚ÍA‚È‚¨‚³‚ç•ÀŠO‚ꂽ‚à‚̂łµ‚½B

”ނ̓Cƒ“ƒh‚É—·s‚µA1973”N‚Ƀ{ƒ“ƒxƒC‚ŃSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚É‚æ‚é10“úŠÔ‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zƒR[ƒX‚É\‚µž‚݂܂µ‚½B ‚»‚Ìʼn‚̃R[ƒX‚͑傫‚ȉe‹¿‚ð—^‚¦A”Þ‚Í‚·‚®‚É‚³‚ç‚É 2 ‚‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‘æ2ƒR[ƒX‚ÌI‚í‚Á‚½‚킸‚© 28 ΂̎ž‚ÉA”Þ‚ÍŽc‚è‚Ìl¶‚Ń”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ðŒˆˆÓ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B áÒ‘z‚ƃuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ª”Þ‚ÌŠî‘b‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Ì‘¤–ʂ̂P‚‚ÉA“Á‚É[‚­‹¤Š´‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚Íuƒƒbƒ^[v‚Å‚·B

ƒƒhƒj[‚ÍÅI“I‚ɃuƒŠƒeƒBƒbƒVƒ…EƒRƒƒ“ƒrƒAB‚É’èZ‚µA25 ”NŠÔ‚Å100–œ–{ˆÈã‚Ì–Ø‚ðA‚¦‚é“`à“I‚ÈA—ю҂ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B ’†”N‚ɂȂÁ‚ÄA”ނ͓ǂݑ‚«‚ðŠw‚Ô‚½‚߂ɊwZ‚ɖ߂邱‚Æ‚ðŒˆS‚µA‚±‚ÌŠÔ30“ú‚Æ45“ú‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŠÜ‚Þ‘½‚­‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ƒR[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚Í–ˆTƒOƒ‹[ƒváÒ‘z‰ï‚ðŽåµAÅI“I‚ɂ͂قÚ30 ”NŠÔA–ˆ“úŒßŒã5Žž‚ɃOƒ‹[ƒváÒ‘z‰ï‚ðŠJ·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAƒoƒ“ƒN[ƒo[‚Ì’nŒ³‚ÌáÒ‘zƒRƒ~ƒ…ƒjƒeƒB‚ðƒTƒ|[ƒg‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

2009”N5ŒŽAƒƒhƒj[‚Í“]ˆÚ«ŠÌ‘Ÿ‚ª‚ñ‚Æf’f‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍŽ©‘î‚É‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA7ŒŽ‚܂łɎîᇂªÒ‘‚É“]ˆÚ‚µA•à‚­‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽc‚è‚Ì5TŠÔ‚ð“ü‰@‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒƒhƒj[‚ÍI‚í‚肪‹ß‚¢‚½‚±‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނ̓xƒbƒh‚Ì‚»‚΂ɂ ‚éƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÌŽÊ^‚ðŒ©ã‚°AŽè‚ð‡‚킹‚ÄŽt‚Ö‚Ì[‚¢ŒhˆÓ‚Ì‚µ‚邵‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނׂ̗ÉÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½—Fl‚ªAŽè‚ðŒq‚¢‚łقµ‚¢‚©q‚˂܂µ‚½B ƒƒhƒj[‚̓m[‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì“à‚ÉW’†‚µ‚Ä€”õ‚ð‚·‚éŽž‚ª—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ŒßŒã5Žž‚ÉA”Þ‚Æ’‡ŠÔ‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚ÍAP—á‚̌ߌã‚̃Oƒ‹[ƒváÒ‘z‰ï‚ðs‚È‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

”Þ‚Í‚¸‚Á‚ÆŠoÁ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAáÒ‘z‚ªI‚í‚邯¨‡ó‘ԂɊׂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ŽžŠÔ‚ɂ킽‚èAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̓njo‚̘^‰¹‚ªÃ‚©‚É—¬‚ê‚é’†A”l‚ÌDhamma‚Ì—Fl‚½‚¿‚ªƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ƂƂà‚ÉáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒƒhƒj[‚ÍA2009”N8ŒŽ13“ú‚Ì‘’©‚É–S‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B[‚¢Ã‚¯‚³‚Æ•½˜a‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ªA‚»‚Ìê‚É‚¢‚½‘Sˆõ‚ð•ï‚݂܂µ‚½B

ÅŠú‚Ì”TŠÔAáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Ì’†‚É‚ÍAŽ€‚ɑ΂·‚郃hƒj[‚̈ꌩ‚·‚邯ˆÙí‚ȑԓx‚ÍA”Þ‚Ì‚æ‚è[‚¢‹°•|‚ð‰B‚·’P‚Ȃ鋕¨‚¾‚Á‚½‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚Æ‹^–â‚ÉŽv‚¤l‚à‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µA”Þ‚ÍÅŒã‚܂Ŋì‚тƎó—e‚ð•ú‚¿‘±‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚ ‚é—Fl‚ÍAƒƒhƒj[‚Í•¨“IŠ—L•¨‚ª‚Ù‚Æ‚ñ‚ǂȂ­AŒoÏ“IˆÀ’è‚à‚È‚­A—Fl‚Ì’†‚ÅÅ‚à•n–R‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Å‚àÅ‚àK‚¹‚»‚¤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚½‚ƃRƒƒ“ƒg‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÌÅŠú‚Ì“úX‚ÆŽ€‚ÍA”Þ‚Ìl¶‚Ö‚ÌŽæ‚è‘g‚Ý•ûA‚‚܂莩•ª‚ª’N‚Å‚ ‚é‚©A‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ©•ª‚ªŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚̂ɖž‘«‚µAŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃ𗠕t‚¯‚é‚à‚̂łµ‚½B

 

 

 

Evie Chauncey‚Ƃ̃Cƒ“ƒ^ƒrƒ…[‚©‚甲ˆ‚µ‚½ˆÈ‰º‚Ì–ù‰õ‚ÈA‰½‹C‚È‚¢ŠÏŽ@‚ÍAƒƒhƒj[‚Ìl¶‚ÆŽ€‚ɑ΂·‚é’n‚É‘«‚̂‚¢‚½Œ©•û‚𖾂炩‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

               

Ž„‚Í––Šú‚ª‚ñ‚ðŠ³‚Á‚Ä‚©‚ç 1 ‚©ŒŽˆÈオŒo‚¿‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚Ìl¶‚ÅÅ‚‚ÌŽžŠú‚Ì 1 ‚‚ł ‚èAl¶‚ÅÅ‚‚ÌuŠÔ‚Å‚µ‚½B áÒ‘zŽÒ‚È‚çAŽ€‚ʂƂ͂ǂñ‚ÈŠ´‚¶‚ɂȂ邾‚낤‚©‚Æl‚¦‚Ü‚·‚æ‚ËB ‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽ©•ª‚É‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚·AuŽ€‚Í•|‚­‚È‚¢vB ‚µ‚©‚µAŽÀۂ̂Ƃ±‚ëA’N‚©‚Éq‚Ë‚ç‚ꂽê‡AŽÀÛ‚É’¼–Ê‚·‚é‚܂ł͂킩‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚Å‚àAŽ„‚ªƒKƒ“‚¾‚ÆŒ¾‚í‚ꂽ‚Æ‚«‚ÍAuƒAƒCƒXƒNƒŠ[ƒ€H‚ׂ܂·‚©Hv‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚È‹C•ª‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Û’è“I‚È”½‰ž‚͂܂Á‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B­‚µ‚Ì•sˆÀ‚àA‹°•|‚àA—JŸT‚àA‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ŽÀÛAŽ„‚ÌŠç‚É‚ÍΊ炪•‚‚©‚ñ‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ––Šú‚¾‚ÆŒ¾‚í‚ê‚Ä‚àA¡“x‚͂ǂ±‚©‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

5TŠÔ‚Ù‚Ç‘O‚ÉA‚»‚ꂪ’P‚È‚éŽîᇂł͂Ȃ­Aˆ««‚¾‚Á‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ð‰‚߂Ēm‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ˆÈ‘O‚Í‚»‚ꂪ‚ǂꂾ‚¯‚Ђǂ¢‚±‚ƂȂ̂©‘S‚­’m‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í•a‰@‚̘L‰º‚ɉ¡‚½‚í‚èAuŽ©•ª‚ª––Šú‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚͂܂¾‚í‚©‚ç‚È‚¢v‚Æl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄuŽ„‚Í‘O¢‚ʼn½“xA‚Ç‚±‚©‚ɉ¡‚ɂȂÁ‚ÄŽ€‚ð‘Ò‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邾‚낤‚©Hv‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚ÌŠç‚ɑ傫‚ÈΊç‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚µ‚½B Žü‚è‚ðŒ©‰ñ‚·‚ÆA’S‰Ë‚Éæ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚élX‚ª‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅA”Þ‚ç‚É‚Æ‚Ä‚à“¯î‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ç‚ð“{‚点‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽ„‚ª”Þ‚ç‚É”÷΂ñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚ç‚ꂽ‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚½‚¾–ž–Ê‚ÌÎ‚Ý‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚í‚ A‚±‚ê‚͂܂½‚à‚¤ˆê‚‚Ìl¶‚¾vB

Ž„‚Í•a‰@‚ðo‚ÄA”“úŒãA–º‚Æ—Fl‚̃WƒFƒŠ[‚ƈê‚ÉG.I. guyiÁ‰»Šíê–åˆãj‚És‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚ª•”‰®‚É“ü‚Á‚Ĉ¬Žè‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA”Þ‚Í­‚µ“®—h‚µ‚½‚悤‚Å‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚Íu‚à‚¤’x‚¢A’x‚»‚·‚¬‚év‚ÆéŒ¾‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu’x‚·‚¬‚éH‰½‚ª’x‚·‚¬‚é‚̂ł·‚©Hv‚ÆŽ„‚Íq‚˂܂µ‚½Bu‚à‚¤Žè’x‚ê‚Å‚·B ‚ ‚È‚½‚ɉ»Šw—Ö@‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Æ‚³‚¦‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŠà‚Í‚ ‚¿‚±‚¿‚É“]ˆÚ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·Bv

u‘åä•v‚Å‚·‚æB‚»‚ê‚È‚ç‚ÎAŽŸ‚Ìl¶‚Å—š‚­‚½‚ß‚ÉV‚µ‚¢ŒC‚𔃂Á‚½‚Ù‚¤‚ª‚¢‚¢‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñBv‚ÆŽ„‚Í“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½BˆãŽt‚Í—‰ð‚Å‚«‚¸‚É—§‚Á‚½‚܂܎„‚ðŒ©‚Â‚ß‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚à‚¤ˆê“xŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Au–{“–‚É‘åä•v‚Å‚·Bv ‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ„‚ÍAu‚¨‚¢‚¨‚¢A‰´‚͉½‚Ì”½‰ž‚à‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢v‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ŽÀÛAŽ„‚ª‚Ñ‚Á‚­‚肵‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÍA‚±‚̈ãŽt‚ªö—‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B ”Þ‚ÍuŒN‚̓^ƒt‚Èl‚¾v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BBuŽ„‚ªH ƒ^ƒtH Ž„‚̉½‚ªƒ^ƒt‚Ȃ̂łµ‚傤‚©Hv

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ªƒIƒtƒBƒX‚ðo‚½ŒãAƒWƒFƒŠ[‚ÍAˆãŽt‚ÍŽ„‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邾‚¯‚¾‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

u‚È‚º‚±‚ÌŠ³ŽÒ‚Í”½‰ž‚µ‚È‚¢‚Ì‚¾‚낤H ŽŸ‚Ìl¶?@’Êí‚Í’N‚à‚ª”½‰ž‚·‚é‚Ì‚ÉBv‚µ‚©‚µŽÀÛ‚ÉAŽ„‚ɂ͋°•|‚à“®—h‚à—JŸT‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

‚±‚±”TŠÔAŽ„‚ÍÌŽ^‚΂©‚è‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B lX‚Í‚â‚Á‚Ä—ˆ‚ÄAuƒƒhƒj[A‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‹Á‚«‚¾A‘f°‚炵‚¢v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚·B u‘f°‚炵‚¢amazingv‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ¾—t‚ª‰½‚Å‚ ‚é‚©‚ª‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚Íuƒƒhƒj[v‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Ƃł·Bi΂¢j@Ž„‚Í‚±‚ê‚ɂ‚¢‚đ傫‚ȃGƒSEƒgƒŠƒbƒviƒGƒS‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚éŽvl˜A½j‚Ɋׂç‚È‚¢‚悤‚ÉŒ©‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚È‚º‚È‚çA–{“–‚ÉÅŒã‚Ì—·‚ªƒGƒSEƒgƒŠƒbƒv‚ɂȂ邱‚ƂȂñ‚©–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚È‚¢‚©‚ç‚Å‚·BiÄ‚Ñ΂¢j@‚¾‚Á‚Ä‚»‚ê‚͂܂½V‚½‚È•sƒ•¨‚Å‚·‚æ‚ËH

‚Ù‚Æ‚ñ‚Ç‚Ìê‡AŽ„‚Í–ž‘«‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B •t‚«‡‚¢‚É‚­‚¢l‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä‚àA‚©‚Ȃ芰—e‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B ’N‚©‚Ƙb‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚ÄA‚»‚Ìl‚ª“®—h‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚èA‹»•±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚è‚·‚邯AŽ„‚Í‚½‚¾˜b‘è‚ð•Ï‚¦‚邾‚¯‚Å‚·B ”Þ‚Í‚»‚ê‚É‹C•t‚©‚È‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B“{‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‰É‚È‚ñ‚©‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚©‚ç‚ËA‚»‚¤‚Å‚µ‚傤B

ƒ{ƒfƒBEƒ‰ƒ“ƒQ[ƒWA‚½‚Æ‚¦‚ÎAŽ„‚Ì–Ú‚ðŒ©‚Â‚ß‚½‚èAŽ„‚ɘb‚µ‚©‚¯‚½‚èAŽ„‚ÉG‚ꂽ‚è‚ȂǂÌA‚Ý‚ñ‚È‚©‚ç‚̃ƒbƒ^[‚ª‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚»‚ê‚ç‚ÌŒ¾“®‚·‚ׂĂªAˆÈ‘O‚Ƃ͑傫‚­•Ï‚í‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽ„‚É“`‚¦‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚ê‚͂ƂĂàƒ\ƒtƒg‚ÅA‚ƂĂà—D‚µ‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å‚·B Ž„‚Ƀ[ƒ‹‚ð‘—‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚èA“d˜b‚ð‚©‚¯‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚è‚·‚élX‚Ì‹ó‹CŠ´‚Ƀƒbƒ^[‚ðŽ„‚ÍŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚·B

ŽžXA©‚ÉÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邯A‘Ì‘S‘Ì‚ªÁ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚«A’ɂ݂ªÃ‚Ü‚èAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ªÃ‚©‚ɂȂé‚Ì‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚·B ’ɂ݂͔ñí‚É‹­‚¢ê‡‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªA’ɂ݂͒ɂ݂ł ‚èA‚·‚ׂĂ͂»‚ÌuŠÔ‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ìó‘Ô‚É‚æ‚Á‚ĈقȂè‚Ü‚·B ­‚µ’É‚Ý‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邱‚Æ‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªA“Á‚ÉŽüˆÍ‚ɃlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚ÈŠ´î‚ª‘½‚¢ê‡‚É‚ÍA‚»‚ꂪ”ñí‚É‹­‚­Š´‚¶‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·B ‚ ‚é‚¢‚ÍA‚©‚È‚è‚Ì’É‚Ý‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚àAƒ|ƒWƒeƒBƒu‚È”g“®‚ª”ñí‚É‹­‚¢‚½‚ßA’É‚Ý‚ðŠ´‚¶‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚Í‹C•ª‚͈«‚­‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÉA‘Ì‚ª‰ó‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚­‚悤‚È‹C‚ª‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µAŽ„‚̃ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹ó‘Ô‚Í‚»‚¤‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB”ñí‚É‘½‚­‚Ì–K–âŽÒ‚½‚¿A“Á‚ÉáÒ‘z‚ð‚µ‚É—ˆ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚邽‚ßA‚±‚Ì•a‰@‚Ì”g“®‚Í–{“–‚É‚¸‚Á‚Æ‹­‚­‚È‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邯д‚¶‚Ü‚·B –é‚Ì11Žž ‚Í‚±‚±‚ÉÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邾‚¯‚Å‘Sg‚ªÃ‚©‚É‚È‚é‚Æ‚«‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ’ɂ݂͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‹ê‚µ‚݂͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Í©‚Å‚·B Ž„‚̑̂Í©‚Å‚·B ‚·‚ׂĂª‚ƂĂà©‚Å‚·B ‚¨‚¨I

lX‚ÍŽ„‚Ƀƒbƒ^[‚ð‘—‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚Í•a‹C‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚©‚çA‚»‚ê‚É‚©‚Ȃ蓯’²‚·‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒƒbƒ^[‚ÍŒø‚«‚Ü‚·‚æI

A—Ñ’†‚â‚Ç‚±‚É‚¢‚Ä‚àA’¹‚⑼‚Ì“®•¨AŒ¢A‚³‚ç‚ɂ̓gƒCƒŒ‚ɃnƒG‚ª‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚ÄAŽæ‚èo‚µ‚ÄAŽ„‚Í‚¢‚‚à”Þ‚ç‚É‹F‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B K‚¹‚ɂȂÁ‚ÄAŽŸ‚Ìl¶‚Å‚æ‚è—Ç‚¢¶‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB¡‚Í‚±‚̂悤‚ÉŽc”O‚Å‚·‚ªA‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŽc‚è‚Ìl¶‚ªK‚¹‚Å‚ ‚èA‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŽŸ‚Ìl¶‚ª‚æ‚è—Ç‚¢‚à‚̂ɂȂè‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB ‚ ‚È‚½‚ª•½‰¸‚ÅK‚¹‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉBv

‘§Žq‚ÍŽ„‚ÉAu‚¨•ƒ‚³‚ñAƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ìó‘Ԃ͂ǂ¤‚Å‚·‚©Hv‚Æq‚˂܂µ‚½Bg‘Ì‚Ìó‘Ԃ͂ǂ¤‚Å‚·‚©H‚ł͂Ȃ­Aƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ìó‘Ô‚Å‚·B–{“–‚É‘f°‚炵‚¢‚Å‚·‚ËB Dhamma‚Ì—Fl‚½‚¿‚ª–K‚˂Ă«‚½‚Æ‚«A‘§Žq‚Í‚±‚±‚É—ˆ‚Ęb‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ­‚µŽžŠÔ‚Í‚©‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA¡‚ł̓ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹ó‘Ô‚ªÅ‚àd—v‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð”Þ‚Í–{“–‚É—‰ð‚µŽn‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚·B

”Þ‚ÍA’N‚©‚ª‹Ž‚邱‚Æ‚ð”ß‚µ‚ނ̂ł͂Ȃ­AŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªˆê‚ɉ߂²‚µ‚½ŽžŠÔ‚ª‚Ç‚ê‚Ù‚Ç—Ç‚©‚Á‚½‚©‚É‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ”Þ‚ÍŽ„‚É‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚¨•ƒ‚³‚ñA‚à‚µ‚©‚µ‚½‚牽”N‚àŒo‚‚ÆAŽ„‚à‚±‚ñ‚È󋵂Ɋׂ邩‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚̂Ƃ«Aw‚³‚ÄA‚¨•ƒ‚³‚ñ‚È‚ç‚Ç‚¤‘Έ‚·‚邾‚낤Hx‚Æl‚¦‚邱‚ƂɂȂé‚ÈBv ¡A”ނ̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ªÅ‚àd—v‚È‚±‚Ƃł ‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

”Þ‚Í‚©‚‚ñ‚¤q‚˂܂µ‚½Au‚¨•ƒ‚³‚ñA‚à‚µ’N‚©‚ªŽ„‚ðŽE‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚µ‚½‚çA‚ ‚È‚½‚͔ނðŽE‚µ‚Ü‚·‚©Hv Ž„‚Í‚±‚¤“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‚¢‚¢‚¦A‚»‚Ì󋵂Ŏ€‚ñ‚Å‚à‘åä•v‚Å‚·B Ž„‚Ì‚±‚¾‚í‚è‚ÍAl¶‚ð”j‰ó‚µ‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B Ž„‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ðŽç‚邽‚߂ɑS—Í‚ðs‚­‚µ‚Ü‚·‚ªAŽE‚µ‚½‚èA“‚ñ‚¾‚èA‰R‚ð‚‚¢‚½‚肵‚ÄAŽ„‚ÌDhamma‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚É”½‚·‚éˆêü‚ð‰z‚¦‚邱‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚ê‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŽE‚³‚ê‚邿‚è‚à‚³‚ç‚Ɉ«‚¢‚±‚Æ‚¾‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B ‚½‚Æ‚¦ŽE‚³‚ꂽ‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚Í‚P‚‚Ìl¶‚Å‚ ‚èAŽ„‚ÍŒã‘Þ‚·‚éˆê•à‚ð‚·‚é‚‚à‚è‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBv

Sayagyi U Ba Khin‚ÌŽ€‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚é‚à‚Ì‚ð“ǂނÆA‚ƂĂà—E‹C‚¯‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·B ”Þ‚ÍAŽ©•ª‚Ìsīlai‰ú—¥j‚ð•Û‚¿A‚Ý‚ñ‚È‚ð“VŠE‚Ö“±‚­dānai•zŽ{j‚ð—^‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚¢‚©‚ɑ娂©‚ðŒê‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÅA—ã‚݂ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚ê‚ɉÁ‚¦‚ÄAáÒ‘z‚ð‚µAɸ‚ð•ۂ‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚»‚ê‚ÍAŽÔ‚Éæ‚Á‚ănƒCƒMƒA‚Å‘O•û‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚ÄŽ¾‘–‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚È‚à‚̂ł·B

‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŽÔ‚ð‰^“]‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯A‚±‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂÌDhamma‚ÉŠÖ‚í‚é‚à‚ÌA‚»‚µ‚Ä‚±‚Ì‚·‚ׂẴƒbƒ^[‚ªí‚É‚ ‚È‚½‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŠç‚ɂ͖ž–Ê‚Ì΂݂ª•‚‚©‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚·B

ˆÈ‘OAŽ„‚ÍlX‚ÉuŽ€‚Í•|‚­‚È‚¢v‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ðŠo‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚Å‚à–{“–‚É’m‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ꂪ‚Ç‚¤‚Ȃ邩‚ÍŽÀۂɂ͂킩‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ¡A‚»‚ꂪ—ˆ‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚é‚ÆAu‚¤‚í[Iv‚Æ‚¢‚¤Š´‚¶‚Å‚·B Ž„‚Í‚±‚¤‚Ȃ邾‚낤‚ÆŽv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bv ‚æ‚­‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªADhamma‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ɂƂĂà—Í‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚·B

ŠÅŒìŽt‚³‚ñžH‚­A•a‹C‚̉Šú‚ªˆê”Ô‘å•Ï‚¾‚»‚¤‚Å‚·B

I‚í‚è‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚ÄAŽ€‚ɋ߂­‚ÆAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚ê‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µAŽ„‚Íʼn‚©‚ç‚»‚ê‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚Ì󋵂ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éŠÔAŽ„‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ɂ͉½‚̕ω»‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‰½‚©•ω»‚ª‚ ‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚ðŠm”F‚·‚邽‚߂ɂ»‚ê‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚Ü‚·‚ªA•ω»‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚‚܂èA‰½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚ÆAŽ„‚ÍŽ€‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł·B Ž„‚ɂ̓lƒKƒeƒBƒu‚Èl‚¦‚͂܂Á‚½‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­‚È‚¢‚̂ł·B

Ž„‚ÍDhamma‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚ÌŽü‚è‚ÉDhamma‚Ì‹­‚¢U“®‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚·B ‹CŽ‚¿‚¢‚¢‚Å‚·‚æA–{“–‚É‹CŽ‚¿‚ª‚¢‚¢‚ñ‚Å‚·B

Ž€‚ʂ܂Å΂Á‚Ă܂·B

 

 

K•Ÿ‚à•sK‚à‰ÊŽÀ‚Å‚·

‚ ‚È‚½Ž©g‚Ìs“®‚É‚æ‚éB

‚±‚ê‚Í•s•ς̕•Õ“I‚È–@‘¥‚Å‚·B

‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‚ ‚È‚½Ž©g‚ÌŽ€‚ÌŽx”zŽÒ‚Å‚·B

‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‚ ‚È‚½Ž©g‚Ì‹~¢Žå‚Å‚·B

 

—ƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚ÌŽAS.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

Questions to Goenkaji to Goenkaji  II

Preparing for Our Own Deaths

 

Student:   Can any lessons be learned from the way the Buddha or his followers died?

Goenkaji:  The Buddha died smilingly, giving Dhamma—a Vipassana lesson for everyone.

              The Buddha was a teacher. He had the determination to give Dhamma until his last breath—and so he did. As he was dying someone came to see him, but his long-time attendant Ānanda stopped him,  saying,  gNo, this is not the time.h Overhearing him, the Buddha said, gNo. Bring him, Ānanda. Bring him.h  His volition, his compassion was so great that he didnft care about his own pain at the time of death. He knew he had to give Dhamma to this person  who otherwise might miss it.

Compassion is an important quality to develop for those who are teaching. 

 

 

I would like to know where we should place our attention a few hours before dying, and then where at  the moment of death?

You want to be aware of sensations and anicca all the time. By the practice of Vipassana you learn the art  of living,  and you learn the art of dying.  If you have been practicing Vipassana regularly, then at the  time of death you will  automatically become fully  aware of your sensations and  anicca, and die very peacefully. You cannot die unconscious, crying, or in fear; you pass away smiling and observing sensations. So not only is this life secured, th , the next lif t life is also secured.

 

Some people recommend  that, before dying, we recollect our previous good  deeds, merits like dāna and sīla,  that we have accumulated.  Since  we  are  still  far  away   from  nibbāna,  perhaps this might lead  us toward  a devā  loka,  a heavenly plane. Should  we try to go to a heavenly plane?

For people who have never practiced Vipassana, never practiced anicca,  this is a proper thing for them to do—to remember their good deeds, which will take them to higher lokas or fields of existence. But if you practice Vipassana and anicca, you should work with anicca and you will also go to a heavenly loka if you are  not yet ready for nibbāna.  More time might still be needed before you reach nibbāna, so you will  go to a heavenly loka where you will be able to continue your practice on your own without a teacher.  Because  you die with a mind observing anicca, youfll be born with a mind observing anicca, and you will continue to practice Vipassana.

              Many people who come to the courses say, gSince childhood I have felt these sensations; I didnft  know what they were.h It is because that person has been practicing in the past. So this practice will go with you.

 

 

If negative thoughts are arising and we are meditating equanimously, and death comes at that moment, what loka will we go to?

Even while negative thoughts are arising, at the moment of death sensations will arise immediately and automatically, and if you are practicing Vipassana you will be observing them. After death you will not go to lower fields of existence, because in the lower fields you cannot practice Vipassana with awareness of  anicca.

              You need not worry. Only if you stop practicing Vipassana will there be a need for worry. If you keep practicing regularly morning and evening, then automatically at the time of death sensations   will  arise—there is no doubt about that.  No one practicing Vipassana needs to fear death—you will be promoted!

If you practice Vipassana, death will certainly occur  in a positive way.

 

 

How  can we know  whether there is a past life, or life after death, without personal experience?

It is not necessary to believe in a past or future life for Vipassana to help you.  Surely you must believe in this present life.  Many people come to courses not believing in past or future lives—it  doesnft matter.  Give all importance to the reality of this moment: At this moment you are dying—every moment you are dying, every moment taking new birth. Observe that, feel that, understand that. Also understand how you  react to  this changing  flow, and thereby harm yourself. When you stop reacting, the present becomes better and better. If there is a future life, certainly you will benefit there as well. If there is no future life, why worry? You have done your best to improve your present life.  The future is nothing but  the product of the present.  If the present is alright, the future will be alright.

 

 

Sabbadāna dhammadāna jināti;

sabbarasa dhammaraso  jināti;

sabbarati dhammarati jināti;

tahakkhayo sabbadukkha jināti.

 

The gift of Dhamma triumphs over all other gifts;

the taste of Dhamma triumphs over all other tastes;

the happiness of Dhamma triumphs over all other pleasures;

the eradication of craving triumphs over all suffering.

 

Dhammapada 24.354

 

 

Do not waste the time you have left.  This is the time for you to strive with energy and steadfastness. You can be sure that you will die, but you canft be sure how much longer  you have to live.

 

Venerable Webu Sayadaw

 

 

 

 

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Ö‚ÌŽ¿–â@@‡U‚Ö

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚ÌŽ€‚É”õ‚¦‚é

 

¶“kF ƒuƒbƒ_‚â‚»‚Ì’íŽq‚ÌŽ€‚É•û‚©‚牽‚©‹³ŒP‚ðŠw‚Ô‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚·‚©H

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW: @ƒuƒbƒ_‚ÍA‚·‚ׂĂÌl‚Ƀ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚̃ŒƒbƒXƒ“‚Å‚ ‚éDhamma‚ð—^‚¦‚È‚ª‚çA”÷΂݂Ȃª‚ç–S‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚Í‹³Žt‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚Í‘§‚ªs‚«‚é‚Ü‚ÅDhamma‚ð—^‚¦‚邯‚¢‚¤ŒˆˆÓ‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¨‚èAŽÀÛ‚É‚»‚¤‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ªŽ€‚ÌŠÔÛ‚ÉŽ¿–âŽÒ‚ª”ނɉ‚É—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA’·”N•t‚«“Y‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½ƒA[ƒiƒ“ƒ_‚ªu‚¢‚¢‚¦A¡‚Í‚»‚ÌŽž‚ł͂Ȃ¢v‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚ĔނðŽ~‚߂܂µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µA”ނ̘b‚ð•·‚¢‚ÄAƒuƒbƒ_‚ÍuƒA[ƒiƒ“ƒ_B ”Þ‚ð˜A‚ê‚Ä—ˆ‚È‚³‚¢Bv‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒuƒbƒ_‚̈ӎu‚ÆŽv‚¢‚â‚è‚Í”ñí‚ɑ傫‚©‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽ€‚ÌÛ‚ÉŽ©•ª‚̒ɂ݂ð‹C‚É‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍA‚±‚ÌŽ¿–âŽÒ‚ÉDhamma‚ð—^‚¦‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎADhamma‚ðŒ©“¦‚µ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¤‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Žv‚¢‚â‚è‚ÍA‹³‚¦‚él‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä”|‚¤‚ׂ«d—v‚ÈŽ‘Ž¿‚Å‚·B

 

¶“kF@Ž€‚Ê”ŽžŠÔ‘O‚ɂǂ±‚É’ˆÓ‚ðŒü‚¯‚é‚ׂ«‚©A‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ɂ͂ǂ±‚É’ˆÓ‚ðŒü‚¯‚é‚ׂ«‚Ȃ̂©’m‚肽‚¢‚Å‚·B

 

Š´Šo‚Æ–³í‚ðí‚É‹C‚¢‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄA¶‚«‚épA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ€‚Êp‚ðŠw‚т܂·B ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ð’èŠú“I‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚ê‚ÎAŽ€‚ʂƂ«‚ɂ͎©“®“I‚ÉŽ©•ª‚ÌŠ´Šo‚Æ–³í‚ðŠ®‘S‚É”Fޝ‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂèA‚ƂĂàˆÀ‚ç‚©‚ÉŽ€‚ʂłµ‚傤B ˆÓޝ‚ðŽ¸‚Á‚½‚èA‹ƒ‚¢‚½‚èA‹°•|‚µ‚½‚肵‚ÄŽ€‚Ê‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚È‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·BŠ´Šo‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚È‚ª‚ç”÷΂݂Ȃª‚çÀ‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚‚܂èA‚±‚Ìl¶‚ªŠm•Û‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邾‚¯‚łȂ­AŽŸ‚Ìl¶‚àŠm•Û‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B

 

Ž€‚Ê‘O‚ÉA‚±‚ê‚܂łÉÏ‚Ýã‚°‚Ä‚«‚½‘PsA•zŽ{dāna‚â‰ú—¥sīla‚Ȃǂ̌÷“¿‚ðŽv‚¢o‚·‚悤‚ÉŠ©‚ß‚él‚à‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŸ¸žÏ‚©‚ç‚Ü‚¾‰“‚­—£‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÅA‚¨‚»‚ç‚­‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ðdevā lokaA‚‚܂è“V‘‚ÌŽŸŒ³‚Ö‚Æ“±‚­‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

“V‘‚ÌŽŸŒ³‚És‚Á‚Ă݂é‚ׂ«‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚½‚±‚Æ‚àAanicca‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚½‚±‚Æ‚à‚È‚¢l‚ɂƂÁ‚ÄA‚æ‚è‚‚¢‘¶Ý‚̗̈æ‚ɘA‚ê‚Äs‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ê‚鎩•ª‚Ì‘Ps‚ðŽv‚¢o‚·‚±‚Æ‚Ís‚¤‚ׂ«“KØ‚Èsˆ×‚Å‚·B

‚µ‚©‚µAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Æanicca‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚éꇂÍAanicca‚ÉŽæ‚è‘g‚Þ•K—v‚ª‚ ‚èAŸ¸žÏ‚Ì€”õ‚ª‚Ü‚¾®‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢ê‡‚ÍA“V‘‚̗̈æ‚És‚­‚±‚Æ‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BŸ¸žÏ‚É“ž’B‚·‚é‚܂łɂ͂܂¾ŽžŠÔ‚ª‚©‚©‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Ì‚ÅA‚ ‚È‚½‚Í“V‘‚̗̈æ‚És‚«A‚»‚±‚Å‹³Žt‚È‚µ‚ÅŽ©•ª‚ÅCs‚𑱂¯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚ ‚È‚½‚Íanicca‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚éƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðŽ‚Á‚ÄŽ€‚ʂ̂ÅA‚ ‚È‚½‚Íanicca‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚éƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðŽ‚Á‚͂܂êAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‘±‚¯‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B

ƒR[ƒX‚É—ˆ‚él‚Ì‘½‚­‚Íu¬‚³‚¢ ‚©‚炱‚ê‚ç‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ÍŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µ ‚»‚ê‚炪‰½‚Ȃ̂©•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½Bv‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ÍA‚»‚Ìl‚ª‰ß‹Ž‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚«‚½‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B ‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA‚±‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ɖ𗧂‚̂ł·B

 

 

‚à‚µƒlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚ÈŽvl‚ª¶‚¶AŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªÃ‰¸‚ÉáÒ‘z‚µA‚»‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉŽ€‚ª–K‚ê‚邯‚µ‚½‚çAŽ„‚½‚¿‚͂ǂ±‚Ös‚­‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

 

ƒlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚ÈŽvl‚ª¶‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚éŠÔ‚Å‚³‚¦‚àAŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ɂ͊´Šo‚ª‘¦À‚ÉŽ©“®“I‚ɶ‚¶‚Ü‚·B‚à‚µƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éꇂÍA‚»‚ê‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

Ž€ŒãA‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‚æ‚è’á‚¢‘¶Ý—̈æ‚És‚­‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚È‚º‚È‚çA‚æ‚è’á‚¢—̈æ‚Å‚ÍA–³í‚ðˆÓޝ‚µ‚ă”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚¢‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

S”z‚·‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ð‚â‚ß‚½ê‡‚ɂ̂ÝAS”z‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B’©‚Æ—[•û‚É’èŠú“I‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚𑱂¯‚Ä‚¢‚ê‚ÎAŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉŽ©“®“I‚ÉŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă͋^‚¢‚Ì—]’n‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚él‚ÍŽ€‚ð‹°‚ê‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚ ‚È‚½‚Í•K‚¸¸i‚µ‚Ü‚·B

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚ê‚ÎAŽ€‚Í•K‚¸—Ç‚¢ˆÓ–¡‚Å–K‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

 

ŒÂl“I‚ÈŒoŒ±‚È‚µ‚ÉA‘O¢‚⎀Œã‚Ì¢ŠE‚ª‚ ‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚ð‚Ç‚¤‚â‚Á‚Ä’m‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚𕂯‚Ä‚­‚ê‚é‰ß‹Ž‚â–¢—ˆ‚Ìl¶‚ðM‚¶‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‚±‚Ì¡‚Ìl¶‚ð‚µ‚Á‚©‚è‚ÆM‚¶‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‘½‚­‚Ìl‚ª‘O¢‚â—ˆ¢‚ðM‚¶‚¸‚ɃR[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µ‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Í–â‘è‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ð‚·‚×‚Ä‘åØ‚É‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B‚±‚ÌuŠÔA‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽ€‚ɂ‚‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éuŠÔ‚É‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽ€‚ÉA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éuŠÔ‚ÉV‚½‚È’a¶‚ª‹N‚±‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µA‚»‚ê‚ðŠ´‚¶A‚»‚ê‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B

‚Ü‚½A‚±‚Ìu•ω»‚·‚é—¬‚êv‚ÉŽ©•ª‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚É”½‰ž‚µA‚»‚ê‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð‚‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚à—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ”½‰ž‚·‚é‚Ì‚ð‚â‚߂邯AŒ»Ý‚͂ǂñ‚Ç‚ñ—Ç‚­‚È‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚à‚µ—ˆ¢‚ª‚ ‚é‚È‚çA•K‚¸‚»‚±‚Å‚à‰¶Œb‚ðŽó‚¯‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B «—ˆ‚Ìl¶‚ª‚È‚¢‚̂Ȃç‚ÎA‚È‚ºS”z‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H ‚ ‚È‚½‚Í¡‚Ì¶Šˆ‚ð‰ü‘P‚·‚邽‚ß‚ÉÅ‘P‚ðs‚­‚µ‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

–¢—ˆ‚ÍŒ»Ý‚ÌŽY•¨‚ɂق©‚È‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Œ»Ý‚ª‘åä•v‚È‚çA–¢—ˆ‚à‘åä•v‚Å‚·B

 

 

Dhamma‚ÌŽ’•¨‚Í‘¼‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̎’•¨‚ÉŸ‚è‚Ü‚·B

Dhamma‚Ì–¡‚Í‘¼‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̖¡‚ÉŸ‚è‚Ü‚·B

Dhamma‚ÌŠì‚т͑¼‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̊ì‚тɟ‚è‚Ü‚·B

Љ–]‚̪â‚ÍA‚·‚ׂĂ̋ꂵ‚݂ɟ‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

\Dhammapada  24.354

 

 

Žc‚³‚ê‚½ŽžŠÔ‚𖳑ʂɂµ‚È‚¢‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ¡‚ªƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[‚Æ•s‹ü‚̸_‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä“w—Í‚·‚鎞ŠÔ‚Å‚·

Ž©•ª‚ªŽ€‚Ê‚±‚Ƃ͊m‚©‚Å‚·‚ªA‚ ‚Ƃǂ̂­‚ç‚¢¶‚«‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚©‚͂킩‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

ƒEƒFƒuEƒTƒ„ƒh[‘¸ŽÒ

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ratilal Mehta 1901–1987

A Life and Death in Dhamma

This story appeared in the September 1988 Vipassana Newsletter.

The Vipassana International Meditation Centre, Dhamma Khetta, near Hyderabad, was the first center to open in India. Goenkaji inaugurated it in September 1976 by planting a sapling from the sacred Bodhi Tree in Bodh Gaya and by conducting his 124th course there, attended by 122 students.

From its inception and for many years thereafter, the driving force behind the center was Mr. Ratilal Mehta, a highly successful businessman and devout member of the Jain community. His wifefs untimely death in an accident brought home to him the reality of suffering and, like so many before him, Mr. Mehta began seeking a way to deal with his anguish.

An article on Dhamma Khetta in the Vipassana Journal recounts how Mr. Mehta, who had been searching earnestly in many spiritual traditions, overheard a conversation between a Jain monk and a professor of Jainism. The two were discussing different types of meditation, and commented upon the unique experiences of meditators who had undertaken Vipassana courses. The conversation inspired Mr. Mehta to join the next course conducted by Goenkaji.

In the practice of Vipassana he found what he had been looking for. With characteristic zeal Mr. Mehta immersed himself in the practice, taking six more courses one after the other. But this was not all. He was eager too to help others find the Dhamma that had proved so beneficial to him. He organized courses in his home, and used his influence to bring people to learn Vipassana, among them all the members of his family.

The land on which Dhamma Khetta now stands was donated by the Mehta family and Mr. Mehta personally supervised most of the construction. Although his comfortable home stood nearby, he insisted on staying for long periods at the center, living as simply as possible and devoting all his time to his own practice and to serving others. 

This great devotion to the Dhamma did not, however, diminish Mr. Mehtafs reverence for the tradition in which he had been raised. He continued to perform the duties of a pious Jain, and to honor and serve Jain monks and nuns. He did this recognizing that the essence of Jain teaching is the conquest of craving, aversion, and ignorance, and that Vipassana is the way to achieve this goal. He understood the universal nature of pure Dhamma, which transcends all differences of sect or philosophy.

 

In later years Mr. Mehtafs health deteriorated as cancer spread throughout his body, causing considerable pain. In his eighties he had to undergo major surgery. The operation slowed him physically but could not restrain his urge to practice and share the Dhamma. Despite the pain and physical deterioration, he continued to oversee personally the construction at Dhamma Khetta. Having barely recovered from his operation, he joined a long course at Dhamma Giri, eager to use in the best way whatever time remained to him.

It has been a year since Mr. Mehta passed away. His death was a notable and inspiring occasion. He knew that he was dying and suffered a great deal of pain, but did not complain. He wanted to be meditating when the end was near. Members of his family and friends were present. He requested to be bathed.

Returned to bed, Mr. Mehta asked to be turned towards the east and helped into a sitting position. Those in the room were meditating and a tape of Goenkaji chanting was playing. The chanting tape ended with the bhāvatu sabba magala blessings and the response of sādhu, sādhu, sādhu. Mr. Mehtafs body remained upright. The doctor checked his pulse and said, gHefs gone,h which surprised everyone since his head had not dropped, nor had his body collapsed. When the news of Mr. Mehtafs passing reached Goenkaji, he was in California on a day between courses. Those serving the courses attended the morning group sitting as usual, with Goenkaji and Mataji present. At the end of the sitting, Goenkaji announced to the students: gI have wonderful news.h It was uncommon for Goenkaji to make such an announcement, and the students were even more surprised to learn of the marvelous way in which Mr. M. Mehta had died.   

 

It is rare in the West for death to be viewed in a very positive way. And yet it is truly moving to hear of the ideal passing of a devoted meditator. At the moment of death, despite his great physical discomfort, Mr. Mehtafs mind was filled with awareness and equanimity, humility and love. Those present when he died, and those who heard about it later, felt fortunate to share this inspiring event.

Fellow meditators who knew Mr. Mehta recall his sprightly personality, great determination, energy, and enthusiasm. Today Dhamma Khetta, which has grown to a facility accommodating 350 students, stands as a memorial to his devoted service, a service that continues to bear fruit.

 

The yardstick to measure onefs progress on the path of Vipassana is not the type of sensation one experiences. The yardstick is the degree to which one has succeeded in ripening onefs awareness and equanimity. If a student bears this nature of the technique in mind, he or she is in no danger of going astray in the practice and will certainly keep progressing toward the goal.

 

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

May I be calm and serene, unruffled and peaceful.

May I develop a balanced mind.

May I observe with perfect equanimity

whatever physical sensation arises on my body.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ratilal Mehta@ 19011987

Dhamma‚É‚¨‚¯‚é¶‚ÆŽ€

‚±‚̘b‚Í1988”N9ŒŽ‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiEƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Hyderabad‹ß‚­‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiEƒCƒ“ƒ^[ƒiƒVƒ‡ƒiƒ‹EƒƒfƒBƒe[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“EƒZƒ“ƒ^[ADhamma Khetta‚ÍAƒCƒ“ƒh‚Åʼn‚ɃI[ƒvƒ“‚µ‚½ƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚Å‚µ‚½BƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Í1976”N9ŒŽ‚É‚±‚̃Zƒ“ƒ^[‚ðŠJÝ‚µBodh Gaya‚̹‚È‚éBodhi Tree‚©‚ç•c–Ø‚ðA‚¦A122l‚̶“k‚ªŽQ‰Á‚µ‚½124”Ԗڂ̃R[ƒX‚ðŽw“±‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚±‚̃Zƒ“ƒ^[‚Ì‘nÝ‚©‚瑽‚­‚Ì”NŒŽAƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚ÌŒ´“®—Í‚ÍRatilal MehtaŽ‚ÅA”Þ‚Í”ñí‚ɬŒ÷‚µ‚½ŽÀ‹Æ‰Æ‚Å‚ ‚èAƒWƒƒƒCƒi‹³‚ÌMŽÒ‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÌȂ̑‚·‚¬‚鎀‚ª”ނɋꂵ‚݂̌»ŽÀ‚ðŽv‚¢’m‚点A”Þ‚Í‹ê”Y‚ɂǂ¤Œü‚«‡‚¤‚©‚ð–Íõ‚µŽn‚߂܂µ‚½B

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiEƒWƒƒ[ƒiƒ‹‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ꂽ‚Ì‹LŽ–‚É‚æ‚ê‚ÎAƒXƒsƒŠƒ`ƒ…ƒAƒ‹‚È“`“‚ð^Œ•‚É’T‹‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½ƒ[ƒ^Ž‚ÍAƒWƒƒƒCƒi‹³‚Ì‘m—µ‚ƃWƒƒƒCƒjƒYƒ€‚Ì‹³Žö‚̊Ԃ̉ï˜b‚ð‹ô‘Rލ‚É‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B2l‚Í‚³‚Ü‚´‚܂Ȏí—Þ‚ÌáÒ‘z‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚µAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚µ‚½áÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚̓ƓÁ‚ÌŒoŒ±‚ɂ‚¢‚ăRƒƒ“ƒg‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚̉ï˜b‚ªƒ[ƒ^Ž‚ðŽŸ‚ÌƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚É‚æ‚éƒR[ƒX‚Ö‚ÌŽQ‰Á‚É‹ì‚è—§‚Ă܂µ‚½B

 

”ނ̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ÅŽ©•ª‚ª‹‚߂Ă¢‚½‚à‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B“Á’¥“I‚È”MˆÓ‚ðŽ‚Á‚ÄAƒ[ƒ^Ž‚Íˆê“x‚É6‚‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µA‚»‚ꂾ‚¯‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‘¼‚Ìl‚ª”ނɂƂÁ‚Ä—L‰v‚Å‚ ‚Á‚½ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚é‚Ì‚ðŽè“`‚¢‚½‚¢‚Æ‚à”Þ‚Íl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍŽ©‘î‚ŃR[ƒX‚ðŠJµA‰e‹¿—Í‚ðsŽg‚µ‚ÄlX‚ðƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚ðŠw‚Ԃ悤‚É—U‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚Ì’†‚ɂ͔ނ̉Ƒ°‚Ì‘Sˆõ‚àŠÜ‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B@

Dhamma Khetta‚ª¡—§‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é“y’n‚̓[ƒ^‰Æ‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄŠñ•t‚³‚êAƒ[ƒ^ŽŽ©‚炪ŒšÝ‚̂قƂñ‚Ç‚ðŠÄ“‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‰õ“K‚ȉƂª‹ß‚­‚É‚ ‚Á‚½‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸A”ނ̓Zƒ“ƒ^[‚Å’·ŠúŠÔ‘ØÝ‚µA‚Å‚«‚邾‚¯ŠÈ‘f‚È¶Šˆ‚ð‚µA‘S‚Ă̎žŠÔ‚ðŽ©•ª‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Æ‘¼ŽÒ‚Ö‚Ì•òŽd‚É•ù‚°‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚µ‚©‚µ‚È‚ª‚çA‚±‚ÌDhamma‚ւ̑傫‚ÈŒ£g‚ªƒ[ƒ^Ž‚ªˆç‚Á‚½“`“‚Ö‚Ì‘¸Œh‚ðŒ¸­‚³‚¹‚邱‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍŒhåi‚ȃWƒƒƒCƒi‹³“k‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚Ì–ðŠ„‚ð‰Ê‚½‚µAƒWƒƒƒCƒi‹³‚Ì‘m—µ‚â“ò‘m‚𑸌h‚µ•òŽd‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½BƒWƒƒƒCƒi‹³‚Ì‹³‚¦‚Ì–{Ž¿‚ÍŠ‰–]AŒ™ˆ«A–³’m‚ÌŽ•ž‚Å‚ ‚èAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚ª‚±‚Ì–Ú•W‚ð’B¬‚·‚é•û–@‚Å‚ ‚邯”Fޝ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ̓ˆ‚ȃ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì••Õ«‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¨‚èA‹³”h‚â“NŠw‚̈Ⴂ‚ð’´‰z‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

ƒ[ƒ^Ž‚ÌŒã”NA‚ª‚ñ‚ª‘Ì’†‚ÉL‚ª‚èA‚©‚È‚è‚Ì’É‚Ý‚ðˆø‚«‹N‚±‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B80‘ã‚Å‘åŽèp‚ðŽó‚¯‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽèp‚͔ނðg‘Ì“I‚ɂ͓݂点‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAŽÀ‘H‚ƃ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ð‹¤—L‚·‚éÕ“®‚ð—}‚¦‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B’ɂ݂Æg‘̂̊Žã‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸A”Þ‚ÍDhamma Khetta‚ł̌šÝ‚ðŒÂl“I‚Ɋ炵‘±‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽèp‚©‚ç‚Ù‚ñ‚Ì­‚µ‰ñ•œ‚µ‚½‚΂©‚è‚ÅA”Þ‚ÍŽc‚³‚ê‚½ŽžŠÔ‚ðÅ‘P‚Ì•û–@‚ÅŠˆ—p‚·‚邽‚ß‚ÉDhamma Giri‚Ì’·ŠúƒR[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

ƒ[ƒ^Ž‚ª–S‚­‚È‚Á‚Ä‚©‚ç1”N‚ªŒo‚¿‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÌŽ€‚Í’–Ú‚É’l‚·‚éAŠ´“®“I‚Èo—ˆŽ–‚Å‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ªŽ€‚ɂ䂭‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¨‚èA‘½‚­‚̒ɂ݂ɑς¦‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA•s–ž‚ð˜R‚ç‚·‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BI‚í‚肪‹ß‚­‚Æ‚«‚ÍáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚¢‚Æ–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ̉Ƒ°‚â—Fl‚ª‚»‚΂ɂ¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Í“ü—‚³‚¹‚Ä‚à‚炤‚悤‚É—Š‚Ý‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒxƒbƒh‚É–ß‚³‚ê‚邯Aƒ[ƒ^Ž‚Í“Œ‚Ì•û‚ÉŒü‚¯‚ç‚êAÀ‚Á‚½ó‘Ô‚É‚·‚é‚Ì‚ðŽè“`‚Á‚Ä‚à‚ç‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B•”‰®‚Ì’†‚ÌlX‚ÍáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ä‚¨‚èAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̃`ƒƒƒ“ƒeƒBƒ“ƒO‚̃e[ƒv‚ª—¬‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ`ƒƒƒ“ƒeƒBƒ“ƒO‚̃e[ƒv‚Íubhāvatu sabba magalav‚Ìj•Ÿ‚ÅI‚í‚èAusādhu, sādhu, sādhuv‚̉ž“š‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ[ƒ^Ž‚Ì‘Ì‚Í‚Ü‚Á‚·‚®‚Å‚µ‚½BˆãŽt‚Í–¬‚ðŠm”F‚µAu–S‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‹Á‚¢‚½‚±‚Ƃɔނ̓ª‚ª‚‚ꉺ‚ª‚炸A‘Ì‚ª•ö‚ê—Ž‚¿‚Ä‚¢‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃłµ‚½B

 

ƒ[ƒ^Ž‚Ìæ]•ñ‚Ì’m‚点‚ªƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ɓ͂¢‚½‚Æ‚«A”ނ̓R[ƒX‚̇ŠÔ‚ɃJƒŠƒtƒHƒ‹ƒjƒA‚É‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BƒR[ƒX‚É•òŽd‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚élX‚Í’Êí’ʂ蒩‚̃Oƒ‹[ƒváÒ‘z‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ƃ}ƒ^ƒW‚àoÈ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BáÒ‘z‚ªI‚í‚邯AƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Ͷ“k‚½‚¿‚É‚°‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu‘f°‚炵‚¢ƒjƒ…[ƒX‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·v‚ÆBƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ª‚±‚̂悤‚È”­•\‚ð‚·‚é‚̂͒¿‚µ‚¢‚±‚Ƃł ‚èA¶“k‚½‚¿‚Í‚³‚ç‚É‹Á‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ[ƒ^Ž‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚É‘f°‚炵‚¢•û–@‚Å–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚©‚ð’m‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

¼—m‚ł͎€‚ð”ñí‚Ém’è“I‚È•û–@‚ÅŒ©‚邱‚Ƃ͒¿‚µ‚¢‚̂ł·B‚µ‚©‚µAŒ£g“I‚ÈáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Ì—‘z“I‚ÈŽ€‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä•·‚­‚±‚Ƃ͖{“–‚ÉŠ´“®“I‚Å‚·BŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉAƒ[ƒ^Ž‚Í‚»‚Ì‹‘å‚È“÷‘Ì“I‚È•s‰õŠ´‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸AˆÓޝ‚ÆÃ‰¸AŒª‹•‚³‚ƈ¤‚Å–ž‚½‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ª–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«‚É—§‚¿‰ï‚Á‚½lXAŒã‚Å‚»‚Ì‚±‚Ƃ𕷂¢‚½lX‚ÍA‚±‚ÌŠ´“®“I‚Èo—ˆŽ–‚ð‹¤—L‚Å‚«‚½‚±‚Æ‚ðK‰^‚ÉŽv‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒ[ƒ^Ž‚ð’m‚é’‡ŠÔ‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÍA”Þ‚Ì–ô“®“I‚Ȍ«A‹­‚¢ŒˆˆÓAƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[A”MˆÓ‚ðU‚è•Ô‚è‚Ü‚·B¡“úA350l‚̶“k‚ðŽû—e‚Å‚«‚éŽ{݂ɬ’·‚µ‚½Dhamma Khetta‚ÍA”Þ‚ÌŒ£g“I‚È•òŽd‚Ì‹L”O”è‚Æ‚È‚Á‚Ä‚¨‚èA‚»‚Ì•òŽd‚Í¡‚à‚È‚¨ŽÀ‚ðŒ‹‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

 

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚Ì“¹‚Å‚Ìi•à‚𑪂邽‚߂̊ÍAŒoŒ±‚·‚銴Šo‚ÌŽí—ނł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŠî€‚ÍAŽ©•ª‚̈ӎ¯‚ÆÃ‰¸‚ð‚ǂꂾ‚¯n¬‚³‚¹‚½‚©‚Å‚·B¶“k‚ª‚±‚̃eƒNƒjƒbƒN‚Ì«Ž¿‚ðS‚É—¯‚߂Ă¢‚ê‚ÎAŽÀ‘H‚Å–ÀŽq‚ɂȂéS”z‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚µAŠmŽÀ‚É–Ú•W‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚Äi‚Þ‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

May I be calm and serene, unruffled and peaceful.

May I develop a balanced mind.

May I observe with perfect equanimity

whatever physical sensation arises on my body.

 

‰¸‚â‚©‚Ű˜N‚ÅA”g—‚È‚­•½˜a‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

ƒoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ÌŽæ‚ꂽƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðˆç‚Ä‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

Š®‘S‚Èɸ‚Èó‘Ô‚ÅŠñ‚è“Y‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

Ž„‚̑̂ɂ¢‚©‚Ȃ銴Šo‚ª‹N‚±‚邯‚«‚É‚àB

 

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Equanimity in the Face of Terminal Illness

The following article first appeared in the September 1990 Vipassana Newsletter. About 10 years ago, my wife Parvathamma was diagnosed with motor neuron disease, a rare, so far incurable, condition. She experienced a gradual wasting of the muscles of her arms, legs, and neck and required assistance with even normal activities. Treatments by allopathic, homeopathic, ayurvedic, and naturopathic doctors produced no result. Her helplessness caused her tension and frustration. She became gloomy and wept frequently.

 

It was heart-rending, but everyone in the family took care that she was not put to any discomfort and that there was never any opportunity for her to feel neglected. All our efforts went toward keeping her spirits up, but she would, nevertheless, break down whenever a friend or relative called on her.

 

It was at this stage, about four years into the illness, that my wife attended a Vipassana course in Jaipur under the guidance of Goenkaji. She found the first day exceedingly trying, but with loving meditators around her, she endured the hardship with a smile. On the fourth day, Vipassana day, she was a changed person. She experienced a flow of subtle sensations throughout her body. She was beaming with joy and felt she was even physically gaining strength. Her retreat proved to be a most beneficial 10-day sojourn.

 

During the following months, she practiced her meditation regularly in spite of her deteriorating physical condition. Unfortunately, due to work, I had to be away in Ajmer, but whenever I returned to Jaipur, I would join her in meditation. Tapes of Goenkajifs chanting and visits by local meditators inspired and supported her.

 

After only one Vipassana course, her nature began to change significantly. Joy emanated from her. People who came to console her went away in peace. She never complained about her illness, nor did she express regret about her miserable condition.

She made frequent loving and compassionate inquiries about the welfare of visitors and their family members, wishing them happiness and joy.

 

The disease progressed quickly. She experienced a rapid weakening of her muscles and was administered a glucose drip and oxygen. Although experiencing extreme pain, she still retained full control of her faculties. Her body below the neck was a pitiful heap of bones and shrunken muscles, but Parvathammafs face beamed with a radiant smile. And she continued to meditate.

 

Two days before the end, she ardently requested family members to pardon her for any harsh words she might have spoken while they had been attending her, and expressed her feelings of good fortune at having had such a kind and tolerant family.

 

The disease had by now spread to the muscles of her heart and lungs, and she was unable to sleep because she would be overcome by coughing if moved from a sitting position. She passed the next night comparatively peacefully asleep in her wheelchair. Whenever she awoke she requested those sitting by her side to take rest, and inquired whether others in the family were sleeping.

 

At 7:15 am she drank some milk which was followed by a bout of coughing, something she always dreaded. Feeling suffocated, she asked that I send for the doctor who arrived within 15 minutes. As he reached our doorstep her last breath exited with a little cough. On that morning of January 15, 1985, she passed away peacefully with a clear mind, bestowing compassionate glances on those around her.

 

We have learned from Goenkaji that our practice is also a preparation for dying; our familyfs experience is a testimony to this truth. Because of her equanimity in the midst of severe suffering, my wife was in control of her faculties throughout. She was a great inspiration to everyone, and those of us who are meditators have therefore applied Dhamma more seriously. Determined effort and regular practice have helped us weather the shock of the loss of this loving being. We regularly send her mettā with wishes for her freedom from all suffering.

 

Mr. S. Adaviappa

 

 

 

––Šú‚Ì•a‹C‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«‚Ìɸ‚³

‚±‚Ì‹LŽ–‚Í1990”N9ŒŽ‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiEƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

–ñ10”N‘OAŽ„‚Ìȃpƒ‹ƒ”ƒ@ƒ^ƒ“ƒ}‚͉^“®ƒjƒ…[ƒƒ“޾г‚Æf’f‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚͂܂ê‚ÈA¡‚̂Ƃ±‚ë•sŽ¡‚Ì•a‚Å‚·B ”Þ—‚͘rA‹rAŽñ‚̋ؓ÷‚ª™X‚ÉŠ‚¦A’Êí‚ÌŠˆ“®‚É‚à‰î•‚ª•K—v‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‘ÎǗÖ@AƒzƒƒIƒpƒV[AƒA[ƒ†ƒ‹ƒ”ƒF[ƒ_AŽ©‘R—Ö@‚̈ãŽt‚É‚æ‚鎡—Â͌‹‰Ê‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚Ì–³—Í‚³‚ª”Þ—‚ْ̋£‚ƃCƒ‰ƒCƒ‰‚ðˆø‚«‹N‚±‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚Í—JŸT‚ɂȂèA•p”ɂɋƒ‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

S‚ªˆø‚«—ô‚©‚ê‚邿‚¤‚Èo—ˆŽ–‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‰Æ‘°‘Sˆõ‚ª”Þ—‚É•s‰õŠ´‚ð—^‚¦‚È‚¢‚悤A‚Ü‚½”Þ—‚ª–³Ž‹‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邯д‚¶‚é‹@‰ï‚ªŒˆ‚µ‚ĂȂ¢‚悤‹C‚ð”z‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚͔ޗ‚ÌŒ³‹C‚ð•ۂ‚±‚ƂɑS—Í‚ðs‚­‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Å‚àA—Fl‚âeÊ‚ª”Þ—‚ðŒÄ‚Ô‚½‚тɔޗ‚Í‹ƒ‚«•ö‚ê‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

È‚ªƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÌŽw“±‚̉ºAJaipur‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ƒR[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÍA•a‹C‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚©‚ç–ñ4”N‚ªŒo‚Á‚½’iŠK‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚͉“ú‚͂ƂĂà‘å•Ï‚¾‚Á‚½‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAˆ¤‚É–ž‚¿‚½áÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚ªŽü‚è‚É‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅAΊç‚Å‚»‚Ì‹ê“ï‚ɑς¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B 4“ú–ÚAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ì“úA”Þ—‚Íl‚ª•Ï‚í‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚͑̑S‘̂ɔ÷–­‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª—¬‚ê‚é‚Ì‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÍŠì‚тŊç‚ð‹P‚©‚¹Ag‘Ì“I‚É‚à—Í‚ª“ü‚Á‚Ä‚«‚½‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÌÃC‚ÍÅ‚à—L‰v‚È 10 “úŠÔ‚Ì‘ØÝ‚Å‚ ‚Á‚½‚±‚Æ‚ª”»–¾‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚»‚̌㔂©ŒŽŠÔA”Þ—‚͑̒²‚ªˆ«‰»‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸A’èŠú“I‚ÉáÒ‘z‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Žc”O‚È‚ª‚çAŽ„‚ÍŽdŽ–‚Ì“s‡‚ÅAjmer‚És‚©‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªAJaipur‚ɖ߂邯‚«‚Í‚¢‚‚à”Þ—‚ƈê‚ÉáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̉r¥‚̃e[ƒv‚â’nŒ³‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚Ì–K–₪”Þ—‚ɃCƒ“ƒXƒsƒŒ[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ð—^‚¦AŽx‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚½‚Á‚½ˆê“x‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ƒR[ƒX‚ÌŒãA”Þ—‚Ì«Ž¿‚͑傫‚­•Ï‚í‚èŽn‚߂܂µ‚½B Šì‚Ñ‚ª”Þ—‚©‚ç”­‚¹‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ðˆÔ‚߂ɗˆ‚½lX‚͈À‚ç‚©‚É‹A‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ì•a‹C‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄŒˆ‚µ‚Ä•s•½‚ðŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚µAŽ©•ª‚̔ߎS‚Èó‘Ԃɂ‚¢‚ÄŒã‰÷‚ð•\–¾‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

”Þ—‚Í–K–âŽÒ‚Æ‚»‚̉Ƒ°‚ÌŒ’N‚ɂ‚¢‚Ĉ¤î‚ÆŽv‚¢‚â‚è‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä•p”ɂɎ¿–₵A”Þ‚ç‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ÆŠì‚Ñ‚ð‹F‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

•a‹C‚Í‹}‘¬‚Éis‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚Í‹}‘¬‚ɋؗ͂ª’ቺ‚µAƒuƒhƒE“œ‚Ì“_“H‚ÆŽ_‘f“Š—^‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‹É“x‚̒ɂ݂ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA”Þ—‚͈ˑR‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŽ©•ª‚Ì”\—Í‚ðŠ®‘S‚ɧŒä‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚ÌŽñ‚©‚牺‚̑̂ÍAœ‚Æk‚ñ‚¾‹Ø“÷‚ªˆ£‚ê‚ÉŽRς݂ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAƒpƒ‹ƒ”ƒ@ƒTƒ“ƒ}‚ÌŠç‚Ͱ‚ê‚â‚©‚ÈΊç‚Å‹P‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚Ĕޗ‚ÍáÒ‘z‚𑱂¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

–S‚­‚È‚é2“ú‘O‚ÉA‰Æ‘°‚ɑ΂µAŠÅ•a’†‚ɔޗ‚ª‚µ‚½‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñŒµ‚µ‚¢Œ¾—t‚ð‹–‚µ‚Ăقµ‚¢‚Æ”M—ó‚ÉŠè‚¢A‚±‚ê‚Ù‚Çe؂Ŋ°—e‚ȉƑ°‚ÉŒb‚܂ꂽ‚±‚Æ‚ðK‰^‚ÉŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚邯Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚±‚Ì•a‹C‚Í‚·‚Å‚ÉS‘Ÿ‚Æ”x‚̋ؓ÷‚ɂ܂ÅL‚ª‚Á‚Ä‚¨‚èAÀ‚Á‚½ó‘Ô‚©‚ç‘̂𓮂©‚·‚ÆŠP‚«ž‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚Ü‚¤‚½‚ßA–°‚邱‚Æ‚à‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ŽŸ‚Ì–éA”Þ—‚ÍŽÔˆÖŽq‚Ì’†‚Å”äŠr“IˆÀ‚ç‚©‚É–°‚è‚È‚ª‚ç‰ß‚²‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚Í–Ú‚ðŠo‚Ü‚·‚½‚Ñ‚ÉA—ׂÉÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚él‚½‚¿‚É‹x‚ނ悤‚É—Š‚ÝA‰Æ‘°‚Ì‘¼‚Ìl‚ªQ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚ðq‚˂܂µ‚½B

 

Œß‘O7Žž15•ªA”Þ—‚Í‹“û‚ðˆù‚݂܂µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ÌŒãA‚¢‚Â‚à‹°‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½ŠP‚Ì”­ì‚ª‹N‚±‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‘§‹ê‚µ‚³‚ðŠ´‚¶‚½”Þ—‚ÍA15 •ªˆÈ“à‚É“ž’…‚·‚éˆãŽt‚ðŒÄ‚ñ‚Å‚­‚ê‚邿‚¤‚ÉŽ„‚É—Š‚Ý‚Ü‚µ‚½B ˆãŽt‚ªŒºŠÖŒû‚É“ž’…‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«A”Þ—‚Í­‚µŠP‚«ž‚݂Ȃª‚ç‘§‚ðˆø‚«Žæ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B 1985”N1ŒŽ15“ú‚Ì’©A”Þ—‚ÍŽüˆÍ‚ÌlX‚ÉŽœ”߂̂܂Ȃ´‚µ‚ð—^‚¦‚È‚ª‚çA–¾ð‚ȃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ňÀ‚ç‚©‚É‘§‚ðˆø‚«Žæ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Ž„‚½‚¿‚̓SƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚©‚çAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌCs‚ÍŽ€‚Ö‚Ì€”õ‚Å‚à‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ðŠw‚т܂µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‰Æ‘°‚ÌŒoŒ±‚ª‚±‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ÌØ‹’‚Å‚·B Ȃ͂Ђǂ¢‹ê‚µ‚݂̒†‚Å‚àɸ‚ð•Û‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅA‚¸‚Á‚ÆŽ©•ª‚Ì”\—Í‚ðƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚Å‚«‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ—‚Í’N‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚à‘å‚«‚ȃCƒ“ƒXƒsƒŒ[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚Å‚ ‚èA‚Ü‚í‚è‚ÌáÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚̓_ƒ“ƒ}‚ð‚æ‚è^Œ•‚É“K—p‚·‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

’fŒÅ‚Æ‚µ‚½“w—͂ƒèŠú“I‚ÈŽÀ‘H‚Ì‚¨‚©‚°‚ÅAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚±‚̈¤‚·‚é‘¶Ý‚ðŽ¸‚Á‚½ƒVƒ‡ƒbƒN‚ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í’èŠú“I‚ɔޗ‚É‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚©‚ç‚̉ð•ú‚ðŠè‚¤ƒƒbƒ^[‚ð‘—‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

Mr. S. Adaviappa

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Flood of Tears

Incalculable is the beginning, brethren, of this faring on. The earliest point is not revealed of the running on, faring on, of beings cloaked in ignorance, tied to craving.

 

As to that, what think ye, brethren? Which is greater: the flood of tears shed by you crying and weeping as ye fare on, run on this long while, united as ye have been with the undesirable, sundered as ye have been from the desirable—or the waters in the four seas?

 

As we allow, lord, that we have been taught by the Exalted One, it is this that is greater: the flood of tears shed by us crying and weeping as we fare on, run on this long while, united as we have been with the undesirable, separated as we have been from the desirable—not the waters in the four seas.

 

Well said! Well said, brethren! Well do ye allow that so has the doctrine been taught by me. Truly the flood of tears is greaterc

 

For many a long day, brethren, have ye experienced the death of mother, of son, of daughter, have ye experienced the ruin of kinsfolk, of wealth, the calamity of disease. Greater is the flood of tears shed by you crying and weeping over one and all of these, as ye fare on, run on this many a long day, united with the undesirable, sundered from the desirable, than are the waters in the four seas.

 

Why is that? Incalculable is the beginning, brethren, of this faring on. The earliest point is not revealed of the running on, the faring on of beings cloaked in ignorance, tied to craving. Thus far is enough, brethren, for you to be repelled by all the things of this world, enough to lose all passion for them, enough to be delivered therefrom.

 

Assu Sutta, Sayutta Nikāya 2.126, C.A.F. Rhys Davids, translator

 

 

 

—Ü‚Ì^…

ŒZ’í‚æA‚±‚Ì—·‚ÌŽn‚Ü‚è‚ÍŒv‚è’m‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB•¢‚¢‰B‚³‚ꂽ–³’m‚ÉŽú‚í‚êAЉ–]‚É”›‚ç‚ꂽ¶–½‘Ì‚ª—·‚𑱂¯‚éʼn‚Ì“_‚Í–¾‚ç‚©‚É‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

‚»‚ê‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄAŒZ’í‚æA‚Ç‚¤Žv‚¢‚Ü‚·‚©H ‚ ‚È‚½‚ª—·‚𑱂¯‚邯‚«‚É—¬‚µ‚½—Ü‚Ì^…A–]‚Ü‚µ‚­‚È‚¢‚à‚̂ƌ‹‚т‚«A–]‚Ü‚µ‚¢‚à‚Ì‚©‚çˆø‚«—ô‚©‚ê‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚Ì’·‚¢ŠÔ—·‚𑱂¯‚Ä‚«‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚Æ”ä‚ׂĉ½‚ª‘å‚«‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚̂łµ‚傤‚©HŽl‚‚̊C…‚æ‚è‚à‘å‚«‚¢‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H

 

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª‘¸’‚·‚é‘ì‰zŽÒ‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä‹³‚¦‚ç‚ꂽ’Ê‚èA‚±‚ꂪ‘å‚«‚¢‚ÆŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª‹–‰Â‚·‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÍA‹ƒ‚«‹©‚ÑA‚±‚ê‚܂łɖ]‚Ü‚µ‚­‚È‚¢‚à‚̂ƌ‹‚т‚«A–]‚Ü‚µ‚¢‚à‚Ì‚©‚çˆø‚«—ô‚©‚ê‚È‚ª‚çA‚±‚Ì’·‚¢ŠÔ—·‚𑱂¯‚Ä‚«‚½‚Æ‚«‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª—¬‚µ‚½—Ü‚Ì^…‚Å‚·B Žl‚‚̊C…‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

‚æ‚­Œ¾‚í‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½I‚æ‚­Œ¾‚í‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½AŒZ’í‚æI –{“–‚É‚ ‚È‚½‚ª‚½‚̈ӌ©‚ÍŽ„‚ª“`‚¦‚Ä‚«‚½‚Æ‚¨‚è‚Å‚·B‚Ü‚³‚É—Ü‚Ì^…‚͑傫‚¢...B

 

’·‚¢ŠÔAŒZ’í‚æA‚ ‚È‚½‚ª‚½‚Í•êeA‘§ŽqA–º‚ÌŽ€‚ðŒoŒ±‚µAeÊ‚â•x‚Ì”j–ÅA•a‹C‚ÌГï‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚̂悤‚È‚±‚Ƃɂ‚¢‚ÄA‚±‚Ì’·‚¢“úXA‚ ‚È‚½‚ª‚½‚ª‹ƒ‚«‹©‚ÑA—܂𗬂·^…‚ÍAŽl‚‚̊C‚Ì…‚æ‚è‚à‘å‚«‚¢‚̂ł·B‚È‚º‚È‚çA‚±‚Ì—·‚ÌŽn‚Ü‚è‚ÍŒv‚è’m‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB•¢‚¢‰B‚³‚ꂽ–³’m‚ÉŽú‚í‚êAЉ–]‚É”›‚ç‚ꂽ¶–½‘Ì‚ª—·‚𑱂¯‚éʼn‚Ì“_‚Í–¾‚ç‚©‚É‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

‚»‚ê‚ÅŒZ’킽‚¿‚æA‚±‚ê‚Å\•ª‚Å‚·B‚±‚ê‚Å‚±‚Ì¢ŠE‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̂à‚̂ɑ΂µ‚ÄŒ™‹C‚ª·‚·‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«A‚»‚ê‚ç‚ɑ΂·‚éî”M‚ð‚·‚×‚ÄŽ¸‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«A‚»‚±‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚邱‚Ƃłµ‚傤B

 

Assu SuttaASayutta Nikāya 2.126A@@@–|–ó@C.A.F. Rhys DavidsA

 

 

 

 

 

The Deaths of Our Children

It doesnft matter how old onefs children are, losing a child to death is incomprehensible suffering. So great is the grief that in many cases parents are no longer able to remain a source of strength for each other, and a marriage founders. Grief is a very deep and painful sakhāra, but our meditation can help us cope with its intensity. Through our daily practice, both our understanding of impermanence and our development of equanimity towards it become our refuge, a sheltered place where we can regain our balance and strength to carry on. Our practice has the potential to heal our emotions and balance our mind. On the path of equanimous acceptance, there is eventual deliverance from our suffering.

 

 

Žq‚Ç‚à‚½‚¿‚ÌŽ€

Žq‹Ÿ‚ª‚Ç‚ê‚Ù‚Ç”N‚ð‚Æ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚悤‚Æ‚àAŽq‹Ÿ‚ðŽ€‚ÉŽ¸‚¤‚±‚Ƃ͗‰ð‚Å‚«‚È‚¢‹ê‚µ‚݂ł·B‘½‚­‚Ìê‡Ae‚Í‚¨ŒÝ‚¢‚É‹­‚³‚ÌŒ¹‚Å‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚¸AŒ‹¥‚Í•ö‚ꋎ‚è‚Ü‚·B’Q‚«‚Í”ñí‚É[‚­‚Ä‹ê’ɂȃTƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚Å‚·‚ªAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌáÒ‘z‚Í‚»‚Ì‹­“x‚ɑΈ‚·‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·B“úX‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚É‚æ‚èA–³í‚Ì—‰ð‚Æ‚»‚ê‚ɑ΂·‚éɸ‚̈笂͎„‚½‚¿‚Ì”ð“ƂȂèAƒoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚Æ‹­‚³‚ðŽæ‚è–ß‚·ê‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ÍŠ´î‚ð–ü‚µAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ƀoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ð‚à‚½‚¹‚éöÝ”\—Í‚ð”é‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚·Bɸ‚ÈŽó—e‚Ì“¹‚É‚¨‚¢‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍÅI“I‚ɋꂵ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

 

 

 

An Invaluable Gift

After her son died unexpectedly, a mother wrote to Goenkaji expressing her gratitude for the extraordinary gift of Dhamma.

I would like to tell you about the miracle of this practice which came to help me during the most devastating event of my entire life. I am a widow and I had two children. One Sunday evening I received a call that my son had been killed in a car accident. He was 30 years old. He was my best friend. We had a perfect connection in Dhamma, in art, and on all the issues of life. My daughter was visiting me when that striking news came, and we were both paralyzed. At that moment the first thoughts were: gIt is over. It is a drastic anicca and there is nothing we can do.h The initial shock of the news made the mind react with tremendous pain. This immediately was manifesting in the body, and the adrenal glands released a poison and made me very weak on top of my chronic fatigue. The first day I cried several times, but I noticed that the crying lasted only a few seconds because, I guess, the mind automatically went to the sensations, in contrast to the past when I used to cry for many hours. But the second day, something amazing happened. Suddenly I felt a lot of peace, full acceptance of the event, and the mind did not feel like rolling in grief; it was like I had finished several days of ānāpāna. I did not understand what happened with me, as I had never experienced such a state of mind after stress. In fact, I used to be a highly emotional person and I was asking myself, gDid I become insensitive or indifferent?h In all these years of practice, I did not really notice a clear equanimity in the ups and downs of everyday life. But it seems to me that, through correct and persistent practice, in time the equanimity accumulated silently drop by drop in the subconscious. Suddenly, after the shock, all its content rose to the conscious level and filled it up. It is amazing! It has been two months since the event, and itfs still there. Of course, from time to time, a sudden memory comes striking like a knife into my solar plexus and into my chest. But because of the practice, the mind immediately remembers to go gbreath in, breath out, to the palms,h and in three or four breaths, I am out of pain for long periods of time. What an extraordinary tool we have! Some people seeing me in such a state of mind thought that I might be in denial or I might suppress the crying—perhaps to show what a Vipassana meditator I am—but I have analyzed myself and I did not find a trace of such thoughts. So, Goenkaji, I would like to know from you if this is a common phenomenon of such a state of mind, which happens with meditators at some point in their life. If it is so, my experience is a real proof that the technique of Vipassana works miracles. The proof is not for me, as I never had any doubt about it, but for those who have still some skepticism about it. My son kept excellent sīla for eight years. He also had a very deep understanding of Dhamma with no trace of doubt and was a very generous and equanimous person. I hope that all those qualities will give him the opportunity to become a human being again in this Buddha Sāsana so that he will be able to continue the purification of his mind. I feel so honored and so blessed in this life to have met you as my teacher, from whom I have learned so much. I wish you a long and healthy life. I give my deepest gratitude to Gotama the Buddha, the chain of teachers, and especially to you, Goenkaji, for giving me such an invaluable gift.

 

With all my mettā,

Gabriela Ionita

 

 

 

 

‹Md‚È‘¡‚蕨

‚ ‚é•êe‚Í‘§Žq‚ª“Ë‘R–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½ŒãAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚Ɏ莆‚ð‘‚«Aƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì”ñ–}‚È‘¡‚蕨‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚̈ӂð•\‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚±‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ÌŠïՂɂ‚¢‚Ä‚¨˜b‚µ‚µ‚½‚¢‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚Ìl¶‚ÅÅ‚à‰ó–Å“I‚Èo—ˆŽ–‚É•‚¯‚ç‚ꂽŽÀ‘H‚ÌŠïÕ‚Å‚·BŽ„‚Í–¢–Sl‚ÅAŽq‹Ÿ‚Í2l‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚ ‚é“ú—j‚Ì—[•ûAŽ„‚Í‘§Žq‚ªŒð’ÊŽ–ŒÌ‚Å–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤“d˜b‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B‘§Žq‚Í30΂łµ‚½B‘§Žq‚ÍŽ„‚Ìe—F‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚½‚¿‚̓_ƒ“ƒ}AŒ|pA‚»‚µ‚Äl¶‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̖â‘è‚ÅŠ®àø‚Ȃ‚Ȃª‚è‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ÌÕŒ‚“I‚ȃjƒ…[ƒX‚ª“Í‚¢‚½‚Æ‚«AŽ„‚Ì–º‚ªŽ„‚ð–K‚˂Ă¢‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í—¼•û‚Æ‚à–ƒáƒ‚µ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ÌuŠÔAʼn‚ÌŽv‚¢‚ÍAuI‚í‚肾B‚±‚ê‚ÍŒƒ‚µ‚¢anicca‚Å‚ ‚èAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ɂł«‚邱‚Ƃ͉½‚à‚È‚¢v‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚à‚̂łµ‚½B‚»‚̃jƒ…[ƒX‚Ìʼn‚̃Vƒ‡ƒbƒN‚ÅAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Í”ñí‚Ȓɂ݂Ŕ½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚Í‚·‚®‚ɑ̂Ɍ»‚êA•›t‚ª“Å‚ð•úo‚µ‚ÄŽ„‚ð–«”æ˜J‚Ìã‚É”ñí‚ÉŽã‚­‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Bʼn‚Ì“úAŽ„‚͉½“x‚©‹ƒ‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‹ƒ‚­‚±‚Ƃ͔•b‚µ‚©‘±‚©‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚±‚ƂɋC•t‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚¨‚»‚ç‚­Aƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ÍŽ©“®“I‚ÉŠ´Šo‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚½‚̂łµ‚傤B‰ß‹Ž‚É‚Í”ŽžŠÔ‹ƒ‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚½‚±‚Æ‚Æ‚Í‘ÎÆ“I‚Å‚·B

‚µ‚©‚µA2“ú–Ú‚ÉA‹Á‚­‚ׂ«‚±‚Æ‚ª‹N‚±‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B“Ë‘RA‘½‚­‚Ì•½˜a‚ðŠ´‚¶Ao—ˆŽ–‚ðŠ®‘S‚Ɏ󂯓ü‚êAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚͔ߒQ‚É“]‚ª‚è—Ž‚¿‚邿‚¤‚ÈŠ´‚¶‚Í‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚Ü‚é‚ÅŽ„‚ª”“úŠÔ‚̃A[ƒiƒpƒi‚ðI‚¦‚½‚©‚̂悤‚Å‚µ‚½BŽ„‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ª‰½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚Ì‚©—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BƒXƒgƒŒƒXŒã‚É‚±‚̂悤‚ȸ_ó‘Ô‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚½‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BŽÀÛAŽ„‚͈ȑO‚Í”ñí‚ÉŠ´î“I‚ÈlŠÔ‚ÅAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ÉuŽ„‚͓݊´‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚Ì‚©H–³ŠÖS‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚Ì‚©Hv‚Æq‚˂Ă¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Ì””NŠÔAŽ„‚Í–ˆ“ú‚Ì¶Šˆ‚Ì”g—‚É‚¨‚¢‚Ă͂Á‚«‚è‚Æ‚µ‚½Ã‰¸‚ðŠ´‚¶‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚̂ł·B‚µ‚©‚µA³‚µ‚¢‚»‚µ‚Ä”S‚è‹­‚¢ŽÀ‘H‚ð’Ê‚¶‚ÄA™X‚É–³ˆÓޝ‚Éɸ‚ªÃ‚©‚ÉÏ‚Ýd‚È‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Á‚½‚悤‚Å‚·BƒVƒ‡ƒbƒN‚ÌŒãA‚»‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̓à—e‚ªˆÓޝ‚̃Œƒxƒ‹‚ɓˑRオ‚èA‚»‚ê‚ð–ž‚½‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½BM‚¶‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·Io—ˆŽ–‚©‚ç2‚©ŒŽ‚ªŒo‚¿‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚»‚ê‚͂܂¾‚»‚±‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñAŽžÜA‹}‚ÈŽv‚¢o‚ª‘¾—z_Œo‘p‚Æ‹¹‚ɃiƒCƒt‚̂悤‚ɓ˂«Žh‚³‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚µ‚©‚µAŽÀ‘H‚Ì‚¨‚©‚°‚ÅAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Í‚·‚®‚Éu‘§‚ð‹z‚Á‚ÄA‘§‚ð“f‚¢‚ÄAŽè‚̂Ђç‚Év‚Æs‚­‚±‚Æ‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µA3A4‰ñ‚̌ċz‚Å’·‚¢ŽžŠÔ‚̊Ԓɂ݂©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚ɂ͉½‚Æ‘f°‚炵‚¢ƒc[ƒ‹‚ª‚ ‚é‚̂łµ‚傤I@

Ž„‚̸_ó‘Ô‚ðŒ©‚½ˆê•”‚ÌlX‚ÍAŽ„‚ª‹‘₳‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©A‹ƒ‚«‚ð—}‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚¾‚낤‚Æl‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚¨‚»‚ç‚­AVipassanaáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Å‚ ‚鎄‚ðŒ©‚¹‚邽‚ß‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð•ªÍ‚µA‚»‚̂悤‚Èl‚¦‚Ì­Õ‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚Å‚·‚©‚çAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒWAŽ„‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚Éq‚Ë‚½‚¢‚̂ł·‚ªA‚±‚ê‚ÍáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ªl¶‚Ì‚ ‚鎞“_‚Å‹N‚±‚é¸_ó‘Ԃ̈ê”Ê“I‚ÈŒ»Û‚Ȃ̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚à‚µ‚»‚¤‚È‚çAŽ„‚ÌŒoŒ±‚ÍAVipassana‚Ì‹Z–@‚ªŠïÕ‚ð‹N‚±‚·‚±‚Æ‚ÌØ‹’‚Å‚·B‚»‚ÌØ‹’‚ÍŽ„‚ɂ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽ„‚Í‚»‚ê‚ɂ‚¢‚Ĉê“x‚à‹^”O‚ð•ø‚¢‚½‚±‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚ɑ΂µ‚Ă܂¾‚¢‚­‚ç‚©‚̉ù‹^S‚ð•ø‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚él‚½‚¿‚Ì‚½‚߂̂à‚̂ł·B

Ž„‚Ì‘§Žq‚Í—D‚ꂽƒV[ƒ‰‚ð8”NŠÔŽç‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ͂܂½ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ð”ñí‚É[‚¢—‰ð‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¨‚èA‹^”O‚Ì­Õ‚ª‚È‚­A”ñí‚ÉŠ°—e‚Åɸ‚Èl•¨‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̎‘Ž¿‚ª‚±‚ÌBuddha Sāsanaiƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì“NŠw‚ÆŽÀ‘Hj‚ÅÄ‚ÑlŠÔ‚ɂȂé‹@‰ï‚ð—^‚¦Aƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ìò‰»‚𑱂¯‚ç‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽ„‚ÍŠè‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚Í‚±‚Ìl¶‚Åæ¶‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚ ‚È‚½‚Æo‰ï‚Á‚ÄŒõ‰h‚É‚»‚µ‚Äj•Ÿ‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邯Žv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚ ‚È‚½‚©‚瑽‚­‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ðŠw‚т܂µ‚½B‚ ‚È‚½‚ɂ͒·Žõ‚ÅŒ’N‚Èl¶‚ð‚¨‹F‚肵‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‰ä‚ª[‚¢Š´ŽÓ‚ðƒS[ƒ^ƒ}Eƒuƒbƒ_A‹³Žt‚½‚¿‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ÌŒp³A‚»‚µ‚Ä“Á‚É‚ ‚È‚½AƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚É•ù‚°‚Ü‚·B

 

With all my mettā,@Žœ”ß‚ð‚±‚ß‚ÄA

Gabriela Ionita

 

 

 

 

 

Undying Gratitude

In 1989, when John Wolford was 18, his father Carl gave him the gift of Dhamma. What he learned and practiced enriched his life from then on. In 2005, in his mid-thirties, he was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, and surgery soon followed. From the moment he first learned of his illness until November 2007, he purposefully dedicated his life to an increased engagement with Dhamma and to sharing it with a greater sense of gratitude, even finding gratitude for his illness.

 

The cancer eventually spread to his spine, ultimately causing his death. However, this allowed him to die consciously rather than in a coma, as is more usual with brain tumor patients. Initially, John did not experience significant mental or physical problems. The headaches and other symptoms, which are so common among people with brain tumors, set in only at the very end. He remained, for the most part, strong and energetic, and was therefore able to respond fully to his newfound sense of spiritual urgency.

 

Fortunately, he was able to give up his job and devote himself full-time to sitting and serving Vipassana courses, including the 10-day Burmese-English course he served with his wife Dhalie at Dhamma Toraa, Ontario, only three months before he died. He worked in the kitchen, but had to absent himself regularly because the oral chemotherapy he took each morning made him nauseous. Still, during this course, he managed to compile the stories and audio files that he had collected while traveling in Burma so he could create DVDs of this Dhamma material for the Burmese students on the course. He hardly rested until the lights went out at 10 pm each night. By this and countless other gestures, his thoughtfulness, generosity, and gratitude infused and inspired all who knew him.

 

 

Following are letters from John and his mother.

Dear Goenkaji,

Itfs difficult for me to tell you my gstoryh as there are so many aspects to it, and hard also to know how to express adequately the magnitude of my gratitude to you.

Many years ago my father brought me to my first Vipassana course, conducted by Arthur Nichols. I knew then that this was the most important thing in my life, but it has always been a struggle in various ways. This changed in February 2005 when I was unexpectedly diagnosed with a large, malignant brain tumor. @

Actually, my whole life has changed since then.

Based on that first diagnosis, the doctors thought for some time that I would be dead in nine to 12 months. This was a shock, of course, but it also shook me in some very positive ways—in fact, Vipassana just gtook overh and calmed me then and there. I was instantly grateful that I was dying of a brain tumor, which would give me some time to process things, rather than finding myself in front of an oncoming car and having mere moments before it ran me over. During the next few months, the doctors lengthened their prognosis from nine to 12 months to decades, and then shortened it again to seven to 10 years. I remained all the while grateful that I had time left to use the Dhamma as best I could. And I was grateful too that I had this invaluable tool given to me so long ago.

I was grateful for and to my wife, Dhalie, also a meditator. I initially thought what I was going through was mine alone, as it was I who had the tumor. But it quickly became clear that Dhalie was with me the whole way. We both became so quiet inside, so calm, and realized immediately what a huge advantage this was. We were grateful for the opportunity it presented to support the Dhamma in us, to develop the Dhamma in us, and to use the Dhamma in us. It helped us tremendously and continues to help us help ourselves and help each other.

I was also grateful that my mother, who had always been interested but gnever had timeh to take a course, was now interested in doing so. As one can imagine, the news of this tumor came harder for her than anyone else, and she was desperately looking for a way out of her misery. Fortunately, she made a wonderful decision, and within weeks of my first operation, my mother was sitting her first course with Dhalie and me, and with my father serving. Up till then, I was content that my wife, father, and brother had all sat and served courses, and I knew that however things turned out, they would be OK at the end—but I couldnft say that for my mother. Now I was happy that she was taking a course, taking the seed of Dhamma, and that I could contribute in some way.

She has subsequently attended two more 10-day courses and a Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta course, and I have been fortunate to serve on all of them. She has maintained her daily practice easily and now reads hardly anything but Dhamma books. We converse about Dhamma all the time—she soaks it up like a sponge, never protesting, gIfm saturated; I canft take any more.h And I get to be a part of that.

Ifm grateful that my health insurance company agreed to support me financially, and I have therefore been able to stop working. My time now is completely freed up to spend with family, friends, and the Dhamma. Dhalie, my mother, and I sit together regularly.

To you, Goenkaji, my Dhamma father, I have a huge debt and am exceedingly grateful that I can continue repaying it by serving the Dhamma on your behalf in different ways. I am planting as many good seeds as I am able, serving to help you spread the Dhamma as far and wide as possible. I am, as best I can, doing your service justice by developing Dhamma in me. I try to keep sīla scrupulously, giving it now the utmost attention. Samādhi and paññā are so precious, so valuable, and help me understand and strengthen my sīla. I have developed a much greater appreciation for your explanation of how gall the legs of the tripod support each other.h

All of this can only be done with time, and again I am so grateful for whatever I have left. The cancer has been in remission, but recently we found that the tumor may have started growing again—we need to check this soon. This disease will probably shorten my life but, who knows, maybe the tumor wonft grow again, and Ifll die of something else instead.

Whatever the case may be, I am here now, I have sensations now. I shall do my best to help myself, which, Ifm so grateful to say, automatically means helping others as well. Thank you, Goenkaji, for all your Dhamma teaching. Because of it, my father, mother, brother, wife, friends, and unknown thousands of people in the world are able to help themselves, which means they, in turn, will help countless others.

With so many thanks,

and with mettā,

John

 

 

 

s‚«‚邱‚Ƃ̂Ȃ¢Š´ŽÓ‚Ì‹CŽ‚¿

1989”NAƒWƒ‡ƒ“EƒEƒHƒ‹ƒtƒH[ƒh‚ª18΂̎žA•ƒe‚̃J[ƒ‹‚͔ނɃ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì‘¡‚蕨‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ªŠw‚ÑŽÀ‘H‚µ‚½‚±‚Æ‚ÍA‚»‚êˆÈ~”Þ‚Ìl¶‚ð–L‚©‚É‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B2005”NA30‘㔼‚΂ɂȂÁ‚½”ނ͈««‚Ì”]ŽîᇂÆf’f‚³‚êA‚·‚®‚ÉŽèp‚ªs‚í‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ª‰‚߂ĕa‹C‚ð’m‚Á‚½uŠÔ‚©‚ç2007”N11ŒŽ‚Ü‚ÅA”Þ‚ÍϋɓI‚ÉŽ©•ª‚Ìl¶‚ðƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Æ‚Ì[‚¢‚©‚©‚í‚è‚ÆŠ´ŽÓ‚Ì”O‚ð‚à‚Á‚Ä•ù‚°A•a‹C‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä‚³‚¦Š´ŽÓ‚Ì‹CŽ‚¿‚ðŒ©o‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚ª‚ñ‚ÍÅI“I‚ÉҒłɓ]ˆÚ‚µAÅI“I‚ÉŽ€–S‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚ê‚É‚æ‚è”]Žîᇊ³ŽÒ‚Æ‚µ‚Ă͂æ‚èˆê”Ê“I‚Ȩ‡ó‘Ԃł͂Ȃ­AˆÓޝ‚ðŽ‚Á‚ÄŽ€–S‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B “–‰AƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚É‚Íd‘å‚ȃƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚Ü‚½‚Íg‘Ì“I–â‘è‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”]Žîá‡‚ðŠ³‚¤l‚ɂ悭Œ©‚ç‚ê‚铪’ɂ₻‚Ì‘¼‚ÌÇó‚ÍAÅŒã‚̂قñ‚̂킸‚©‚ÈuŠÔ‚ɂ̂݌»‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ͂قƂñ‚Ç‚Ìê‡A‹­‚­‚ĸ—Í“I‚Èó‘Ô‚ð•Û‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅAV‚½‚ÉŠ´‚¶‚½—ì“I‚ÈØ”—Š´‚É\•ª‚ɉž‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

K‚¢‚È‚±‚Æ‚ÉA”Þ‚ÍŽdŽ–‚ðŽ«‚ßAȂ̃_ƒŠ[‚Æ‹¤‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ}Eƒgƒ‰ƒiAƒIƒ“ƒ^ƒŠƒI‚Å–S‚­‚È‚é3‚©ŒŽ‘O‚É•òŽd‚·‚é‚È‚ÇA‘SŽžŠÔ‚ð¿‘T‚â10“úŠÔ‚̃rƒ‹ƒ}ŒêE‰pŒêƒR[ƒX‚É•ù‚°‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ̓Lƒbƒ`ƒ“‚Å“­‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA–ˆ’©•ž—p‚·‚éŒoŒû‰»Šw—Ö@‚ª”Þ‚ð“f‚«‹C‚𳂹‚½‚½‚ßA’èŠú“I‚ÉŒ‡‹Î‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚Å‚àA‚±‚ÌuÀ’†‚ÉA”Þ‚ªƒrƒ‹ƒ}‚ð—·s’†‚ÉŽûW‚µ‚½•¨Œê‚≹ºƒtƒ@ƒCƒ‹‚ð•ÒW‚µAuÀ‚̃rƒ‹ƒ}l¶“k‚Ì‚½‚߂ɂ±‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÌŽ‘—¿‚ÌDVD‚ð쬂·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚Í–ˆ”ӌߌã10Žž‚ÉÁ“”‚·‚é‚܂łقƂñ‚Ç‹x‚݂܂¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚±‚Ì‚±‚Ƃ⑼‚Ì”‚¦Ø‚ê‚È‚¢‚قǂ̂µ‚®‚³‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄA”Þ‚ÌŽv—¶[‚³Aа‘傳A‚»‚µ‚ÄŠ´ŽÓ‚Ì‹CŽ‚¿‚ª”Þ‚ð’m‚é‚·‚ׂĂÌl‚É’“ü‚³‚êAƒCƒ“ƒXƒsƒŒ[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

 

ˆÈ‰º‚ÍAƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚Ɣނ̕ꂩ‚ç‚̎莆‚Å‚·B

Dear ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÖA

Ž„‚Ìu•¨Œêv‚ð‚¨˜b‚µ‚·‚é‚͓̂‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B‚»‚ê‚Í‘½‚­‚Ì‘¤–Ê‚ª‚ ‚èA‚Ü‚½A‚ ‚È‚½‚ɑ΂·‚鎄‚ÌŠ´ŽÓ‚̑傫‚³‚ð“K؂ɕ\Œ»‚·‚é‚͓̂‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B

 

•ƒ‚ªŽ„‚ð‰‚ß‚ÄArthur Nichols‚É‚æ‚Á‚Äs‚í‚ꂽʼn‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiuÀ‚ɘA‚ê‚Äs‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚͉̂½”N‚à‘O‚Ì‚±‚Ƃłµ‚½B‚»‚ÌŽžA‚±‚ê‚ªŽ„‚Ìl¶‚ÅÅ‚àd—v‚È‚±‚Æ‚¾‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Í—lX‚Ȗʂł̋ꓬ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚Í2005”N2ŒŽ‚ɑ傫‚Ȉ««‚Ì”]ŽîᇂÆf’f‚³‚êAŽÀÛ‚ÉŽ„‚Ìl¶‚ª•Ï‚í‚Á‚½Žž‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

ʼn‚Ìf’f‚ÉŠî‚¢‚ÄAˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ„‚ª912‚©ŒŽ‚ÅŽ€‚Ê‚¾‚낤‚Æ‚µ‚΂炭‚ÌŠÔl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñA‚±‚ê‚̓Vƒ‡ƒbƒN‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ê‚͂܂½”ñí‚Ƀ|ƒWƒeƒBƒu‚È•û–@‚ÅŽ„‚ð—h‚³‚Ô‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽÀÛAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚Íuˆø‚«Œp‚®v‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«AŽ„‚ð‚»‚Ìê‚Å—Ž‚¿’…‚©‚¹‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚ÍuŽž‚ÉAŽ©•ª‚ª”]ŽîᇂŎ€‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚Ă邱‚ƂɊ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚Í•¨Ž–‚ðˆ—‚·‚鎞ŠÔ‚ª“¾‚ç‚ê‚é‚Ì‚ÅA”—‚éŽÔ‚Ì‘O‚É—§‚Á‚ÄAŽ„‚ð瀂­uŠÔ‚µ‚©‚È‚¢‚±‚ƂɋC•t‚­‚æ‚è‚à—Ç‚¢‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚»‚ÌŒã‚Ì”ƒ–ŒŽAˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚Íʼn‚Í912‚©ŒŽAŽŸ‚É”\”NA‚»‚µ‚ÄÄ‚Ñ710”N‚Æ—]–½‚Ì—\‘ª‚ðŒJ‚è•Ô‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚Í‚¸‚Á‚ÆŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚ªÅ‘P‚Ì•û–@‚Ń_ƒ“ƒ}‚ðŽg—p‚·‚鎞ŠÔ‚ªŽc‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ÆA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ„‚ª‚±‚Ì‹Md‚ȃc[ƒ‹‚ð‚¸‚Á‚Æ‘O‚É—^‚¦‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɊ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Ž„‚͂܂½AȂł ‚èáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Å‚à‚ ‚éƒ_ƒŠ[‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bʼn‚ÍŽ„‚ªŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ªŽ„‚¾‚¯‚Ì‚à‚Ì‚¾‚ÆŽv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚È‚º‚È‚çA”]ŽîᇂðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚͎̂„‚¾‚¯‚¾‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B‚µ‚©‚µAƒ_ƒŠ[‚ª‚¸‚Á‚Æ‚»‚΂ɂ¢‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚·‚®‚É–¾‚ç‚©‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í“à‘¤‚łƂà‚É”ñí‚É©‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä—Ž‚¿’…‚«A‚±‚ꂪ”ñí‚ɑ傫‚È—˜“_‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð‚·‚®‚É—‰ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‹@‰ï‚Å‚ ‚邯дŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿Ž©g‚ðƒTƒ|[ƒg‚µAŽ„‚½‚¿Ž©g‚ðˆç‚ÝAŽ„‚½‚¿Ž©g‚Ń_ƒ“ƒ}‚ðŽg‚¤‹@‰ï‚ð’ñ‹Ÿ‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ð”ñí‚É•‚¯A¡‚Å‚àŽ„‚½‚¿Ž©g‚Æ‚¨ŒÝ‚¢‚𕂯‘±‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

í‚É‹»–¡‚ª‚ ‚è‚È‚ª‚ç‚àu‚¢‚Â‚àŽžŠÔ‚ª‚È‚¢v‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½•ê‚àA‚±‚ÌŽîᇂ̃jƒ…[ƒX‚Í’N‚æ‚è‚à”Þ—‚ɂƂÁ‚ÄŒµ‚µ‚¢‚à‚̂ł ‚èA”Þ—‚Íâ–]“I‚ɋꂵ‚Ý‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·•û–@‚ð’T‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BK‰^‚È‚±‚Æ‚ÉA”Þ—‚Í‘f°‚炵‚¢Œˆ’f‚ð‰º‚µAʼn‚ÌŽèp‚Ì”TŠÔŒã‚ÉA•ƒe‚ªƒT[ƒo[‚Æ‚µ‚ÄAƒ_ƒŠ[‚ÆŽ„‚ªˆê‚ÉÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½ƒR[ƒX‚ɉ‚߂ĎQ‰Á‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚»‚ê‚܂Ŏ„‚ÍÈA•ƒAŒZ‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂªƒR[ƒX‚ÅÀ‚èA•òŽd‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚±‚Ƃɖž‘«‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚ǂ̂悤‚ÉŽ–‘Ô‚ªi“W‚µ‚悤‚Æ‚àAÅŒã‚ɂ͔ނ炪‘åä•v‚Å‚ ‚邾‚낤‚Æ’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µAŽ„‚Ì•ê‚ɑ΂µ‚Ă͂»‚ꂪŒ¾‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B¡A”Þ—‚ªƒR[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚µAƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÌŽí‚𓾂éK‚¹‚ª‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠð‚µ‚­Žv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚ÄAŽ„‚ª‚È‚ñ‚ç‚©‚Ì•û–@‚ÅvŒ£‚Å‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ªK‚¹‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

”Þ—‚Í‚»‚ÌŒãA2‚‚Ì10“úŠÔ‚̃R[ƒX‚ƃTƒeƒBƒpƒbƒ^[ƒiEƒXƒbƒ^‚̃R[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µAŽ„‚Í‚»‚ê‚ç‚·‚ׂĂɕòŽd‚·‚éK‰^‚ÉŒb‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ—‚Í“úX‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ðŠyX‚Æ‘±‚¯‚Ä‚¨‚èA¡‚ł̓_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì–{ˆÈŠO‚͂قƂñ‚Ǔǂñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚¢‚‚àƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚µ‡‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B”Þ—‚Í‚»‚ê‚ðƒXƒ|ƒ“ƒW‚̂悤‚É‹zŽû‚µAŒˆ‚µ‚Ä‹‘₵‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½BuŽ„‚Í‚±‚êˆÈã‚È‚¢‚®‚ç‚¢‚É–ž‚½‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é‚ÌBv ‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ„‚à‚»‚̈êˆõ‚ɂȂê‚é‚̂łµ‚½B

 

Œ’N•ÛŒ¯‰ïŽÐ‚ªŒoÏ“IŽx‰‡‚É“¯ˆÓ‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚Ì‚ÅAŽdŽ–‚ð‚â‚߂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚½‚±‚ƂɊ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚Í¡A‰Æ‘°A—FlA‚»‚µ‚ă_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ɖ߂²‚·‚½‚߂Ɋ®‘S‚ɉð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒ_ƒŠ[A•êA‚ÆŽ„‚Í’èŠú“I‚Ɉê‚ÉÀ‚í‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì•ƒ‚Å‚ ‚éƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚æAŽ„‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚É‘½‘å‚ȉ¶‹`‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚³‚Ü‚´‚܂ȕû–@‚Å‚ ‚È‚½‚É‘ã‚í‚Á‚ă_ƒ“ƒ}‚É•òŽd‚·‚邱‚ƂŕÔÏ‚µ‘±‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邱‚Ƃɔñí‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚͂ł«‚éŒÀ‚葽‚­‚Ì—Ç‚¢Ží‚ðŽª‚«A‚ ‚È‚½‚ªƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ð‚Å‚«‚邾‚¯‰“‚­L‚ß‚é‚Ì‚ðŽè•‚¯‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

Ž„‚Ì’†‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ð‚Å‚«‚éŒÀ‚èˆç‚Þ‚±‚Æ‚ÅA•òŽd‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BI am doing your service justice

Ž„‚Ísīlai‰ú—¥j‚ð×S‚Ì’ˆÓ‚𕥂Á‚ĕێ‚·‚邿‚¤“w‚߂è‚èA¡‚ÍÅ‘åŒÀ‚Ì’ˆÓ‚𕥂Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BSamādhiiƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃Rƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹j ‚Æpaññāi’qŒdj‚͂ƂĂà‹Md‚ʼn¿’l‚ª‚ ‚èAsīla‚ð—‰ð‚µ‹­‰»‚·‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·B

uŽO‹r‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̋r‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚Ɍ݂¢‚ÉŽx‚¦‡‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©v‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚ ‚È‚½‚Ìà–¾‚ÉAŽ„‚Í‚³‚ç‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚·‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚±‚ê‚ç‚·‚ׂĂ͎žŠÔ‚ªŒo‚Ä‚Î‰ðŒˆ‚Å‚«‚é‚à‚̂ł ‚èA‚à‚¤ˆê“xAŽ„‚ªŽc‚µ‚½‚à‚Ì‚É‚Æ‚Ä‚àŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚ª‚ñ‚ÍŠ°‰ðŒXŒü‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªAÅ‹ßAŽîᇂªÄ‚Ѭ’·‚µŽn‚߂Ă¢‚é‰Â”\«‚ª‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ð‚·‚®‚ÉŠm”F‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚Ì•a‹C‚Í‚¨‚»‚ç‚­Ž„‚ÌŽõ–½‚ðk‚ß‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚ªA‚¨‚»‚ç‚­ŽîᇂÍĂѬ’·‚¹‚¸A‘ã‚í‚è‚ɕʂ̕a‹C‚ÅŽ€‚Ê‚±‚ƂɂȂé‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

‚¢‚¸‚ê‚É‚¹‚æAŽ„‚Í¡‚±‚±‚É‚¢‚Ü‚·AŽ„‚Í¡Š´Šo‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚ÍŽ©•ªŽ©g‚𕂯‚邽‚ß‚ÉÅ‘P‚ðs‚­‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ©“®“I‚É‘¼‚Ìl‚𕂯‚邱‚Ƃɂà‚È‚éA‚ÆŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚ÄŒ¾‚¦‚Ü‚·B

ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒWAƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚Ì‚¨‚©‚°‚ÅAŽ„‚Ì•ƒA•êAŒZ’íAÈA—FlA‚»‚µ‚Ä¢ŠE’†‚Ì–³–¼‚̉½ç‚à‚ÌlX‚ªŽ©•ªŽ©g‚𕂯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«A‚»‚ê‚͔ނ炪¡“x‚Í–³”‚Ì‘¼‚ÌlX‚𕂯‚邱‚Æ‚ðˆÓ–¡‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚ÌŠ´ŽÓ‚ðž‚ß‚ÄA

‚»‚µ‚ăƒbƒ^[‚ƈê‚ÉA

 

ƒWƒ‡ƒ“

 

 

From Johnfs Mother:

Dear Goenkaji,

What can I say to express my gratitude for the invaluable benefits my family and I have gained through receiving the priceless gift of Dhamma? I am sending a few short stories to you, such a wonderful story-teller, to illustrate the power of Dhamma in my life.

 

First story

Last January, when I learned that my eldest son, John, at 34, had a large brain tumor, I was filled with shock and horror. By February, he was admitted to the hospital for brain surgery. In contrast to my own reactions, I could not fail to notice his courageous and unprotesting attitude. Instead, he showed compassion and caring for those of us who were so distressed by these unexpected events.

 

Shortly after the surgery, which lasted about five hours, I visited him in the recovery room. The first thing I asked was, gJohn, how are you feeling?h With his eyes closed and a small smile on his face, he replied, gSensations are rising; sensations are passing away.h Later, when I spoke with him about it, he could not remember saying those words. But he told me that, before entering the operating room, he started observing sensations in his body with the intention of maintaining that practice throughout the surgery, to whatever extent possible.

 

I know that a significant aspect of my agitation was my helplessness to save my son from this vicissitude. But I was learning that Dhamma could. Through the benefits of practice, my son was transforming something terrible into a tool, a precious gift to advance on the Dhamma path.

 

Second story

A few days after Johnfs surgery, I visited him at the hospital. I asked him about his practice of Vipassana. I wanted to know how it gave him remarkable strength in the face of this terrible disease. As he spoke of his experiences with Vipassana, he told me that for a long time he had maintained a wish that one day I would take a course and he would serve on that course.

 

In the past, both he and my younger son Dharma had suggested that I could benefit from attending a course. Naturally, for years I was always too busy! Suddenly, I wasnft busy anymore! Not knowing if John would ever leave the hospital, I told him that the next course he went to, I would be there too. It seemed a small wish to grant and a way to offer my son support.

 

I could never have guessed the benefits I would gain, nor that my son was again transforming his cancer into a vehicle for the gift of liberation—mine!

 

Third story

About a month later, I found myself in a car with John, his wife, Dhalie, and his father, Carl, all seasoned Vipassana meditators. We were traveling to Dhamma Kuñja in Washington state, where I was to take my first course. What a course that was! How I burned with rage and resentment against things I could not even name. How could I escape? How could I run away when my eldest son was sitting in the same room, a large tumor pressing on his brain?

 

I stayed, and somehow in the small intervals between being engulfed in my own chaotic reactions, I tried to apply the technique I was learning. In the middle of the 10 days, I wondered how I would tell my son that this path is not for me; by the end of the course, I wondered how soon I might return to do it again! Since then I have attended two more 10-day courses and maintain a daily practice. In a week, I plan to sit a Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta course at Dhamma Surabhi, British Columbia. John will serve on that course. So that I can start to serve Dhamma in some way, I am being trained as an on-line worker to help register students as they apply for courses.

 

Sometime after that first course, I told John that he had thrown me a lifeline, but that when I first grabbed hold it felt more like a live wire, with me sizzling, snapping, and popping on the other end! After returning home, I noticed my life changing for the better in many ways. Family and friends have told me they see a change for the better in me. Most important, I can share the precious moments in life knowing they must pass, and face the suffering without being totally engulfed in anxiety and fear.

 

I attribute all these benefits, and more, Goenkaji, to the inner transformation brought about by taking that first course! My relationship with all my family members has improved, and I am fortunate to be able to sit with John and Dhalie on a frequent basis and to enjoy Dhamma conversations with them as well. Their practice-in-action and their loving-kindness have been a constant inspiration to me.

 

It is a great comfort to see John making the best use of his time. Since he is free from working a regular job, he works instead to spread the Dhamma every day. The doctors now think that his tumor might be starting to grow again. But if his health permits, he will travel to India with Dhalie, and she will sit the Teacherfs Self-Course at Dhamma Giri in November. John is on the waiting list to serve the same course. In January, my partner and I will fly to Burma and join them. We shall visit various Vipassana sites and, we hope, sit a course at a centre there. We have been accepted to sit a 10-day course at Dhamma Giri at the end of January before returning to Vancouver. That these things will happen remains to be seen. Nonetheless, it remains true that my life has changed for the better beyond anything I could have imagined.

 

I know I have a long way to go to dispel my own ignorance and to overcome habits of craving and aversion. With all the benefits, I am still far from equanimous about certain facts of life, including the fact that John has cancer and the doctors can do nothing to help him. I have turned to Dhamma as my life raft in these turbulent seas. I will continue to make my best efforts to sail onward.

 

 

 

As I wish to be free from craving, suffering, and misery,

May all beings be free from craving, suffering and misery!

May all beings be happy!

 

 

With respect and gratitude,

a  humble  student of Vipassana,

Laurie Campbell

 

 

 

ˆÈ‰º‚̓Wƒ‡ƒ“‚Ì•êe‚©‚ç‚̎莆‚Å‚·B

eˆ¤‚È‚éƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW—l

 

 

ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚©‚¯‚ª‚¦‚̂Ȃ¢‘¡‚蕨‚ðŽó‚¯Žæ‚邱‚ƂʼnƑ°‚ÆŽ„‚ª“¾‚½Œv‚è’m‚ê‚È‚¢‰¶Œb‚ɑ΂µ‚ÄŠ´ŽÓ‚Ì‹CŽ‚¿‚ð•\Œ»‚·‚é‚ɂ͉½‚ÆŒ¾‚¦‚΂悢‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©? Ž„‚Ìl¶‚É‚¨‚¯‚éƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì—Í‚ðà–¾‚·‚邽‚ß‚ÉA‚ƂĂà‘f°‚炵‚¢ƒXƒg[ƒŠ[ƒeƒ‰[‚Å‚ ‚é‚ ‚È‚½‚É‚¢‚­‚‚©‚Ì’Z•Ò¬à‚ð‘—‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

ʼn‚̘b

ð”N‚Ì1ŒŽA34΂̒·’jƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ª‘å‚«‚È”]Žîá‡‚ðŠ³‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«AŽ„‚̓Vƒ‡ƒbƒN‚Æ‹°•|‚Å‚¢‚Á‚Ï‚¢‚Å‚µ‚½B 2ŒŽ‚܂łɔ]Žèp‚Ì‚½‚ß“ü‰@‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ބީg‚Ì”½‰ž‚Æ‚Í‘ÎÆ“I‚ÉA”Þ‚Ì—EЏ‚Å’ïR‚̂Ȃ¢‘Ô“x‚É‹C‚©‚¸‚ɂ͂¢‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚Þ‚µ‚ëA‚±‚¤‚µ‚½—\Šú‚¹‚Êo—ˆŽ–‚ÉS‚ð’ɂ߂Ă¢‚½Ž„‚½‚¿‚É“¯î‚Æ‹CŒ­‚¢‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

–ñ5ŽžŠÔ‚É‹y‚ñ‚¾Žèp‚Ì’¼ŒãAŽ„‚͉ñ•œŽº‚É‚¢‚é”Þ‚ð–K‚˂܂µ‚½B Ž„‚ªÅ‰‚Éq‚Ë‚½‚Ì‚ÍAuƒWƒ‡ƒ“A‹C•ª‚͂ǂ¤‚Å‚·‚©Hv –Ú‚ð•‚¶AŠç‚ɬ‚³‚È΂݂𕂂©‚ׂÄA”Þ‚Í‚±‚¤“š‚¦‚½B Š´Šo‚ÍÁ‚¦‹Ž‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·Bv Œã‚Å‚»‚Ì‚±‚Ƃɂ‚¢‚ĔނƘb‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«A”Þ‚Íu‚»‚¤Œ¾‚Á‚½‚±‚Æ‚ðŽv‚¢o‚¹‚È‚¢‚Èv‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚µ‚©‚µA”Þ‚ÍAŽèpŽº‚É“ü‚é‘O‚ÉA‰Â”\‚ÈŒÀ‚èŽèp’†‚¸‚Á‚Æ‚»‚ÌKе‚ðˆÛŽ‚·‚é‚‚à‚è‚ÅAŽ©•ª‚̑̂̊´Šo‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µŽn‚ß‚½‚ÆŽ„‚ÉŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚Ì“®—h‚̑傫‚È‘¤–Ê‚ÍA‘§Žq‚ð‚±‚Ì•‚‚«’¾‚Ý‚©‚ç‹~‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚©‚Á‚½Ž©•ª‚Ì–³—Í‚³‚Å‚ ‚Á‚½‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µAƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ɂ͂»‚ꂪ‚Å‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠw‚ÑŽn‚߂܂µ‚½B ŽÀ‘H‚̉¶Œb‚É‚æ‚èA‘§Žq‚Í‹°‚낵‚¢‚à‚̂𓹋ïA‚‚܂èƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì“¹‚ði‚Þ‚½‚߂̋Md‚È‘¡‚蕨‚ɕς¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‘æ“ñ˜b

ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ÌŽèp‚©‚甓úŒãAŽ„‚Í•a‰@‚ð–K‚˂܂µ‚½B”ނɃ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ɂ‚¢‚Äq‚˂܂µ‚½B ‚±‚Ì‹°‚낵‚¢•a‹C‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«‚ÉA‚»‚ꂪ‚ǂ̂悤‚É‚µ‚ĔނɋÁ‚­‚ׂ«‹­‚³‚ð—^‚¦‚½‚Ì‚©‚ð’m‚肽‚©‚Á‚½‚̂ł·B ”ނ̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ł̌oŒ±‚ðŒê‚è‚È‚ª‚çA‚¢‚‚©Ž„‚ªƒR[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚µAŽ©•ª‚à‚»‚̃R[ƒX‚Å•òŽd‚µ‚½‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤Šè‚¢‚ð’·‚¢ŠÔŽ‚¿‘±‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚½‚ÆŒê‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‰ß‹Ž‚ÉA”Þ‚ÆŽŸ’jƒ_ƒ‹ƒ}‚Ì2l‚ªAƒR[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚·‚邱‚Ƃʼn¶Œb‚ðŽó‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邯ބ‚ÉŠ©‚߂܂µ‚½B‰½”N‚à‚ÌŠÔAŽ„‚Í‚¢‚‚à–Z‚µ‚·‚¬‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚Æ‚±‚낪A“Ë‘RA–Z‚µ‚­‚È‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ª‚¢‚‘މ@‚·‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©•ª‚©‚ç‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅAƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ªŽŸ‚És‚­ƒR[ƒX‚ɂ͎„‚às‚­‚‚à‚肾‚ƔނɌ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚ÍŠ‚¦‚½‚¢¬‚³‚ÈŠè‚¢‚Å‚ ‚èA‘§Žq‚ðƒTƒ|[ƒg‚·‚é•û–@‚̂悤‚ÉŽv‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚ª‚±‚ê‚قǂ̉¶Œb‚ðŽó‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚É‚È‚é‚Æ‚ÍA‚»‚µ‚Ä‘§Žq‚ªÄ‚уKƒ“‚ð‰ð•ú‚Æ‚¢‚¤‘¡‚蕨A‚‚܂莄‚̉ð•ú‚Ì‚½‚߂̎è’i‚ɕς¦‚邱‚Æ‚É‚È‚é‚Æ‚ÍA‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­‘z‘œ‚à‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

‘æŽO˜b

–ñ1‚©ŒŽŒãAŽ„‚̓Wƒ‡ƒ“A”Þ‚ÌȂ̃_ƒŠ[A•v‚̃J[ƒ‹‚ƈê‚ÉŽÔ‚Éæ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ç‚Í‚¢‚¸‚ê‚àŒoŒ±–L‚©‚ȃ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‰Æ‚Å‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚̓ƒVƒ“ƒgƒ“B‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}EƒNƒjƒƒ‚Ö—·s’†‚ÅA‚»‚±‚Åʼn‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚·‚邱‚ƂɂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚È‚ñ‚ăR[ƒX‚¾‚Á‚½‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚傤I –¼‘O‚³‚¦Œ¾‚¦‚È‚¢‚à‚̂ɑ΂µ‚ÄAŽ„‚͂ǂê‚Ù‚Ç“{‚è‚Æ•®‚è‚É”R‚¦‚½‚©B ‚Ç‚¤‚·‚ê‚Γ¦‚°‚ç‚ê‚é‚©H

‘å‚«‚ÈŽîᇂª”]‚ðˆ³”—‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é’·’j‚ª“¯‚¶•”‰®‚ÉÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Æ‚«A‚Ç‚¤‚â‚Á‚Ä“¦‚°‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚½‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

Ž„‚Í‚»‚±‚É—¯‚Ü‚èAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚̬“ׂƂµ‚½”½‰ž‚ÉŠª‚«ž‚Ü‚ê‚é‚킸‚©‚ȇŠÔ‚ÉAŠw‚ñ‚¾ƒeƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ð‰ž—p‚µ‚悤‚Ƃǂ¤‚¢‚¤‚킯‚©ŽŽ‚݂܂µ‚½B 10“úŠÔ‚Ì“r’†‚ÅA‚±‚Ì“¹‚ÍŽ„‚ɂ͌ü‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃ𑧎q‚ɂǂ¤‚â‚Á‚Ä“`‚¦‚ê‚΂¢‚¢‚Ì‚©l‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µƒR[ƒX‚ªI‚í‚é ‚É‚ÍA‚ǂꂭ‚ç‚¢‚ł܂½Žóu‚Å‚«‚邾‚낤‚©‚ÆŽv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚êˆÈ—ˆA‚³‚ç‚É 2 ‚Â‚Ì 10 “úŠÔ‚̃R[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µA–ˆ“ú‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚𑱂¯‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B 1TŠÔˆÈ“à‚ÉAƒuƒŠƒeƒBƒbƒVƒ…ƒRƒƒ“ƒrƒAB‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}EƒXƒ‰ƒr‚ŃTƒeƒBƒpƒ^ƒi[EƒXƒbƒ^EƒR[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚·‚é—\’è‚Å‚·B ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚Í‚»‚̃R[ƒX‚Å•òŽd‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‰½‚ç‚©‚ÌŒ`‚Ń_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ö‚Ì•òŽd‚ðŽn‚߂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ÉAŽ„‚Ͷ“k‚ªƒR[ƒX‚É\‚µž‚ÞÛ‚Ì“o˜^‚ðŽè“`‚¤ƒIƒ“ƒ‰ƒCƒ“ ƒ[ƒJ[‚Æ‚µ‚Ă̌P—û‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

ʼn‚̃R[ƒX‚̌サ‚΂炭‚µ‚ÄAŽ„‚̓Wƒ‡ƒ“‚ÉAuŽ„‚É–½j‚𓊂°‚½‚¯‚ÇAʼn‚É’Í‚ñ‚¾‚Æ‚«‚͂ނµ‚ë¶‚«‚Ä‚¢‚郃Cƒ„[‚̂悤‚ÉŠ´‚¶‚ÄA‚à‚¤ˆê•û‚Ì’[‚ŃWƒ…[ƒWƒ…[‰¹‚ð—§‚Ä‚½‚èAƒpƒ`ƒ“‚Ɖ¹‚ð—§‚Ä‚½‚èA‚Í‚¶‚¯‚½‚肵‚½‚ív‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‹A‘ŒãAŽ„‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ì¶Šˆ‚ª‚³‚Ü‚´‚܂Ȗʂŗǂ¢•ûŒü‚ɕω»‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‰Æ‘°‚â—Fl‚½‚¿‚ÍAŽ„‚Ì’†‚É—Ç‚¢•ω»‚ªŒ©‚ç‚ê‚邯Œ¾‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B Å‚àd—v‚È‚±‚Æ‚ÍAl¶‚Ì‹Md‚ÈuŠÔ‚ª‰ß‚¬‹Ž‚ç‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚ÄA•sˆÀ‚â‹°•|‚ÉŠ®‘S‚Ɉù‚Ýž‚Ü‚ê‚邱‚ƂȂ­‹ê‚µ‚݂ɒ¼–ʂł«‚邱‚Ƃł·B

Ž„‚Í‚±‚ê‚ç‚·‚ׂẲ¶ŒbA‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚êˆÈã‚Ì‚à‚Ì‚ðAʼn‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚Ä‚à‚½‚炳‚ꂽ“à–ʂ̕ω»‚Ì‚¨‚©‚°‚¾‚Æl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·AƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒWI ‰Æ‘°‘Sˆõ‚Ƃ̊֌W‚͉ü‘P‚³‚êAK‰^‚É‚àƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ƃ_ƒŠ[‚ƈê‚É•p”É‚ÉÀ‚Á‚ÄA”Þ‚ç‚Æ‚Ì–@˜b‚̉ï˜b‚ðŠy‚µ‚Þ‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ç‚ÌŽÀ—p“I‚ÈŽÀ‘H‚ƈ¤î‚ ‚Ó‚ê‚éeØ‚³‚ÍAŽ„‚ɂƂÁ‚Äí‚ɃCƒ“ƒXƒsƒŒ[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ÌŒ¹‚Å‚·B

ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ªŽ©•ª‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ðÅ‘åŒÀ‚ÉŠˆ—p‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚é‚ÆA‚ƂĂàˆÀS‚µ‚Ü‚·B ”Þ‚Í’èE‚ÉA‚­‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÅA‚»‚Ì‘ã‚í‚è‚É–ˆ“úƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ðL‚߂邽‚߂ɓ­‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ˆãŽt‚ç‚ÍŒ»ÝA”Þ‚ÌŽîᇂªÄ‚Ѭ’·‚µŽn‚߂Ă¢‚é‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚Æl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µAŒ’N‚ª‹–‚¹‚ÎA11 ŒŽ‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ} ƒMƒŠ‚Å‹³Žt‚̃Zƒ‹ƒtƒR[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚·‚éƒ_[ƒŠ[‚ƈê‚ɃCƒ“ƒh‚É—·s‚·‚é—\’è‚Å‚·BƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚Í‚»‚̃R[ƒX‚̃T[ƒo[‚̇”Ô‘Ò‚¿ƒŠƒXƒg‚Å‚·B

ƒp[ƒgƒi[‚ÆŽ„‚Í1ŒŽ‚Ƀrƒ‹ƒ}‚É”ò‚ñ‚Ň—¬‚·‚é—\’è‚ÅAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌꊂðFX–K–₵‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚ç‚̃Zƒ“ƒ^[‚ŃR[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚Å‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠè‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚̓oƒ“ƒN[ƒo[‚É–ß‚é‘O‚ÉA1ŒŽ––‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ}ƒMƒŠ‚Å10“úŠÔ‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª”F‚ß‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA ‚±‚ꂪŽÀŒ»‚·‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚͂܂¾•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚ê‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸AŽ„‚Ìl¶‚ÍŽ„‚ª‘z‘œ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½ˆÈã‚É—Ç‚¢•ûŒü‚ɕω»‚µ‚½‚±‚Ƃ͎–ŽÀ‚Å‚·B

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚Ì–³’m‚ð•¥@‚µAЉ–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚ÌKе‚ðŽ•ž‚·‚é‚ɂ͒·‚¢“¹‚̂肪‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽ„‚Í’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚³‚Ü‚´‚܂ȉ¶Œb‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚é‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸AƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ªŠà‚ðŠ³‚Á‚Ä‚¨‚èAˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚̓Wƒ‡ƒ“‚𕂯‚邽‚߂ɉ½‚à‚Å‚«‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚È‚ÇAl¶‚Ì“Á’è‚ÌŽ–ŽÀ‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă͎„‚͂܂¾Ã‰¸‚ð•Û‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚Í‚±‚Ìr‚ê‹¶‚¤ŠC‚ð‹~–½‚¢‚©‚¾‚Æ‚µ‚ă_ƒ“ƒ}‚É—Š‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚ê‚©‚ç‚àqŠC‚ÉŒü‚¯‚ÄŠæ’£‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚«‚½‚¢‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

Љ–]A‹ê‚µ‚ÝA”ߎS‚³‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ꂽ‚¢‚Ì‚ÅA

‚·‚ׂĂ̑¶Ý‚ªŠ‰–]A‹ê‚µ‚ÝA”ߎS‚³‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉI

‚·‚ׂĂ̑¶Ý‚ªK‚¹‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉI

 

ŒhˆÓ‚ÆŠ´ŽÓ‚Ì‹CŽ‚¿‚ðž‚ß‚ÄA

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŒª‹•‚ȶ“kA

ƒ[ƒŠ[EƒLƒƒƒ“ƒxƒ‹

 

 

 

 

Three years later:

 

Dear Virginia,

Ifm happy to share the letter I wrote to Goenkaji. Sometime after I gave it to John to arrange for delivery, John asked if Ifd give permission for some part to be printed in a newsletter or some such. I readily agreed at the time and would be happy if it might help anyone else. Johnfs letter is here too, as you see.

 

I appreciated your sharing some stories of John as a young student. It brought a smile to my face.

 

I have one more story to share. When John was in the hospital for the last time, at some point I became aware that he was unlikely to go home again. It was early November 2007. I remember saying to him one day that if he were to pass on my birthday, I would light a candle for him in my heart every year thereafter. In retrospect, it seemed a strange, macabre thing to say. I have no idea why I said it.

 

John died on November 20, my 59th birthday. I experienced his going as his last gift to me. I would have done anything to have my son outlive me—I know that through and through. But I was not in a position to make that happen, nor to decide what was for his own highest good. Nor, actually, what was for mine.

 

At the time, I thought his going on that particular day was an incredibly direct gift and message to me—he was free from suffering at last, and those final days and weeks were terrible for what he endured. Since then, as my birthday approaches, I reflect both on John and his amazing loving generosity of spirit, and on my own approaching, inevitable death. I know hefs made my own time of letting go easier, whenever it will come. In the meantime, my understanding of anicca has been profoundly deepened.

 

From the moment John learned he had a brain tumor, through to his death, his own personal process of growth and development accelerated. It was amazing to watch his sharp edges melt away, and to witness and enjoy the loving energy he so freely shared with whomever he came in contact. Near the end, it was a privilege to watch the dissolution of his ego and the complete emergence of the essence of being: love. The vehicle for his transformation was his practice of Vipassana, there is no doubt. John took a crash course in the art of living and came through in fine form.

 

It was his great good fortune to receive the gift of Dhamma through his father. One canft see the miracle of Johnfs journey exclusive of Carlfs influence, and in my heart, I owe Carl a huge debt of gratitude in bringing both of our sons to Dhamma. I am forever in his debt, but then, as he has pointed out to me, the ripples and the debt spread out to include all who helped him along the path, back and back through teachers and students, all the way to the Buddha.

 

It has been an amazing journey—painful, and yet rich with gifts of love and compassion. So much has come my way, including the loving-kindness of many who were touched by John and in turn magnanimously extended themselves to me.

 

Ifm afraid, though, that Ifm not at all like some of the writers who people your book. As the anniversary of Johnfs death approaches Ifm aware of the awful pain of loss, the resurfacing of barely concealed grief. However adept I may be at employing my intellect to make sense of it all, and even in times of more integrated knowing, the harsh fact of his ending still grieves me beyond speech. I am not equanimous, and the best I can do is sit with the pain, endure, and try to apply compassion to my seemingly intractable clinging. I know the grief is all to do with me, what I want, how I wish the universe to be ordered. Should I grieve that my son is free of this lifetimefs suffering? That he was successful in transforming the basest of metals to gold? Should I grieve that he grew and grew in love until that was all that remained?

 

When I think of my children, I am amazed. They have been teachers on so many levels, and Ifm in awe that somehow I have had them in my life. John has been gone almost three years now, yet in many ways he is with me still, influencing and guiding. I am a most fortunate mother.

With all the mettā,

Laurie

 

 

 

 

Attanā hi kata pāpa,

attanā sakilissati;

Attanā akata pāpa,

attanāva  visujjhati.

Suddhī asuddhi paccatta,

nāñño  añña visodhaye.

 

By self alone is evil done.

By self alone is one defiled.

By self alone is evil not done.

By self alone is one purified.

Purity and impurity depend on oneself.

No one can purify another.

 

Dhammapada 12.165

 

 

Pralayakārī bādha me,

    terā  dvīpa.

andhakāramaya  rāta  me,

    terā  dīpa.

 

In the all-destroying deluge

you  alone are your island.

In the darkest night

you  alone are your lamp.

 

Hindi doha,  S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

3”NŒãF

eˆ¤‚È‚éƒo[ƒWƒjƒA—l

Ž„‚ªƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚É‘‚¢‚½Žèކ‚ð‹¤—L‚Å‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠð‚µ‚­Žv‚¢‚Ü‚·B ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚Ɏ莆‚ð“n‚µ‚½ŒãAƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚̓jƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[‚ȂǂɈꕔ‚ðŒfÚ‚·‚é‹–‰Â‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚È‚¢‚©‚Æq‚˂Ă«‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚»‚ÌŽž‚Í‚·‚®‚É“¯ˆÓ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‘¼‚Ìl‚Ì•‚¯‚ɂȂê‚ÎK‚¢‚Å‚·B ‚²——‚̂Ƃ¨‚èAƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚̎莆‚à‚±‚±‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

Žá‚¢Šw¶‚¾‚Á‚½ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚̘b‚ð‚¢‚­‚‚©‹¤—L‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚¾‚«‚ ‚肪‚Æ‚¤‚²‚´‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚ÌŠç‚ÉΊç‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚à‚¤ˆê‚‚¨˜b‚µ‚µ‚½‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ªÅŒã‚É“ü‰@‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«A‚ ‚鎞“_‚ÅŽ„‚͔ނªÄ‚щƂɖ߂é‰Â”\«‚Í’á‚¢‚±‚ƂɋC‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B 2007 ”N 11 ŒŽ‰{‚Ì‚±‚Ƃł·B‚ ‚é“úAŽ„‚Ì’a¶“ú‚É‚ÍAƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚Ì‚½‚ß‚ÉS‚Ì’†‚ɂ낤‚»‚­‚𖈔N“”‚·‚‚à‚肾‚ƔނɌ¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ðŠo‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Žv‚¢•Ô‚µ‚Ä‚Ý‚é‚ÆA‚»‚ê‚ÍŠï–­‚Å•s‹C–¡‚È”­Œ¾‚̂悤‚ÉŽv‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚È‚º‚»‚¤Œ¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚©•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ÍŽ„‚Ì59΂̒a¶“ú‚Å‚ ‚é11ŒŽ20“ú‚É–S‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ªŽ„‚Ö‚ÌÅŒã‚Ì‘¡‚蕨‚Æ‚µ‚ÄÀ‹Ž‚·‚é‚Ì‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‘§Žq‚ªŽ„‚æ‚è’·¶‚«‚·‚邽‚߂ȂçAŽ„‚͉½‚Å‚à‚µ‚½‚Å‚µ‚傤AŽ„‚Í‚»‚ê‚ð[‚­Š´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µAŽ„‚Í‚»‚ê‚ðŽÀŒ»‚·‚é—§ê‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚µA‰½‚ª”ÞŽ©g‚ÌÅ‘å‚Ì—˜‰v‚ɂȂé‚Ì‚©‚ðŒˆ‚ß‚é—§ê‚É‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ŽÀÛAŽ„‚ɂƂÁ‚Ă͂»‚¤‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

“–ŽžA”Þ‚Ì‚ ‚Ì“ú‚ÌÀ‹Ž‚ÍAŽ„‚Ö‚ÌM‚¶‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚Ù‚Ç’¼Ú“I‚È‘¡‚蕨‚Å‚ ‚èAƒƒbƒZ[ƒW‚Å‚ ‚邯l‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ͂‚¢‚ɋꂵ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA”Þ‚ª‘Ï‚¦‚½ÅŒã‚Ì”“ú‚Æ”TŠÔ‚͋ꂵ‚݂łµ‚½B ‚»‚êˆÈ—ˆA’a¶“ú‚ª‹ß‚­‚ɂ‚ê‚ÄAŽ„‚̓Wƒ‡ƒ“‚Ɣނ̋Á‚­‚ׂ«ˆ¤‚É–ž‚¿‚½Š°‘å‚ȃƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì‚±‚ÆA‚»‚µ‚ÄA‹ß‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚é”ð‚¯‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢Ž€‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µ‚Ü‚·B ”Þ‚ªŽ„Ž©g‚ÌÀ‹Ž‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ª‚¢‚—ˆ‚Ä‚àŠÈ’P‚É‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚̂͂킩‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ÌŠÔAŽ„‚Ìanicca‚ɑ΂·‚é—‰ð‚Í”ñí‚É[‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ª”]Žîá‡‚ðŠ³‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚½uŠÔ‚©‚玀‚ÉŽŠ‚é‚Ü‚ÅA”ÞŽ©g‚̬’·‚Æ”­“W‚̃vƒƒZƒX‚͉Á‘¬‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނ̉s‚¢ƒGƒbƒW‚ª—n‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚µ‚ÄÚ‚·‚é’N‚ɂłàÉ‚µ‚݂Ȃ­‹¤‚É‚·‚鈤‚̃Gƒlƒ‹ƒM[‚ð–ÚŒ‚‚µ‚Ă͊y‚µ‚ނ̂͋Á‚­‚ׂ«‚±‚Ƃłµ‚½B I‚í‚è‹ß‚­‚ÅA”Þ‚ÌŽ©‰ä‚ª•ö‰ó‚µA‘¶Ý‚Ì–{Ž¿‚Å‚ ‚鈤‚ªŠ®‘S‚ÉoŒ»‚·‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚é‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚½‚̂͌õ‰h‚Å‚µ‚½B ”ނ̕ϗe‚ÌŽè’i‚ªƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Å‚ ‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃ͋^‚¢‚Ì—]’n‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚Ͷ‚«‚ép‚Ì’ZŠúW’†ƒR[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚µA‡’²‚ɇŠi‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

•ƒe‚ð’Ê‚¶‚ă_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÌŽ’•¨‚ðŽó‚¯Žæ‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÍA”ނɂƂÁ‚đ傫‚ÈK‰^‚Å‚µ‚½B ƒJ[ƒ‹‚̉e‹¿‚𔲂«‚É‚µ‚ăWƒ‡ƒ“‚Ì—·‚ÌŠïÕ‚ðŒ©‚é‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽ„‚ÍS‚Ì’†‚ÅA“ñl‚Ì‘§Žq‚ðƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ɘA‚ê‚Äs‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ꂽƒJ[ƒ‹‚É‘½‘å‚ȉ¶‹`‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B”Þ‚ªŽ„‚ÉŽw“E‚µ‚½‚悤‚ÉA‚»‚Ì”g–䂯‰¶‹`‚ÍAæ¶‚â¶“k‚½‚¿‚ð’Ê‚Á‚ăuƒbƒ_‚ÉŽŠ‚é‚܂ł̓¹‚ðs‚Á‚½‚è—ˆ‚½‚肵‚ÄA”ނ𕂯‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚·‚ׂĂÌlX‚ɂ܂ÅL‚ª‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

‚»‚ê‚Í‘f°‚炵‚¢—·‚Å‚µ‚½B’ɂ݂𔺂¤‚à‚̂ł ‚è‚È‚ª‚çAˆ¤‚ÆŽv‚¢‚â‚è‚ÌŽ’•¨‚É–ž‚¿‚½‚à‚̂łµ‚½B ‚½‚­‚³‚ñ‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ªŽ„‚É‚â‚Á‚Ä—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½AƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ÉŠ´“®‚µA¡“x‚ÍŠ°‘å‚É‚àŽ„‚ÉŽè‚ð·‚µL‚ׂĂ­‚ꂽ‘½‚­‚Ìl‚½‚¿‚̈¤‚ ‚éeØ‚àŠÜ‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

‚µ‚©‚µAŽc”O‚È‚ª‚çAŽ„‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì–{‚ªÐ‰î‚·‚éˆê•”‚Ìì‰Æ‚Ƃ͂܂Á‚½‚­Ž—‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚Ì–½“ú‚ª‹ß‚­‚ɂ‚ê‚ÄAŽ„‚Í‘rޏ‚̂Ђǂ¢’É‚ÝA‚©‚낤‚¶‚ĉB‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½”ß‚µ‚Ý‚ªÄ‚Ñ•\–ʉ»‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ª’m«‚ð‹ìŽg‚µ‚Ä‚·‚ׂĂð—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂǂê‚Ù‚Çn—û‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚µ‚Ä’mޝ‚ª‚æ‚蓇‰»‚³‚ê‚½Žž‘ã‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA”Þ‚ÌÅŠú‚̉ߓ‚ÈŽ–ŽÀ‚Í¡‚Å‚àŽ„‚ðŒ¾—t‚ł͌¾‚¢•\‚¹‚È‚¢‚قǔ߂µ‚Ü‚¹‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚Íɸ‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽ„‚ɂł«‚éÅ‘P‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ÍA’ɂ݂ð‘Ï‚¦‚ÄÀ‚Á‚đς¦AˆêŒ©Žè‚É•‰‚¦‚È‚¢‚悤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚鎄‚Ì‚µ‚ª‚݂‚«‚ÉŽv‚¢‚â‚è‚ð‰Á‚¦‚邿‚¤‚É“w‚߂邱‚Ƃł·B ”ß‚µ‚Ý‚ªŽ„‚ÆAŽ„‚ª‰½‚ð–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©A‰F’ˆ‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚É’˜‚¯‚ç‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ð–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚ÉŠÖŒW‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‘§Žq‚ª¶ŠU‚̋ꂵ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ꂽ‚±‚Æ‚ð”ß‚µ‚ނׂ«‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H ”Þ‚Í”Ú‹à‘®‚ð‹à‚ɕς¦‚邱‚ƂɬŒ÷‚µ‚½‚ÆH

”Þ‚ª¬’·‚µAˆ¤‚ª[‚Ü‚èAÅŒã‚ɂ͂»‚ꂪ‚·‚ׂĂɂȂÁ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚Á‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ð’Q‚­‚ׂ«‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

Ž©•ª‚ÌŽq‹Ÿ‚½‚¿‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ðl‚¦‚邯‹Á‚«‚Ü‚·B ”Þ‚ç‚Í”ñí‚É‘½‚­‚̃Œƒxƒ‹‚Å‹³Žt‚Å‚ ‚èAŽ„‚Ìl¶‚ɉ½‚ç‚©‚ÌŒ`‚Ŕނ炪‚¢‚邱‚ƂɈ،h‚Ì”O‚ð•ø‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ƒWƒ‡ƒ“‚ª‚±‚Ì¢‚ð‹Ž‚Á‚Ä‚à‚¤3”N‹ß‚­‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·‚ªA¡‚Å‚à‘½‚­‚Ì“_‚ÅŽ„‚ƈê‚É‚¢‚ÄA‰e‹¿‚ð—^‚¦A“±‚¢‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚͂ƂĂàK‰^‚È•êe‚Å‚·B

 

‚·‚ׂẴƒbƒ^[‚ƂƂà‚ÉA

ƒ[ƒŠ[

 

 

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚¾‚¯‚ň«‚Ís‚í‚ê‚Ü‚·B

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚¾‚¯‚Ål‚Íâq‚ê‚Ü‚·B

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚¾‚¯‚ň«‚Ís‚í‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚¾‚¯‚Ål‚Íò‰»‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

ƒˆ‚à•sƒ‚àŽ©•ªŽŸ‘æB

’N‚à‘¼l‚ðò‰»‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

\ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}ƒpƒ_ 12.165

 

 

‚·‚ׂĂð”j‰ó‚·‚é‘å^…‚Ì’†‚Å

‚ ‚È‚½‚¾‚¯‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì’†F‚Å‚·B

Å‚àˆÃ‚¢–é‚É

‚ ‚È‚½‚¾‚¯‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚̃‰ƒ“ƒv‚Å‚·B

 

—ƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[ŒêŽAS.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

Work Out Your Own Salvation

As we practice daily, morning and evening, Vipassana stays alive within us. The awareness of bodily sensations, our early warning system, alerts us to reactions that keep reinforcing our unwholesome habits. As we work to change this pattern, the need to become masters of our minds becomes crystal clear. The process is simple, but subtle. It is easy to slip, and an uncorrected divergence can continue to widen  because the path is exceedingly long. Therefore, as opportunity permits, it is good to review the correct way to practice through sitting courses and listening carefully to Goenkajifs elucidating discourses.

              This article, which appeared in the spring 1997 issue of the Vipassana Newsletter, is an abridgement of a discourse given by Goenkaji on the second day of a three-day course for experienced students. Here he carefully reviews the technique of  Vipassana, explaining the practice in detail.

At the surface, the mind plays so many games—thinking, imagining, dreaming, giving suggestions.  But  deep inside the mind remains a prisoner of its own habit pattern; and the habit pattern  at the deepest level of  the mind is to feel sensations and react. If the sensations are pleasant,  the mind reacts with craving.

If they are unpleasant, it reacts with aversion.

              The enlightenment of the Buddha was to go to the root of the problem. Unless we work at the root level, we shall be dealing only with the intellect and only this part of the mind will be purified. As long  as the roots of a tree are unhealthy, the whole tree will be sick.  If the roots are healthy, then they will provide healthy sap for the entire tree. So start working with the roots— this was the enlightenment  of the Buddha.

              When he gave Dhamma, the path of morality, concentration and wisdom (sīla, samādhi and paññā), it was not to establish a cult, a dogma, or a belief. The Noble Eightfold Path is a practical path and those who walk on it can go to the deepest level of the mind and eradicate all their miseries.

              Those who have really liberated themselves know that going to the depth of the mind—making a surgical operation of the mind—has to be done by oneself, by each individual. Someone can guide you with love and compassion; someone can help you on your journey along the path. But nobody can carry you on his shoulders, saying,  gI will take you to the final  goal. Just surrender to me. I  will do everything.h

              You are responsible for your own bondage. You are responsible for making your mind impure—no  one else. Only you are responsible for purifying your mind, for breaking the bonds. Continuity of practice is the secret of success. When it is said that you should be continuously aware, it means that you must be aware with wisdom of sensations in the body, where you really experience things arising and passing away. This awareness of impermanence is what purifies your mind—the awareness of the sensations arising,  passing. 

              Intellectualizing this truth will not help. You may understand:gEverything that arises sooner or later passes away. Anyone who takes birth sooner or later dies. This is anicca.hYou might understand this correctly but you are not experiencing  it. It is your own personal experience that will help you purify  your mind and liberate you from your miseries. The word forgexperienceh used in India at the time of the Buddha was vedanā, feeling by experiencing, not just by intellectualization. And this is possible only when  sensations are felt in the body.

              Anicca must be experienced. If you are not experiencing it, it is merely a theory, and the Buddha was not interested in theories. Even before the Buddha, and at the time of the Buddha, there were teachers who taught that the entire universe is in flux, anicca—this was not new.  What was new from the Buddha was the experience of anicca; and when you experience it within the framework of your own body, you have started working at the deepest level of your mind.

              Two things are very important for those who walk on the path. The first is breaking the barrier that divides the conscious and the unconscious mind. But even if your conscious mind can now feel those sensations that were previously felt only by the deep unconscious part of your mind, that alone will not help  you.

 

The Buddha wanted you to take a second step: change the mindfs habit of reacting at the deepest level.

              Coming to the stage where you have started feeling sensations is a good first step, yet the habit pattern of reaction remains. When you feel an unpleasant sensation, if you keep reacting—gOh, I must get rid of thish—that wonft help. If you start feeling a pleasant flow of very subtle vibrations throughout the body,  and you react—gAh, wonderful! This is what I was looking for. Now Ifve got it!h—you have not understood  Vipassana at all.

              Vipassana is not a game of pleasure and pain. You have been reacting like this your entire life, for  countless lifetimes. Now in the name of Vipassana you have started making this pattern  stronger. Every time you feel an unpleasant sensation you react in the same way,  with aversion. Every time you feel  pleasant sensation you react in the same way, with craving. Vipassana has not helped you because you  have not helped Vipassana.

              Whenever you again make the mistake of reacting because of the old habit, see how quickly you become aware of it: gLook— an unpleasant sensation and I am reacting with aversion; a  pleasant sensation  and  I am reacting with craving. This is not Vipassana. This will not help me.h

              Understand, this is what you have to do. If you are not 100 percent successful, it doesnft  matter.  This wonft harm you as long as you keep understanding and keep trying to change the old habit pattern. If for even a few moments you have started coming out of your prison, then you are progressing.          This is what the Buddha wanted you to do: practice the Noble Eightfold Path. Practice sīla so that you can have the right type of samādhi. For those who keep breaking sīla, there is little hope that they will go to the deepest  levels of reality. Sīla develops after you have some control over your mind, after you start understanding  with paññā that breaking sīla is very harmful. 

Your paññā at the experiential level will help your samādhi. 

Your samādhi at the experiential level will help your sīla. Your stronger sīla will help your samādhi  become strong. Your stronger samādhi will help your paññā  become strong. Each  of the three will help  the other two, and you will keep progressing.

 

              You must be with reality, with the truth as it is. Things keep changing. All vibrations are  nothing but a  flux, a  flow. This realization removes the deep-rooted habit pattern of reacting to the  sensations. 

              Whatever sensations you experience—pleasant, unpleasant or neutral—you should use them as tools. These sensations can become tools to liberate you from your misery, provided you understand  the truth  as it is. But these same sensations can also become tools that multiply your misery.  Likes and  dislikes should not cloud the issue. The reality is: sensations  are arising and passing away; they are anicca. Pleasant, unpleasant or neutral—it makes no difference. When you start realizing the fact that even the most pleasant sensations you experience are dukkha (suffering), then you are coming nearer to liberation.

              Understand why pleasant sensations are dukkha.  Every time a pleasant sensation arises, you  start relishing it. This habit of clinging to pleasant sensations has persisted for countless lifetimes. And it  is because of this that you have aversion. Craving and aversion are two sides of the same coin. The stronger the craving, the stronger the aversion is bound to be.

Sooner or later every pleasant sensation turns into an unpleasant one, and every unpleasant sensation  will turn into a pleasant one—this is the law of nature. If you start craving pleasant sensations, you are inviting misery.

              The Buddhafs teaching helps us to disintegrate the solidified intensity that keeps us from seeing the real truth. In reality, there are mere vibrations, nothing else. At the same time, there is solidity.  For  example, this wall is solid. This is a truth, an apparent truth. The ultimate truth is that what you call a  wall is nothing but a mass of vibrating subatomic particles. We have to integrate both truths through  proper understanding.

              Dhamma develops our understanding, so that we free ourselves from the habit of reacting and  recognize that craving is harming us, hating is harming us. Then we are more realistic:

gSee, there is ultimate truth, and there is apparent truth, which is also a truth.h

              The process of going to the depth of the mind to liberate yourself has to be done by you alone, but you must also be prepared to work with your family, with society as a whole. The yardstick to measure whether love, compassion, and good will are truly developing is whether these qualities are  being exhibited toward the people around you.

              The Buddha wanted us to be liberated at the deepest level of our minds. And that is possible only  when three characteristics are realized: anicca (impermanence), dukkha (suffering),and anattā  (egolessness). When the mind starts to become free from conditioning, layer after layer becomes purified until  the mind  is totally unconditioned. Purity then becomes a way of life. You wonft have to practice mettā (compassionate love) as you do now at the end of your one-hour sitting. Later, mettā just becomes your life. All the time you will remain suffused with love , compassion, and good will. This is the aim, the goal.

              The path of liberation is the path of working at the deepest level  of the mind.  There is nothing wrong with giving good mental suggestions, but unless you change the blind habit of reacting at the deepest  level,  you are not  liberated.  Nobody is liberated unless the deepest  level  of the mind is changed,  and the deepest level of the mind  is constantly  in  contact with  bodily  sensations.

              We  have  to  divide,  dissect,  and  disintegrate  the  entire structure to understand  how mind  and  matter are so  interrelated. If you work only with the mind and forget the body, you are not practicing the Buddhafs  teaching. If you work only with the body  and  forget the mind, again  you  do  not properly  understand  the Buddha.

              Anything  that arises in  the mind  turns into  matter, into  a sensation in the material field. This  was  the Buddhafs  discovery. People forgot this truth, which can only be understood through proper  practice.  The  Buddha  said,  gSabbe  dhammā   vedanā samosaraāh—gAnything  that arises in  the mind  starts flowing  as a  sensation on the  body.h

              The  Buddha  used  the  word  āsava,   which  means  flow  or intoxication.  Suppose you have generated anger.  A biochemical  flow starts that generates very unpleasant sensations. Because of 

these unpleasant  sensations,  you start  reacting with anger.  As you   generate  anger,  the  flow  becomes  stronger.  There  are unpleasant sensations and, with  them, a biochemical secretion. As you generate more anger, the flow  becomes stronger.

              In the same way, when passion or fear arises, a particular type of biochemical substance starts flowing in the blood. A vicious circle starts that keeps repeating itself. There is a flow, an intoxication, at  the depth of the mind. Out of ignorance we get intoxicated by this particular biochemical flow. Although it makes us miserable, yet we are intoxicated; we want it again and again. So we  keep on generating anger upon anger, passion upon passion, and  fear upon  fear. We become intoxicated  by  whatever impurity we generate in  our minds. If we say  that someone is addicted to alcohol or drugs, this is actually untrue. No one  is addicted to alcohol or drugs. The  truth is that one  is addicted to the  sensations  that a t are  produced  by  the  alcohol o l or  drugs.

              The Buddha teaches us to observe reality. Every addiction will be undone if we observe the truth  of sensations in  the body  with this understanding: gAnicca,  anicca.  This is impermanent.h

Gradually we will learn to stop reacting.    Dhamma is so simple, so scientific, so true—a  law of nature applicable to everyone. Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Christian; American, Indian, Burmese, Russian, or Italian—it makes no difference; a human being is a human being. Dhamma is a pure science of mind, matter, and the interaction between the two.

Donft allow it to become a sectarian or philosophical belief. This will be of no help.

              The greatest scientist the world has produced worked to find the truth about the relationship between mind and matter. And discovering this truth, he found a way to go beyond mind and matter. He explored reality not for the sake of curiosity but to find a way to be free of s f suffering.  For  every individual there is so much misery—for every family, for every society, for every nation, for the entire world—so much misery. The Enlightened One found a way to be free of this misery.

              Each individual has to come out of misery. There is no other solution. Every member of a family must come out of misery.

Then the family will become happy, peaceful, and harmonious.

If every member of society comes out of misery, if every member of a nation comes out of misery, if every citizen of the world comes out of misery, only then will there be world peace. There canft be world peace just because we want world peace—gI am agitating for world peace; therefore it should occur.h This doesnft  happen. We canft agitate for peace. When we are agitated, we lose our own peacefulness. So, no agitation!

Purify your mind; then every action you take will  add peace to the universe. 

              Purify your mind. This is how you can help society; this is how you can stop harming others and  start helping  them. When you work for your own liberation, you will find that you  have also started helping others to come out of their misery. One individual becomes several individuals—a slow widening of the circle. There is no magic, no miracle. Work for your own peace, and you will find that you have started making the atmosphere around you more peaceful—provided you work properly.

              If there is any miracle, it is the miracle of changing the habit pattern  of the mind from rolling in  misery to freedom from misery. There can be no bigger miracle than this. Every step taken toward this kind of miracle is a healthy step, a helpful step. Any other apparent miracle is bondage.

              May you all come out of your misery and become free of your bondage. Enjoy real peace, real harmony, real happiness.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

Acira vataya kāyo,

pathavi adhisessati;

Chuddho  apetaviññāo,

niratthava kaligara.

 

Alas! Ere long this corporeal body

will lie flat upon the earth,

unheeded, devoid  of consciousness,

like  a  useless  log  of  wood.

 

Dhammapada 3.41

 

 

 

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚Ì‹~‚¢‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯o‚·

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª–ˆ“ú’©‚Æ—[•û‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚·‚邯‚«Aƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì’†‚ɶ‚«‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Ì‘ŠúŒxƒVƒXƒeƒ€‚Å‚ ‚ég‘ÌŠ´Šo‚Ì”Fޝ‚ÍA•sŒ’‘S‚ÈKе‚ð‹­‰»‚µ‘±‚¯‚锽‰ž‚ðŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÉŒx‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚̃pƒ^[ƒ“‚ð•Ï‚¦‚悤‚Æ“w—Í‚·‚邯AŽ©•ª‚ÌS‚ÌŽål‚ɂȂé•K—v«‚ª‚Í‚Á‚«‚è‚Æ‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚·B ƒvƒƒZƒX‚̓Vƒ“ƒvƒ‹‚Å‚·‚ªA”÷–­‚Å‚·B ƒXƒŠƒbƒv‚µ‚â‚·‚­AƒpƒX‚ª”ñí‚É’·‚¢‚½‚ßC³‚³‚ê‚È‚¢‚܂ܕªŠò‚ªŠg‘債‘±‚¯‚é‰Â”\«‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA‹@‰ï‚ª‚ ‚ê‚ÎAÀ‚Á‚ÄuÀ‚ðŽó‚¯‚½‚èAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚̉ðà‚ð’ˆÓ[‚­•·‚¢‚½‚è‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA³‚µ‚¢Cs–@‚ðŒ©’¼‚·‚Ƃ悢‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

‚±‚Ì‹LŽ–‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ ƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[‚Ì 1997 ”Nt†‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ꂽ‚à‚Ì‚ÅAŒoŒ±–L•x‚ȶ“kŒü‚¯‚Ì 3 “úŠÔ‚̃R[ƒX‚Ì 2 “ú–ڂɃSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ªs‚Á‚½u‰‰‚Ì—v–ñ‚Å‚·B ‚±‚±‚Ŕނ̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚̃eƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ð’ˆÓ[‚­ƒŒƒrƒ…[‚µAŽÀ‘H‚ðÚׂÉà–¾‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

•\–ʂłÍAS‚Íl‚¦‚½‚èA‘z‘œ‚µ‚½‚èA–²‚ðŒ©‚½‚èA’ñˆÄ‚µ‚½‚èA”ñí‚É‘½‚­‚̃Q[ƒ€‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µAS‚̉œ[‚­‚Å‚ÍAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ÌKеƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚Ì—¸‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚܂܂ł·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄS‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚ÌKеƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ÍAŠ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ä”½‰ž‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B Š´Šo‚ªS’n‚æ‚¢ê‡AS‚ÍŠ‰–]‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚·B

•s‰õ‚È‚à‚̂ł ‚ê‚ÎAŒ™ˆ«Š´‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ü‚·B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚ÌŒå‚è‚Í–â‘è‚̪–{‚É”—‚邱‚Ƃłµ‚½B ª–{ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å“­‚©‚È‚¢ŒÀ‚èAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í’m«‚¾‚¯‚ðˆµ‚¤‚±‚ƂɂȂèAS‚Ì‚±‚Ì•”•ª‚¾‚¯‚ªò‰»‚³‚ê‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B –؂̪‚ªŒ’N‚łȂ¢ŒÀ‚èA–Ø‘S‘Ì‚ª•a‹C‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B ª‚ªŒ’N‚Å‚ ‚ê‚ÎA–Ø‘S‘̂Ɍ’N‚ÈŽ÷‰t‚ª‹Ÿ‹‹‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B ‚Å‚·‚©‚çAª–{‚©‚çŽæ‚è‘g‚ÝŽn‚߂܂µ‚傤B‚±‚ꂪƒuƒbƒ_‚ÌŒå‚è‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

”Þ‚ª“¹“¿AW’†A’qŒd‚Ì“¹iƒV[ƒ‰AƒTƒ}[ƒfƒBAƒpƒj[ƒjƒƒj‚Å‚ ‚éƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ð—^‚¦‚½‚Æ‚«A‚»‚ê‚̓Jƒ‹ƒgA‹³‹`A‚Ü‚½‚ÍM”O‚ðŠm—§‚·‚邱‚Ƃł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ¹‚Ȃ锪³“¹‚ÍŽÀ‘H“I‚È“¹‚Å‚ ‚èA‚±‚ê‚ð•à‚Þl‚ÍS‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚É“ž’B‚µA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é•sK‚ðªâ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

–{“–‚ÉŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð‰ð•ú‚µ‚½l‚ÍAS‚Ì[‚Ý‚És‚­‚±‚ÆA‚‚܂èS‚ÌŠO‰ÈŽèp‚ðs‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ÍAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ÅAŠeŒÂl‚ªs‚¤•K—v‚ª‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ’N‚©‚ªˆ¤‚ÆŽv‚¢‚â‚è‚ð‚à‚Á‚Ä‚ ‚È‚½‚𓱂¢‚Ä‚­‚ê‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B ’N‚©‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì“¹‚ɉˆ‚Á‚½—·‚ðŽè“`‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ê‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B ‚µ‚©‚µAuÅIƒS[ƒ‹‚܂ŘA‚ê‚Äs‚Á‚Ä‚ ‚°‚éB‚½‚¾Ž„‚É”C‚¹‚Ä‚¨‚«‚È‚³‚¢AŽ„‚ª‚·‚ׂĂð‚â‚è‚Ü‚·‚©‚çBv‚Æ”w•‰‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ê‚éŽÒ‚Í‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Ž©g‚Ì‘©”›‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌÓ”C‚Å‚·B Ž©•ª‚ÌS‚ð•sƒ‚É‚·‚é‚̂͑¼‚Ì’N‚Å‚à‚È‚¢A‚ ‚È‚½Ž©g‚Å‚·B Ž©•ª‚ÌS‚ðò‰»‚µAãJ‚ð’f‚¿Ø‚éÓ”C‚ª‚ ‚é‚̂͂ ‚È‚½‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B ŽÀ‘H‚ÌŒp‘±‚ª¬Œ÷‚̔錂ł·B ˆÓޝ‚µ‘±‚¯‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚邯Œ¾‚í‚ê‚邯‚«A‚»‚ê‚ÍA•¨Ž–‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚ÍÁ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚­‚±‚Æ‚ðŽÀÛ‚ÉŒoŒ±‚·‚éAg‘̂̊´Šo‚Ì’qŒd‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ĉӎ¯‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ðˆÓ–¡‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚Ì–³í‚Ì”Fޝ‚ÍA‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌS‚ðò‰»‚·‚é‚à‚̂ł·A‚‚܂èA¶‚¶‚Ēʉ߂·‚銴Šo‚Ì‹C‚«‚Å‚·B

‚±‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ð’mޝ‰»‚µ‚Ä‚à–ð‚É—§‚¿‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽŸ‚̂悤‚É—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñBu¶‚܂ꂽl‚Í’x‚©‚ê‘‚©‚ꎀ‚ɂ܂·B‚±‚ꂪ‚Íanicca‚Å‚·Bv ‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‚±‚ê‚𳂵‚­—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA‚»‚ê‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽÀ‘H‚Í‚ ‚È‚½Ž©g‚ÌŒÂl“I‚ÈŒoŒ±‚Å‚ ‚èA‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌS‚ðò‰»‚µA”ߎS‚³‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚·‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·B ƒuƒbƒ_‚ÌŽž‘ã‚ɃCƒ“ƒh‚ÅŽg‚í‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½uŒoŒ±v‚ðˆÓ–¡‚·‚錾—t‚Ívedanā‚Å‚ ‚èA’P‚È‚é’m“I‰»‚ł͂Ȃ­ŒoŒ±‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄŠ´‚¶‚邯‚¢‚¤ˆÓ–¡‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚Íg‘̂Ŋ´Šo‚ªŠ´‚¶‚ç‚ê‚éꇂɂ̂݉”\‚Å‚·B

anicca‚ÍŒoŒ±‚ª•K—v‚Å‚·B‚ ‚È‚½‚ª‚»‚ê‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚È‚çA‚»‚ê‚Í’P‚Ȃ闘_‚É‚·‚¬‚¸Aƒuƒbƒ_‚Í—˜_‚ɂ͋»–¡‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½Bƒuƒbƒ_ˆÈ‘OA‚»‚µ‚ăuƒbƒ_‚ÌŽž‘ã‚É‚àA‰F’ˆ‘S‘̂͗¬“®‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éA‚·‚Ȃ킿uaniccav‚Å‚ ‚邯‹³‚¦‚鋳Žt‚ª‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ÍV‚µ‚¢‚±‚Ƃł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒuƒbƒ_‚©‚瓾‚ç‚ꂽV‚µ‚¢‚à‚Ì‚ÍA–³í‚ÌŒoŒ±‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ðŽ©•ª‚̘̑̂g‘g‚݂̒†‚ő̌±‚·‚邯AS‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å“­‚«Žn‚߂܂·B

“¹‚ð•à‚ގ҂ɂƂÁ‚ÄA“ñ‚‚̂±‚Æ‚ª‚ƂĂà‘娂ł·B 1‚–ڂ͈ӎ¯‚Æ–³ˆÓޝ‚ðŠu‚Ä‚é•Ç‚ð‰ó‚·‚±‚Ƃł·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚½‚Æ‚¦‚±‚ê‚Ü‚ÅS‚Ì[‘w–³ˆÓޝ‚Ì•”•ª‚Å‚µ‚©Š´‚¶‚ç‚ê‚È‚©‚Á‚½Š´Šo‚ðAˆÓޝ‚ªŠ´‚¶‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ꂾ‚¯‚ł͖ð‚É—§‚¿‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

ƒuƒbƒ_‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚É‘æ“ñ‚̃Xƒeƒbƒv‚𓥂Ýo‚·‚±‚Æ‚ð–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚‚܂èAÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å”½‰ž‚·‚éS‚ÌKе‚ð•Ï‚¦‚邱‚Ƃł·B

Š´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶Žn‚ß‚é’iŠK‚É—ˆ‚é‚̂͗ǂ¢‘æˆê•à‚Å‚·‚ªAKе“I‚È”½‰žƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ÍŽc‚è‚Ü‚·B

•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚½‚Æ‚«‚ÉAu‚ ‚ A‚±‚ê‚ðŽæ‚èœ‚©‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢v‚Æ”½‰ž‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ä‚àA–ð‚É—§‚¿‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ”ñí‚É”÷ׂÈU“®‚ÌS’n‚æ‚¢—¬‚ê‚ð‘Ì‘S‘̂Ŋ´‚¶Žn‚ß‚ÄAu‚ ‚ ‘f°‚炵‚¢I‚±‚ꂱ‚»Ž„‚ª’T‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚à‚ÌA‚³‚ Žè‚É“ü‚ꂽ‚¼Iv‚Æ”½‰ž‚µ‚½ê‡A\\‚ ‚È‚½‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ð‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚͉õŠy‚Æ‹ê’ɂ̃Q[ƒ€‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‚±‚ê‚܂łÌl¶‚ð’Ê‚¶‚ÄA”‚¦Ø‚ê‚È‚¢‚قǂ̶ŠU‚ɂ킽‚èA‚±‚̂悤‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ¡A‚ ‚È‚½‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ì–¼‚̉º‚ÉA‚±‚̃pƒ^[ƒ“‚ð‚³‚ç‚É‹­‰»‚µŽn‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚·B •s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉA‚ ‚È‚½‚Í“¯‚¶‚悤‚ÉŒ™ˆ«Š´‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚·B S’n‚æ‚¢Š´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉA‚ ‚È‚½‚Í“¯‚¶‚悤‚É”½‰ž‚µAЉ–]‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚ ‚È‚½‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚𕂯‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÅAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚𕂯‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

ŒÃ‚¢Kе‚Ì‚¹‚¢‚ÅĂє½‰ž‚·‚邯‚¢‚¤ŠÔˆá‚¢‚ð”Æ‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«‚ÍA‚»‚Ì‚±‚Ƃɂǂꂾ‚¯‘‚­‹C‚­‚©‚ðŒ©‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B uS’nˆ«‚¢Š´Šo‚ÉŽ„‚ÍŒ™ˆ«‚Ì”½‰ž‚ð‚µAS’n‚æ‚¢Š´Šo‚ɂ͎„‚ÍŠ‰–]‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ê‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚±‚ê‚ł͖ð‚É—§‚¿‚Ü‚¹‚ñBv

              —‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢A‚ ‚È‚½‚ª‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B 100“¬Œ÷‚µ‚È‚­‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚Í–â‘è‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ŒÃ‚¢Kе‚̃pƒ^[ƒ“‚ð—‰ð‚µA•Ï‚¦‚é“w—͂𑱂¯‚Ä‚¢‚éŒÀ‚èA‚±‚ê‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ÉŠQ‚ð‹y‚Ú‚·‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ­‚µ‚ÌŠÔ‚Å‚à˜S–‚©‚çoŽn‚ß‚½‚È‚çA‚ ‚È‚½‚Íi•à‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B ‚±‚ꂪƒuƒbƒ_‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚É–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½‚±‚Ƃł ‚èA”ª³“¹‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B ³‚µ‚¢Ží—ނ̃Tƒ}[ƒfƒB‚ðs‚¦‚邿‚¤‚ÉAƒV[ƒ‰‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ƒV[ƒ‰‚ð”j‚葱‚¯‚élX‚ɂƂÁ‚ÄAŒ»ŽÀ‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚É“ž’B‚·‚éŠó–]‚͂قƂñ‚Ç‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒV[ƒ‰‚ÅS‚ð‚ ‚é’ö“xƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚Ä’qŒdpaññā‚ð—‰ð‚µŽn‚ß‚½Œã‚ÅAƒV[ƒ‰‚ð‰ó‚·‚±‚Æ‚ª”ñí‚É—LŠQ‚Å‚·B

ŒoŒ±ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚ł̒qŒdpaññā‚̓Tƒ}[ƒfƒB‚É–ð—§‚¿‚Ü‚·B

ŒoŒ±ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚ł̃Tƒ}[ƒfƒB‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚̃V[ƒ‰‚𕂯‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B ‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì‚æ‚è‹­‚¢ƒV[ƒ‰‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚̃Tƒ}[ƒfƒB‚ð‹­‚­‚·‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·B ‚æ‚è‹­‚¢ƒTƒ}[ƒfƒB‚ÍA‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì’qŒdpaññā‚ð‚æ‚è‹­‚­‚·‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·B 3‚‚̂¤‚¿‚Ì‚P‚‚ªŽc‚è‚Ì 2‚‚𕂯A‚ ‚È‚½‚Íi•à‚𑱂¯‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŒ»ŽÀA^ŽÀ‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɏ󂯎~‚߂Ȃ¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB •¨Ž–‚͕ω»‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B ‚·‚ׂĂÌU“®‚Í—¬“]A‚‚܂藬‚ê‚É‘¼‚È‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚±‚Ì”Fޝ‚É‚æ‚èAŠ´Šo‚É”½‰ž‚·‚邯‚¢‚¤ª[‚¢Kе‚̃pƒ^[ƒ“‚ªŽæ‚蜂©‚ê‚Ü‚·B

‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŒoŒ±‚·‚é‚ǂ̂悤‚ÈŠ´Šoi‰õA•s‰õA’†—§j‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚ç‚ðƒc[ƒ‹‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŽg—p‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ^ŽÀ‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂ɗ‰ð‚·‚ê‚ÎA‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÌŠ´Šo‚Í‚ ‚È‚½‚ð‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚·‚邽‚߂̃c[ƒ‹‚ɂȂé‰Â”\«‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì“¯‚¶Š´Šo‚ÍA‚ ‚È‚½‚̋ꂵ‚³‚ð”{‘‚³‚¹‚éƒc[ƒ‹‚ɂȂé‰Â”\«‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B D‚«Œ™‚¢‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä–â‘肪žB–†‚ɂȂÁ‚Ă͂¢‚¯‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Œ»ŽÀ‚É‚ÍAŠ´Šo‚Ͷ‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚ÍÁ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ç‚Íanicca‚Å‚·B Šy‚µ‚¢‚©A•s‰õ‚©A‚»‚ê‚Æ‚à’†—§‚©A‚»‚ê‚ç‚͈Ⴂ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŒoŒ±‚·‚éÅ‚àS’n‚æ‚¢Š´Šo‚³‚¦‚àdukkhai‹ê‚µ‚Ýj‚Å‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚ð”Fޝ‚µŽn‚߂邯A‚ ‚È‚½‚͉ð•ú‚ɋ߂­‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

‚È‚ºS’n‚æ‚¢Š´Šo‚ª‹ê‚Å‚ ‚é‚Ì‚©‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚傤B S’n‚æ‚¢Š´Šo‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉA‚»‚ê‚ð–¡‚í‚¢Žn‚߂܂·B S’n‚æ‚¢Š´Šo‚É‚µ‚ª‚݂‚­‚±‚ÌKе‚ÍA”‚¦Ø‚ê‚È‚¢‚قǂ̶ŠU‚ɂ킽‚Á‚Ä‘±‚¢‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ꂪ‚ ‚È‚½‚ÉŒ™ˆ«Š´‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·‚̂ł·B Љ–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚Í•\— ‚ÌŠÖŒW‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Љ–]‚ª‹­‚¯‚ê‚΋­‚¢‚Ù‚ÇAŒ™ˆ«Š´‚à‹­‚­‚È‚é‚Í‚¸‚Å‚·B

’x‚©‚ê‘‚©‚êA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é‰õ‚¢Š´Šo‚Í•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ɕςí‚èA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚͂₪‚ĉõ‚¢Š´Šo‚ɕςí‚éA‚±‚ê‚ªŽ©‘R‚Ì–@‘¥‚Å‚·B ‰õŠ´‚ð‹‚ߎn‚߂邯A‚»‚ê‚Í•sK‚𵂭‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª–{“–‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðŒ©‚é‚±‚Æ‚ð–W‚°‚Ä‚¢‚é‹ÃŒÅ‚µ‚½‹­‚³‚ð‰ð‘Ì‚·‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·B ŽÀÛ‚É‚ÍA‚½‚¾‚ÌU“®‚ª‚ ‚邾‚¯‚ÅA‘¼‚ɂ͉½‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚ê‚Å‚¢‚ÄŒ˜˜S‚³‚à‚ ‚éB ‚½‚Æ‚¦‚ÎA‚±‚̕ǂ͊æä‚Å‚·B ‚±‚ê‚Í^ŽÀ‚Å‚ ‚èA–¾”’‚È^ŽÀ‚Å‚·B ‹†‹É‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ÍA‚ ‚È‚½‚ª•ǂƌĂñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÍAU“®‚·‚é‘f—±Žq‚̉ò‚ɂق©‚È‚ç‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ͳ‚µ‚¢—‰ð‚ð’Ê‚¶‚Ä—¼•û‚Ì^ŽÀ‚𓇂·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì—‰ð‚ð”­“W‚³‚¹AŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª”½‰ž‚·‚éKе‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚êAЉ–]‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚ð‚‚¯A‘ž‚µ‚Ý‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚ð‚‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð”Fޝ‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚É‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚¤‚µ‚ÄA‚æ‚茻ŽÀ“I‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

u‚Ù‚çA‹†‹É‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ª‚ ‚èA–¾‚ç‚©‚È^ŽÀ‚ª‚ ‚èA‚»‚ê‚à‚Ü‚½^ŽÀ‚Å‚·Bv

Ž©•ª‚ð‰ð•ú‚·‚邽‚ß‚ÉS‚̉œ[‚­‚Ü‚Ås‚­ƒvƒƒZƒX‚ÍA‚ ‚È‚½ˆêl‚Ås‚¤•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªA‰Æ‘°‚âŽÐ‰ï‘S‘̂Ƌ¦—Í‚·‚途õ‚à•K—v‚Å‚·B ˆ¤AŽv‚¢‚â‚èA‘PˆÓ‚ª–{“–‚Ɉç‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚𑪂éŠî€‚ÍA‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì«Ž¿‚ªŽüˆÍ‚ÌlX‚ɑ΂µ‚ÄŽ¦‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚Å‚·B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªS‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚ʼnð•ú‚³‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ð–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚ê‚ÍAaniccai–³íjAƒhƒDƒbƒJi‹ê‚µ‚ÝjAƒAƒiƒbƒ^i–³—Íj‚Æ‚¢‚¤ 3 ‚‚̓Á«‚ªŒ°Œ»‚³‚ꂽꇂɂ̂݉”\‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B S‚ªðŒ•t‚¯‚©‚玩—R‚ɂȂèŽn‚߂邯AS‚ªŠ®‘S‚É–³ðŒ‚ɂȂé‚Ü‚ÅA‚P‘w‚P‘w‚Æò‰»‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚̂Ƃ«Aƒˆ‚³‚ª¶‚«•û‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B1ŽžŠÔ‚̃ZƒbƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ÌŒã‚̃ƒbƒ^[iŽv‚¢‚â‚è‚̈¤j‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

              Œã‚ÍAƒƒbƒ^[‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚Ìl¶‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B ‚ ‚È‚½‚Í‚¢‚‚àAˆ¤AŽv‚¢‚â‚èA‘PˆÓ‚É–ž‚½‚³‚ꑱ‚¯‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B ‚±‚ꂪ–Ú“I‚Å‚ ‚èA–Ú•W‚Å‚·B

‰ð•ú‚Ö‚Ì“¹‚ÍS‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å“­‚­“¹‚Å‚·B ƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚É—Ç‚¢’ñˆÄ‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Ƃ͉½‚àˆ«‚¢‚±‚Ƃł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªAÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å”½‰ž‚·‚é–Ó–Ú“I‚ÈKе‚ð•Ï‚¦‚È‚¢ŒÀ‚èA‚ ‚È‚½‚͉ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB S‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚ª•ω»‚µ‚È‚¢ŒÀ‚èA’N‚à‰ð•ú‚³‚ꂸAS‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Íí‚Ég‘ÌŠ´Šo‚ÆÚG‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

S‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚É‘ŠŒÝ‚ÉŠÖŒW‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ð—‰ð‚·‚é‚É‚ÍA\‘¢‘S‘̂𕪊„‚µA‰ð–U‚µA‰ð‘Ì‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B S‚¾‚¯‚ðŽg‚Á‚Ä“­‚«A‘Ì‚ð–Y‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é‚È‚çA‚»‚ê‚̓uƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B g‘Ì‚¾‚¯‚ðŽg‚Á‚ÄS‚ð–Y‚ê‚邯A‚â‚Í‚èƒuƒbƒ_‚𳂵‚­—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

S‚ɶ‚¶‚é‚à‚̂͂·‚ׂĕ¨Ž¿‚ɕςí‚èA•¨Ž¿—̈æ‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ɕςí‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ꂪƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì”­Œ©‚Å‚µ‚½B “K؂ȎÀ‘H‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ă̂ݗ‰ð‚Å‚«‚邱‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðlX‚Í–Y‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒuƒbƒ_‚ÍAuS‚Ì’†‚Ŷ‚¶‚½‚à‚̂͂·‚ׂÄAg‘̂̊´Šo‚Æ‚µ‚Ä—¬‚êŽn‚ß‚évgSabbe  dhammā   vedanā samosaraāh‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚ÍA—¬‚ê‚âçÇç‚ðˆÓ–¡‚·‚éāsava‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ¾—t‚ðŽg‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚ ‚È‚½‚ª“{‚è‚ð¶‚Ýo‚µ‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ü‚·B ¶‰»Šw“I‚È—¬‚ꂪŽn‚Ü‚èA”ñí‚É•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邽‚ßA‚ ‚È‚½‚Í“{‚è‚Å”½‰ž‚µŽn‚߂܂·B “{‚肪¶‚Ü‚ê‚邯A‚»‚Ì—¬‚ê‚Í‚³‚ç‚É‹­‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B •s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª‚ ‚èA‚»‚ê‚É”º‚¢¶‰»Šw“I•ª”啨‚à”­¶‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚æ‚葽‚­‚Ì“{‚è‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·‚ÆA‚»‚Ì—¬‚ê‚Í‚æ‚è‹­‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B

“¯—l‚ÉAî”M‚â‹°•|‚ª¶‚¶‚邯A“Á’è‚ÌŽí—ނ̶‰»Šw•¨Ž¿‚ªŒŒ‰t’†‚É—¬‚êŽn‚߂܂·B ˆ«zŠÂ‚ªŽn‚Ü‚èA‚»‚ꂪŒJ‚è•Ô‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B S‚̉œ’ê‚ɂ͗¬‚êA‚·‚Ȃ킿çÇ炪‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í–³’m‚©‚çA‚±‚Ì“Á’è‚̶‰»Šw“I—¬‚ê‚ÉŒ‚¢‚µ‚ê‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ðŽS‚߂ɂµ‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Å‚àŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŒ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚͉½“x‚à‚»‚ê‚ð–]‚݂܂·B ‚»‚Ì‚½‚ßAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í“{‚è‚É“{‚è‚ðAî”M‚Éî”M‚ðA‹°•|‚É‹°•|‚ðd‚˂Ķ‚Ýo‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍS‚Ì’†‚ɶ‚¶‚½‚Ç‚ñ‚È•sƒ•¨‚É‚àŒ‚Á‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚·B ’N‚©‚ªƒAƒ‹ƒR[ƒ‹‚â–ò•¨‚Ɉˑ¶‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯Œ¾‚Á‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚±‚ê‚ÍŽÀÛ‚É‚Í^ŽÀ‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒAƒ‹ƒR[ƒ‹‚â–ò•¨‚Ɉˑ¶‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚él‚Í’N‚à‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ^ŽÀ‚ÍAl‚̓Aƒ‹ƒR[ƒ‹‚â–ò•¨‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ķ‚Ýo‚³‚ê‚銴Šo‚É’†“łɂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÉŒ»ŽÀ‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邿‚¤‚É‹³‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B uaniccaAanicca‚±‚ê‚Í–³í‚È‚à‚Ì‚¾Bv‚Æ‚¢‚¤—‰ð‚ðŽ‚Á‚Äg‘̂̊´Šo‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚ê‚ÎA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éˆË‘¶Ç‚͉ðÁ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

™X‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í”½‰ž‚ð‚â‚ß‚é•û–@‚ðŠw‚т܂·B ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Í”ñí‚É’Pƒ‚ÅA”ñí‚ɉȊw“I‚ÅA”ñí‚É^ŽÀ‚Å‚ ‚èA‚·‚ׂĂÌl‚É“K—p‚Å‚«‚鎩‘R–@‘¥‚Å‚·B •§‹³“kAƒqƒ“ƒY[‹³AƒCƒXƒ‰ƒ€‹³“kAƒLƒŠƒXƒg‹³“kB ƒAƒƒŠƒJlAƒCƒ“ƒhlAƒrƒ‹ƒ}lAƒƒVƒAlAƒCƒ^ƒŠƒAlAˆá‚¢‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB l‚Íl‚Å‚·B ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÍSA•¨Ž¿A‚»‚µ‚Ä‚»‚Ì“ñ‚Â‚ÌŠÔ‚Ì‘ŠŒÝì—p‚̃ˆ‚ȉȊw‚Å‚·B

‚»‚ꂪ@”h“I‚Ü‚½‚Í“NŠw“I‚ÈM”O‚ɂȂç‚È‚¢‚悤‚É‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‚±‚ê‚ł͉½‚Ì–ð‚É‚à—§‚¿‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

¢ŠE‚ª¶‚Ýo‚µ‚½Å‚àˆÌ‘å‚ȉȊwŽÒ‚ÍAS‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚ÌŠÖŒW‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚邽‚߂ɓw—Í‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚Ä‚±‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ð”­Œ©‚µ‚½‚±‚Æ‚ÅA”Þ‚ÍS‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚ð’´‚¦‚é•û–@‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍDŠïS‚©‚炳͂Ȃ­A‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚é•û–@‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚邽‚߂Ɍ»ŽÀ‚ð’T‹‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚ǂ̌Âl‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚àA‚ǂ̉Ƒ°‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚àA‚ǂ̎Љï‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚àA‚ǂ̑‰Æ‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚àA‘S¢ŠE‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚àA”ñí‚É‘½‚­‚̔ߎS‚È󋵂ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Œå‚è‚ðŠJ‚¢‚½l‚ÍA‚±‚̔ߎS‚³‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚é•û–@‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ˆêl‚ЂƂ肪”ߎS‚È󋵂©‚甲‚¯o‚³‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‘¼‚ɉðŒˆô‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‰Æ‘°‘Sˆõ‚ª”ߎS‚È󋵂©‚甲‚¯o‚³‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚»‚¤‚·‚ê‚ÎA‰Æ‘°‚ÍK‚¹‚Å•½˜a‚Å’²˜a‚̂Ƃꂽ‚à‚̂ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

ŽÐ‰ï‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̬ˆõ‚ª”ߎS‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·‚È‚çA‘‰Æ‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̬ˆõ‚ª”ߎS‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·‚È‚çA¢ŠE‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̑–¯‚ª”ߎS‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·‚È‚çA‚»‚̂Ƃ«‰‚߂ĢŠE•½˜a‚ªŽÀŒ»‚·‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª¢ŠE•½˜a‚ð–]‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚©‚ç‚Æ‚¢‚Á‚Ä¢ŠE•½˜a‚Í‚ ‚蓾‚Ü‚¹‚ñB u¢ŠE•½˜a‚ð‰½“x‚à‘i‚¦‚éA‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚Í‹N‚±‚é‚Í‚¸‚Å‚·Bv ‚»‚ñ‚È‚±‚Ƃ͋N‚±‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í•½˜a‚Ì‚½‚ß‚Éî“®‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‰½“x‚à‘i‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚邯AŽ©•ªŽ©g‚Ì•½‰¸‚ðŽ¸‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚¾‚©‚çAî“®‚µ‚È‚¢‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢I

S‚ðò‰»‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‚»‚¤‚·‚ê‚ÎA‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì‚ ‚ç‚ä‚és“®‚ª‰F’ˆ‚É•½˜a‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

S‚ðò‰»‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‚±‚ꂪ‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŽÐ‰ï‚ÉvŒ£‚Å‚«‚é•û–@‚Å‚·B ‚»‚¤‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA‘¼l‚ð‚‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ð‚â‚ßA”Þ‚ç‚𕂯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B Ž©•ªŽ©g‚̉ð•ú‚Ì‚½‚߂ɓw—Í‚·‚邯A‘¼‚Ìl‚ªŽS‚ß‚³‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·‚Ì‚ðŽè•‚¯‚µŽn‚ß‚½‚±‚ƂɋC‚­‚Å‚µ‚傤B ˆêl‚ÌŒÂl‚ª•¡”‚ÌŒÂl‚ɂȂèA—Ö‚ª‚ä‚Á‚­‚è‚ÆL‚ª‚è‚Ü‚·B –‚–@‚àŠïÕ‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž©•ªŽ©g‚Ì•½˜a‚Ì‚½‚߂ɓw—Í‚·‚ê‚ÎA“K؂Ɏæ‚è‘g‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚ê‚ÎAŽüˆÍ‚Ì•µˆÍ‹C‚ª‚æ‚蕽˜a‚ɂȂèŽn‚߂Ă¢‚邱‚ƂɋC‚­‚Å‚µ‚傤B

ŠïÕ‚ª‚ ‚邯‚·‚ê‚ÎA‚»‚ê‚ÍS‚ÌKеƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ð”ߎS‚È󋵂©‚ç‚̉ð•ú‚ւƕς¦‚éŠïÕ‚Å‚·B ‚±‚êˆÈã‚ɑ傫‚ÈŠïÕ‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚±‚ÌŽí‚ÌŠïÕ‚ÉŒü‚¯‚ÄŽæ‚ç‚ê‚éˆê•à‚Í‚·‚ׂČ’‘S‚Ȉê•à‚Å‚ ‚èA–ð‚É—§‚ˆê•à‚Å‚·B ‚»‚Ì‘¼‚Ì–¾‚ç‚©‚ÈŠïÕ‚Í‘©”›‚Å‚·B

ŠF‚³‚ñ‚ª”ߎS‚È󋵂©‚甲‚¯o‚µA‘©”›‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB –{“–‚Ì•½˜aA–{“–‚Ì’²˜aA–{“–‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ðŠy‚µ‚ñ‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B

 

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

‚ ‚ I ‚قǂȂ­‚±‚Ì“÷‘Ì‚ª

’n‚Ìã‚Å•½‚ç‚ɂȂ邾‚낤A

–³Ž‹‚³‚êAˆÓޝ‚ª‚È‚¢A

–ð‚É—§‚½‚È‚¢ŠÛ‘¾‚̂悤‚ÉB

Dhammapada 3.41

 

 

 

 

 

Hiding from the Wisdom of Anicca

For centuries, humans have devised countless products in an attempt to improve the appearance of the  body, disguise its odor, halt its decay, mask its physical and mental pain—all to create an illusion of beauty,  happiness, and constancy. Markets flourish selling jewelry, fashionable clothing, hair dyes, makeup, anti- wrinkle creams, deodorants,  perfumes, a , alcohol, drugs, and more. 

                            The truth of the material body has been buried deep in the unconscious mind, and  its products are the soil that covers the casket. The Buddha unearthed the truth of material form. He  understood experientially its moment-to-moment decay and the overall withering that leads to death, and discovered that the truth of anicca within the body was the key to nibbāna.

                            We all have inklings of this truth but hide from it, because it exposes a deeply pervasive  fear of loss entangled with our strong attachment to the mistaken perception of a permanent body housing  an eternal gI.h

Vipassana meditation brings the mind-bodyfs true nature into view, with its incessant changing  quality—anicca. Developing equanimity towards the reality of the mind-body is what breaks down our attachment to it and leads us to liberation.

 

 

 

anicca‚̉b’q‚©‚ç‰B‚ê‚éƒqƒg

‰½¢‹I‚É‚à‚킽‚Á‚ÄAl‚͑̂̊OŠÏ‚ð‰ü‘P‚µAL‚¢‚ð‰B‚µA•…”s‚ðŽ~‚ßA“÷‘Ì“I‚¨‚æ‚уƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚È‹ê’É‚ð‰B‚·‚½‚ß‚ÉA”‚¦Ø‚ê‚È‚¢‚قǂ̻•i‚ðlˆÄ‚µ‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚·‚ׂĂÍA”ü‚µ‚³AK•ŸA•s•Ï«‚ÌŒ¶‘z‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·‚½‚߂ł·B Žsê‚ÍA•óü•iA—¬s‚̈ߗÞAõ–ÑÜA‰»Ï•iA‚µ‚í–hŽ~ƒNƒŠ[ƒ€AÁLÜA…AƒAƒ‹ƒR[ƒ‹A–ò•¨‚Ȃǂ̔̔„‚Å“ö‚í‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

•¨Ž¿“I‚ȑ̂Ì^ŽÀ‚Í–³ˆÓޝ‚ÌS‚̉œ[‚­‚É–„‚à‚ê‚Ä‚¨‚èA‚»‚ÌŽY•¨‚ÍŠ»‚𕢂¤“y‚Å‚·B

ƒuƒbƒ_‚Í•¨Ž¿Œ`‘Ô‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ð”­Œ©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍAuŠÔuŠÔ‚Ì•…”s‚ÆAŽ€‚ɂ‚Ȃª‚é‘S‘Ì“I‚ȈÞk‚ðŒoŒ±“I‚É—‰ð‚µA‘Ì“à‚Ì–³í‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ªŸ¸žÏ‚Ö‚ÌŒ®‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Ƃ𔭌©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠFA‚±‚Ì^ŽÀ‚É”–X‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÌA‚»‚ê‚©‚çg‚ð‰B‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚È‚º‚È‚çA‚±‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ÍA‰i‰“‚ÌuŽ„v‚ªh‚é‰i‹v‚Ìg‘̂Ƃ¢‚¤Œë‚Á‚½”Fޝ‚Ö‚ÌŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì‹­‚¢Ž·’…‚Æ—‚݇‚¢A[‚­– ‰„‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‘rޏ‚Ì‹°•|‚ð–\˜I‚·‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ÍA₦ŠÔ‚È‚­•ω»‚·‚髎¿A‚Â‚Ü‚è–³í‚Æ‚Æ‚à‚ÉASg‚Ì^‚Ì«Ž¿‚𖾂炩‚É‚µ‚Ü‚·B S‚Ƒ̂̌»ŽÀ‚ɑ΂·‚éɸ‚³‚ðˆç‚Þ‚±‚Æ‚ÍAS‚Ƒ̂̌»ŽÀ‚Ö‚ÌŽ·’…‚ð‘Å‚¿”j‚èAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ð‰ð•ú‚Ö‚Æ“±‚«‚Ü‚·B

 

 

 

 

 

Ambapālīfs Verses

At the time of the Buddha, Ambapālī was an exquisitely beautiful and famous courtesan. She had a son  who became an eminent elder in the Buddhafs monastic order. One day she heard her son give a discourse on Dhamma and was inspired by its truth to renounce the world and ordain as a bhikkhunī.  Through observation of the decay of her once-beautiful body, she understood the law of impermanence to its full extent and became an arahant.

This selection of her verses describes the changes that transform the body in old age.

 

 

My hair was black, the color of bees,

each hair ending in a  curl.

Now, on account of old age,

they  have become like fibers of hemp.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of  Truth.

Covered with flowers, my head was fragrant

like  a  casket  of  delicate  scent.

Now, on  account of  old  age,

it s t smells  like  the  fur  of  a  dog.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of  Truth.

Formerly my eyebrows were beautiful,

like  crescents  well painted  by  an  artistfs  hand.

Now, on account of old age,

they droop  down, lined  by  wrinkles.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of  Truth.

 

Brilliant and beautiful like jewels,

my  eyes were dark  blue and  long  in  shape.

Now, hit hard by old age,

their beauty  has utterly  vanished.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of Truth.

Formerly my teeth looked beautiful,

the color of plantain  buds.

Now, on account of old age,

they  are broken  and  yellow.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of  Truth.

Formerly my two breasts were beautiful,

swollen,, round, compact, and high.

Now  they hang down and sag,

like  a  pair  of  empty  water  bags.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of  Truth.

Formerly my body was beautiful,

like  a  well-polished  sheet of gold.

Now  it is all covered with wrinkles.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of  Truth.

 

 

Formerly my feet looked beautiful,

as  if made of cotton wool.

Now, because of old age,

they  are cracked  and  wrinkled  all over.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of  Truth.

Such is this body, now decrepit,

the abode of a  jumble of suffering.

It is nothing but an aged house

from which the plaster has fallen.

Not otherwise is the word

of  the Speaker of  Truth.

 

—Therīgāthā 13.252–270, 

Amadeo Solé-Leris, translator

 

 

 

 

Dvipādakoya asuci,

duggandho parihārati;

Nānākuapaparipūro,

vissavanto tato tato.

Etādisena kāyena,

yo maññe  uṇṇametave;

Para vā avajāneyya

kimaññatra adassanāti.

 

This two-footed dirty body,

carrying about a  bad odor

and  full of impurities

that pour out from different places—

with  a  body  like  this,

if  one thinks highly of  oneself

and  looks down  upon  others,

to  what can  this be due, except ignorance?

 

Sutta  Nipata 1.207-208

 

 

 

 

 

ƒAƒ“ƒoƒpƒŠAmbapālī‚ÌŽ@

Žß‰Þ‚ÌŽž‘ãAƒAƒ“ƒoƒpƒŠ‚Í”ñí‚É”ü‚µ‚­—L–¼‚È—V—‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚É‚ÍA•§‘É‚ÌC“¹‰ï‚Ì’˜–¼‚È’·˜V‚ƂȂÁ‚½‘§Žq‚ª‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚ ‚é“úA”Þ—‚Í‘§Žq‚ªdhamma‚ɂ‚¢‚Äà–@‚·‚é‚̂𕷂«A‚»‚Ì^—‚ÉG”­‚³‚ê‚Ä¢‚ðŽÌ‚ĂĔä‹u“ò‚Æ‚µ‚Äo‰Æ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚©‚‚Ă͔ü‚µ‚©‚Á‚½Ž©•ª‚Ì“÷‘Ì‚ª‹€‚¿‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Ì‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA”Þ—‚Í–³í‚Ì–@‘¥‚ðŠ®‘S‚É—‰ð‚µAˆ¢—…Š¿‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ—‚Ì‚±‚ÌŽW‚ÍA˜V”NŠú‚É‚¨‚¯‚ég‘̂̕ω»‚ðà–¾‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

 

Ž„‚Ì”¯‚Í•‚­A–I‚ÌF‚Å‚µ‚½B

‚·‚×‚Ä‚Ì–Ñæ‚̓J[ƒ‹‚Å‚µ‚½B

¡‚Í”N˜V‚¢‚½ˆ×A”¯‚Í

–ƒ‚Ì‘@ˆÛ‚̂悤‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

‰Ô‚É•¢‚í‚ꂽ“ª‚Í

‘@ׂȂè‚̕󔠂̂è‚Å‚µ‚½B

¡‚Í”N˜V‚¢‚½ˆ×A

Œ¢‚̖т̂悤‚È“õ‚¢‚Å‚·B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

͔̂û–Ñ‚ªãY—킾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÉA

‰æ‰Æ‚É•`‚©‚ꂽŽO“úŒŽ‚̂悤‚ÉB

¡‚Í”N˜V‚¢‚½ˆ×A

”û‚Í‚‚ꉺ‚ª‚èA‚µ‚킪•À‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

•ó΂̂悤‚ɃLƒ‰ƒLƒ‰‚Æ”ü‚µ‚­A

Ž„‚Ì–Ú‚Í”Z‚¢Â‚ÅA×’·‚¢Œ`‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

¡‚Í”N˜V‚¢‚½ˆ×A

‚»‚ê‚ç‚Ì”ü‚µ‚³‚ÍŠ®‘S‚ÉÁ‚¦‹Ž‚Á‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

͎̂•‚ªãY—í‚ÅA

ƒIƒIƒoƒR‚ÌåQ‚ÌF‚Å‚µ‚½B

¡‚Í”N˜V‚¢‚½ˆ×A

Ž•‚͉ó‚êA‰©F‚Å‚·B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

ˆÈ‘O‚Í“ñ‚‚̋¹‚ª”ü‚µ‚­A

–c‚ç‚ÝAŠÛ‚­AƒRƒ“ƒpƒNƒg‚ÅA‚‚³‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

¡‚ł͂‚ꉺ‚ª‚Á‚Ęc‚ÝA

u‚©‚çv‚ɂȂÁ‚½…‘܂̂悤‚Å‚·B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

̂͑̂àãY—í‚ÅA

‚܂邳悭–‚©‚ꂽ‹à‚̔‚̂悤‚ÉB

¡‚ł͂·‚Á‚©‚èƒVƒ‚¾‚炯‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

̂͑«‚ªãY—í‚ÉŒ©‚¦A

‚܂邪Ȗтłł«‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚̂悤‚Å‚µ‚½B

¡‚ł͔N˜V‚¢‚½ˆ×A

‘S‘̂͂Ђъ„‚ê‚ÄA‚µ‚킪Šñ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

˜V‚¢‚ڂꂽ‚±‚Ì“÷‘̂ƂÍA

‚³‚Ü‚´‚܂ȋꂵ‚Ý‚ÌZˆB

‚±‚ê‚Í‚½‚¾‚̌¢‰Æ‚Å‚·A

Îp‚ª”‚°—Ž‚¿‚½B

‚»‚êˆÈŠO‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñA

^ŽÀ‚ÌŒê‚èŽè‚É‚ÍB

 

 

\Therīgāthā 13.252270A’·˜V“ò˜óŒo@Œo‘ ¬•”@ƒe[ƒŠ[‚Íu’·˜V“òvAƒK[ƒ^[‚Íu˜óèñvi‚°‚¶‚ãj

Amadeo Solé-LerisA–|–óŽÒ

 

This two-footed dirty body,

carrying about a  bad odor

and  full of impurities

that pour out from different places—

with  a  body  like  this,

if  one thinks highly of  oneself

and  looks down  upon  others,

to  what can  this be due, except ignorance?

 

Sutta  Nipata 1.207-208

 

‚±‚Ì2‘«•às‚̉˜‚ꂽ‘ÌA

ˆ«L‚ðŽ‚¿‘±‚¯A

‚¢‚Á‚Ï‚¢•sƒ•¨‚ª

‚³‚Ü‚´‚Ü‚Èꊂ©‚çˆì‚êo‚·

‚±‚̂悤‚ȑ̂ÅA

Ž©•ª‚ð‚‚­•]‰¿‚µ‚Ä

‘¼l‚ðŒ©‰º‚·‚È‚ç‚ÎA

‚±‚ê‚Í–³’mˆÈŠO‚̉½‚É‚æ‚é‚à‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H

 

—ƒXƒbƒ^ ƒjƒp[ƒ^ 1.207-208

 

 

 

 

 

Questions to Goenkaji III

Ethical Questions in the Age of Modern Medicine

 

Suppose,  as  death   approaches,  someone  refuses   food  or treatment. She knows shefs dying and she feels she canft  bear it  any more. Is that considered suicide?

Again, it depends. If she refuses food with the intention of dying prematurely, then  it is wrong. But if she stops taking  food  or medicine, saying, gLet me die peacefully; donft disturb me,h

thatfs  a different thing.  It  all  depends on the volition.  If the volition  is to  die quickly, itfs wrong. If the volition  is to  die peacefully, itfs totally  different.

Doctors  in  the  West  treat  patients  as  long   as  they   can.

However, when they decide that nothing more can be done medically, there is a system  by which patients are allowed to return home  and are  provided nursing care  so they can die  peacefully in  familiar surroundings. Usually, all thatfs given  for treatment  is palliative medication, and care and comfort. Wonderful! Very good! This is the humane way. If he is dying and there  is no further treatment, it is better to take  him home  to a  good atmosphere. Create  a  Dhamma  atmosphere. Let him  die peacefully, in  comfort. Good.

 

Na antalikkhe na samuddamajjhe,

na  pabbatāna vivara pavissa;

Na vijjatī so jagatippadeso,

yatthaṭṭhita nappasaheyya  maccu.

 

Not in the sky, not in the middle of the ocean,

not even in the  cave  of a  mountain

should one seek refuge;

for there exists no place in the world

where one will not be overpowered by death.

 

Dhammapada 9.128

 

 

 

Goenkaji ‚Ö‚ÌŽ¿–âIII@@@Œ»‘ãˆãŠw‚ÌŽž‘ã‚É‚¨‚¯‚é—Ï—“I–â‘è

Ž€‚ª‹ß‚«AHŽ–‚⎡—Ã‚ð‹‘”Û‚µ‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ü‚·B ”Þ—‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ªŽ€‚Ê‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚ÄA‚±‚êˆÈã‘Ï‚¦‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ©ŽE‚Ƃ݂Ȃ³‚ê‚Ü‚·‚©H

ŒJ‚è•Ô‚µ‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Í󋵂ɂæ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚à‚µ”Þ—‚ª‘Ž€‚É‚·‚é‚‚à‚è‚ÅH‚ו¨‚ð‹‘”Û‚·‚é‚È‚çA‚»‚ê‚͊ԈႢ‚Å‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚à‚µ”Þ—‚ªuˆÀ‚ç‚©‚ÉŽ€‚È‚¹‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢BŽ×–‚‚µ‚È‚¢‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢Bv‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚ÄH‚ו¨‚â–ò‚ðˆù‚Þ‚Ì‚ð‚â‚ß‚é‚̂ł ‚ê‚΂»‚ê‚͕ʂ̂±‚Ƃł·B

‚·‚ׂĂ͈ӎuŽŸ‘æ‚Å‚·B ‘‚­Ž€‚É‚½‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤ˆÓŽu‚ª‚ ‚é‚È‚çA‚»‚ê‚͊ԈႢ‚Å‚·B ˆÀ‚ç‚©‚ÉŽ€‚É‚½‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤ˆÓŽu‚ª‚ ‚é‚È‚çA‚»‚ê‚Í‘S‚­ˆá‚¢‚Ü‚·B

¼—m‚̈ãŽt‚͉”\‚ÈŒÀ‚芳ŽÒ‚ðŽ¡—Ã‚µ‚Ü‚·B

‚µ‚©‚µAˆãŠw“I‚É‚±‚êˆÈã‚͂ł«‚È‚¢‚Æ”»’f‚µ‚½ê‡‚É‚ÍAгŽÒ‚ªŽ©‘î‚É–ß‚Á‚ĉîŒì‚ðŽó‚¯AZ‚ÝŠµ‚ꂽŠÂ‹«‚ňÀ‚ç‚©‚ÉŽ€‚ðŒ}‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é§“x‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ’ÊíAŽ¡—Â̂½‚߂ɗ^‚¦‚ç‚ê‚é‚Ì‚ÍAŠÉ˜a–ò‚ƃPƒA‚ƈԂ߂¾‚¯‚Å‚·B

‘f°‚炵‚­‚¢‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·A‚±‚ꂪl“¹“I‚È•û–@‚Å‚·B ”Þ‚ªŽ€‚É•m‚µ‚Ä‚¨‚èA‚±‚êˆÈã‚ÌŽ¡—Ö@‚ª‚È‚¢ê‡‚ÍA—Ç‚¢•µˆÍ‹C‚ÌꊂɘA‚ê‚Ä‹A‚é‚Ì‚ª—Ç‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B

ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì•µˆÍ‹C‚ðì‚èo‚µ‚Ü‚·B ˆÀ‚ç‚©‚ÉAS’n‚æ‚­Ž€‚È‚¹‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B

 

 

‹ó‚Å‚à‚È‚­AŠC‚Ì^‚ñ’†‚Å‚à‚È‚­A

ŽR‚Ì“´ŒA‚Å‚³‚¦‚à‚È‚¢

”ð“ð’T‚·‚Æ‚±‚ë‚ÍB

¢ŠE‚ɂ͂»‚ñ‚Èꊂ͑¶Ý‚µ‚È‚¢

Ž€‚Ɉ³“|‚³‚ê‚È‚¢‚Æ‚±‚ë‚È‚ñ‚ÄB

 

Dhammapada 9.128

 

 

 

 

 

Terrell Jones @@Facing Death Head-on

In 2002, Terrell Jones died  from cancer at his home in  Copper Hill, Virginia. Eight years earlier he had discovered Vipassana, and  soon  afterwards his wife Diane also  attended  a  course. Together they became serious meditators, sitting and serving as much as possible.

              Even the knowledge of his imminent death  could  not deter them from serving.  In the weeks before his death, he and  Diane were fully occupied as registrars for a nearby non-center course.

              Two weeks before he died, Diane drove Terrell 12 hours north  to  the Vipassana Meditation  Center, Dhamma Dharā, in  Massachusetts,  where  Goenkaji  and  his  wife  Mataji  were visiting.  They wished to pay respects to them and  express their gratitude for the gift of Vipassana. Throughout their visit Terrell was an inspiration to all: no fear, no regrets—just   joy  and gratitude.

              Terrell had only 10 weeks to come to terms not only with terminal  cancer,  but  with losing his love  of 30 years. He  had, as well, to face the fact that he would not be present to help and comfort her.

              As she watched his body withering, Diane had the same 10 weeks to learn to cope with the death of her husband of 30 years. In her mind, she faced his death  each  day. 

              Terrell  and  Diane  had  always  wanted  to  find  a  way  to diminish  their mutual attachment, so  that whoever survived  the other would  suffer less intense grief at the loss. They both  knew that Vipassana  was  the  way.

              They meditated together every day, sometimes for many hours. They maintained their awareness of sensations in the sadness of their prolonged  parting and, as equanimously as possible, watched  their grief and fear. Terrellfs  fervent wish, near the end, was to have a peaceful mind, full of equanimity, with a strong awareness of sensations at the moment of death—a wish that was fulfilled.

              While in Massachusetts, Terrell  and Diane gladly agreed to be interviewed, and to share their thoughts and feelings about their lives and his impending  death.

 

Terrell:  Well, you know I have cancer with, the doctors say, only  a very  slim chance of beating  it. But thatfs  just a game with              numbers.  The  way   that  Diane  and   I  are  dealing   with   it  is, actually—wefre  happy. Crazy  as  it  sounds, wefve found  the   cancer to be a gift  because it  has shown us so much that  we were   previously  unaware of in  our day-to-day  lives. Every  day  we recognize more people and things to be grateful for. In the past we just, I suppose, took them for granted—especially our friends               who love us, whom we were too little aware of. We donft  have— or at least, we might not have—that  much time left,  so we donft  take things for granted any more. We always feel so fortunate  for  what we have.

 

Virginia: Are you afraid?

No, Ifm  not afraid. Whatfs  there to be afraid of?  I might die in the next  30 days, I donft  know.  But  I might  not  die for 30 years.      Even if I have another 30 years, Ifm  not going to be any more ready to die then than I  am now. Ifm  still going to have to go        through exactly  what Ifm  going through now. At this moment I               have a 50-50  chance of getting  through  it. Ifm  either going to come  through it alive, or come  through it dead: 50-50.

Death is absolutely inevitable. Every single one of us will die sometime. Those who havenft been  given  their sentence by  the medical profession, theyfre out there. But theyfre busy; they arenft  sitting around thinking every minute about  death.  Whereas I  donft  have a lot  of other things to think about,  so perhaps my focus is a bit sharper than theirs.

 

Tell me about your discovery of Vipassana.

I  was chatting with a friend one night and mentioned that I  was having  trouble with  people; I just couldnft  talk with anybody.  He said, gYou know, I took this course once and spent 10 days in Noble Silence,h and I wanted to go for that alone. Amazingly, even though he  hadnft  kept  up his practice,  he had with him those two little information booklets that  are sent  to people who are  curious, who want to know about courses. He  still had them in  a  suitcase.  I  read  them  and  immediately  wanted  to  go.

              But I wouldnft  have gone if it  hadnft  been on a donation basis. Because I had  been  in  and  out of various groups, I was very  skeptical. Once I got into  a group  and  started  looking  a little deeper,  I   always  found   something   commercial  in   it  for  somebodyfs  financial gain. But offering Vipassana free of charge showed me this  organizationfs  volition was  different. I was  here at  the   center  within  six  weeks  of  having  read  those   two brochures.

              When I came out of that 10-day  course my  mind  began  to  circle  back to all the  problems I had back home  and, incredibly,  they werenft  there.  The reactions I would have had to certain thoughts about  family or friends were all  gone.  I was filled with awareness of what I had, of how grateful I should  have been  for the people in my life who put  up with my behavior as long as they had.  I couldnft  wait  to get  on the phone with Diane to tell 

her how much  I loved  her and  to  beg  her to  give me another chance. Not long after she too went  to a course and from that  time on,  you know,  wefve practiced  very  deeply, several times a year,  many   courses.  Our  understanding   has  deepened.  The solution to all our different problems  has  come down to: purify, purify, purify.

              Since we had always been  so  much  in  love with  each  other, our goal then  became gaining  enough  wisdom in  Vipassana so  that  when one of us was dying we would be able to go through it  without totally falling apart. And we are extremely fortunate that we attained that goal. We didnft  know it,  you know.  We didnft  know that we had  attained  the goal until it happened. We had  no  idea how we would react  to one of us facing death,  no idea at  all. 

When  it  happened,  we  discovered  that  an  entirely  new understanding  of what death  is had  taken  place on  a very  deep  level  within us.  Beneath the rational  mind,  on the unconscious level,  something had gone;  it  had been purified by the practice of Vipassana.

              In this experience wefre having with death right now, I  canft  exactly say ... I  canft  really say in words what  isnft  there any more.  Whatever it  was that  used to make me react  with fear to the thought  of dying is no longer there.  I canft  explain it,  except  that  somehow all  the years of meditation have eliminated that,  have cut that problem off at the  root. Itfs  wonderful.

 

 

Diane, how do you deal with  yourself and  your sensations when you see Terrell in great pain? How  do you cope with not being able to relieve it? Do you  help  in  some other way, psychologically?

 

Diane:  Often, with this cancer, Terrellfs  experiencing a great deal of discomfort. Loving  him as I do, I  always want to be able to help him with that.  But  there are many times when Ifm  unable to do so.  I try to make his position more comfortable and give him things like his medication  to  try to help him,  but often it doesnft work.  There are moments when I feel  like,  gGee, what else  can I do?h

              I want to help but, in fact, I canft really do that much physically. Thatfs where meditation is  helpful. Ifll say, gTerrell, letfs focus on our breath; letfs focus on our sensations.h Hefll focus on his pain and Ifll focus on mine.   

My pain is the pain of feeling helpless, and yet thatfs always changing, thatfs anicca. It changes from moment to moment. I have these feelings sometimes of wanting to help and being unable to, and thatfs when my strength comes. It comes from within, from years of practicing and becoming aware of whatfs happening in the moment and being equanimous with that— having a balanced mind, and being aware of anicca. 

              So when those times come, I focus on my breath because thatfs  where what Goenkaji calls  glittle volcanoesh come up. I can feel them coming, and as they do I focus on my breath; I focus on the sensations. Sometimes I might even cry. When the tears come, I feel them burning my face. I  focus on that; I focus on the tears falling. I focus on the lump in my throat. As I feel sensations throughout my body, it  eases the discomfort. I can help  him more by his seeing  that it works and, when he sees that, hefs  more focused. Itfs a partnership. It works both ways. When he sees me in discomfort, he does the same for me.

 

Many people might now consider your position to be the more difficult one, since you will be the one left behind.

              I  know, I  hear  that all the time. gYoufre the caregiver, and the one whofs  left behind is  going to have it more difficult.h But, like  we  said  before,   our  practice  has  given  us  strength  and

understanding   of  anicca—change,  change,  change.  When  he  passes Ifll  have  the  strength  of  my  practice,  the  strength  of Vipassana, and mettā,  love.  All  the people who have supported

us through  the years, and  the practice, give me strength. I am so  grateful for Vipassana coming  into  my  life through  him. Wefve grown, wefve grown  with  an  understanding  thatfs  far beyond words. I canft e t express  it. 

              Wefve meditated  together every  day  since the day  we started.

Wefve never wavered. Itfs  always  been an important part of our lives.  As wefve become older, giving  service has also  become very  important. In  the last few years, we decided that we  would spend the rest of our lives  just serving and sitting. That would not  only   help   spread   the  Dhamma,  but  it  would   help   us strengthen  our  practice.  Our  day-to-day   practice  and   our commitment are  strong.

 

Terrell, could you talk about service?

Terrell: Giving service is as incredible as sitting a Vipassana course. Service  is another entire  course  in itself. I did my first 20-day  service last year. I fell in  love with  serving  long  courses.

Youfre there serving every day. Youfre doing it because youfre grateful for whatfs  been given to you, and you want to give it to others. That feeling  of wanting  to  serve others is a beautiful feeling—uplifting   and   so   satisfying.  You   know  that  youfre giving  the gift of your time so  that others can  practice Vipassana,  but the gift that servers receive is just as valuable, if not more so.

Itfs  wonderful to look out across  a sea of meditators  and know that  you have to be a part  of it  for it  to take place.  Every person there,   from  the  teacher  to  the  one  cleaning   the  toilets,  is necessary—they just  have different  functions.  Some take more training than others but,  without  the servers,  the course couldnft  happen  at all.

 

How  do you find a balance between fighting for your life and achieving  a  calm acceptance of  the medical verdict?

              I  find myself in the circumstance of having terminal cancer.

Strange words. I have never really thought of myself as having terminal   cancer.   In  the  medical   literature,   and  in  all   the alternative  therapies Ifve read  about, if I find  something that has  worked,  seems  to  have  worked,  has  been  highly  touted  as helping, or has helped  before, I try  it. But Ifm  not attached, because Ifm  not afraid to die.

              Ifm  going to die now, 10 years from now, 20 years from now, 30  years  from  now—I   am  going   to   die.  Therefs   no  getting around the  fact that Ifm  going to die. Therefore Ifm  not desperate that  something has to work.  It  doesnft  have to work now.  If it  works, great: Diane and I have much more time to sit and serve.

If it doesnft  work,  great:  wefve had  this fabulous time together.

We came to the Dhamma together. All these wonderful things have happened  to  us. Wefre filled with gratitude. Wefre going to be happy  no  matter what.

 

 

              A  month after Terrellfs  death, Diane returned to Massachusetts to meditate. She  recounted her memories of his passing and the  time  leading  up  to  it.

 

Diane: On the morning of his death, we got up and meditated. Later, while talking to a friend on the phone I heard Terrell say, gDiane,  you need to come here now.h gOkay, I replied.h and hung  up. When  I got in  there he told  me, gItfs  time.h Again, I said, gOkay.h

              We talked a little and he asked, gMake sure Ifm  doing it  right. 

Am I doing it right, honey?h I  reassured him, gYes, you are doing  it right.h

             He was so aware, he was starting to glow.  His skin color changed; he  just glowed! My friend who was with me  looked at him and  confirmed, gHefs  glowing.h He was so filled with love, so filled with compassion, and the Dhamma was  just ... you  could see, he  was aglow. He  was totally in it. 

              He said to me, gItfs  okay, honey. Youfre going to be fine.h

He had no fear; he was aware of everything around him. He looked at  me.  gHoney, Ifm  losing my eyesight; itfs  going now,h and he  puckered up for me  to kiss him. I kissed  him.

              At that moment, thatfs  all I could do—to thank him for giving me this great gift of Dhamma. It wasnft  really hard to let  go because  the  Dhamma  was  fully   there;  it  just  was.  I  felt  no 

holding  on.

              Before he died, he began  to  chant. He wasnft  gasping for breath; it was a very calm and beautiful breath filled with love, filled with compassion for the whole world. I wasnft  gme,h there was no gI,h no  gme,h no  gmine.h That moment was so pure; I had totally  surrendered  to  the  Dhamma.

              We had been very attached to each other and knew it wasnft  good. We had  hoped  that Vipassana would  show us the way  to  get past it. I often  wondered  if it would  really  work  when  the final moment came—and it did. I was losing the  love  of my life, my best friend, my mentor. I let him  go; I didnft  cling or  try to hold  on to him.  I didnft  even have to think about  it;  it  simply happened  that way. It was not only  a joy, it was an  honor to  be with him and experience this with him, to help him through those last m t moments. I . I  was  filled  with  joy. I . Itfs  hard to explain.

              As he took his last breath, an energy went through me that I canft  really explain.  It  just  shot  through me,  a good energy.  It  was comforting, and I knew  at that moment that he had gone— from life to death.

              It was then that something became clear  to me. I  finally understood—nine years I had  been  meditating, being  aware of sensations   and  being  equanimous   with  the  understanding  of anicca—it  was so clear to me,  crystal  clear:  this was anicca. 

This was it.

              My heart was wide open. I was not Diane. I was totally in the present   moment   with    full   understanding    of   anicca,    the impermanence of it  all.  I was totally unattached to everything,  and I was so filled with joy that he  was able  to give  me  this gift of the understanding  of this moment. I shall have that with  me forever and, I hope, be able to share it with other people.

              After Terrell took his last breath in this life, there were tears but no  grief—only  overwhelming  joy. It is hard  to  explain  that, because people feel that, when you have just lost the love of your life, you  should  be totally  beside yourself. But I was filled  with  mettā.

              A  few  hours after he died, people came to  take his body  to  the funeral home. I sat in the rocking chair in the living room by myself. I looked around at all his treasures and realized the only treasure  he  took  with  him  was  his  Dhamma.

              For  a  while,  I   couldnft   make  decisions.   Ifd   go   to  do something and just stand there as  if I were waiting for him. We always made  decisions together, even little  ones. This closeness is what  people miss when theyfve been  with  someone for a long  time. Therefs  an emptiness  that is  very hard to deal with.

              Since his death, there have been tears and moments of grief.  I miss him  but, because I have this practice, I can get on my cushion. I sit there  and focus on my breath—even if tears are  wet on   my   cheeks—observing   loneliness, sadness, emptiness, the pain  in my heart—feeling sorry for myself. I just observe it and let it do  its thing.

 

Jarā vyādhi se  mauta se,

lade  akelā  eka.

Koī sātha na de sake,

parijana  svajana  aneka.

 

Old age, sickness, death,

we face these all alone.

No one can share them with us,

though many be near and dear.

 

Hindi doha,  S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

 

ƒeƒŒƒ‹EƒWƒ‡[ƒ“ƒYTerrell Jones@@@@Ž€‚Æ^³–Ê‚©‚çŒü‚«‡‚¤

 

2002 ”NAƒeƒŒƒ‹EƒWƒ‡[ƒ“ƒY‚̓o[ƒWƒjƒABƒRƒbƒp[Eƒqƒ‹‚ÌŽ©‘î‚ÅŠà‚É‚æ‚è–S‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B 8 ”N‘O‚ɔނ̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ð”­Œ©‚µA‚»‚̌シ‚®‚ÉȂ̃_ƒCƒAƒ“‚àƒR[ƒX‚ÉŽQ‰Á‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ç‚Í^Œ•‚ÈáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ƂȂèA‰Â”\‚ÈŒÀ‚èÀ‚Á‚Ä•òŽd‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚ÌŽ€‚ª·‚µ”—‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ä‚àA”Þ‚ç‚Í•òŽd‚ðŽv‚¢‚Ƃǂ܂邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B–S‚­‚È‚é”TŠÔ‘OA”ނƃ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚͋߂­‚̃mƒ“EƒZƒ“ƒ^[ƒR[ƒX‚Ì“o˜^ŒW‚Æ‚µ‚ătƒ‹Šˆ“®‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

–S‚­‚È‚é2TŠÔ‘OAƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚̓eƒŒƒ‹‚ðŽÔ‚Å–k‚É12ŽžŠÔ‚©‚¯‚ÄAƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÆÈ‚̃}ƒ^ƒW‚ª–K‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½ƒ}ƒTƒ`ƒ…[ƒZƒbƒcB‚̃”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zƒZƒ“ƒ^[ADhamma Dharā‚ÖŒü‚©‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ç‚ÍŒhˆÓ‚ð•\‚µAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽ’•¨‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚̈ӂð•\‚µ‚½‚¢‚Æl‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B –K–â’†AƒeƒŒƒ‹‚Í‚·‚ׂĂÌl‚ɃCƒ“ƒXƒsƒŒ[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B‹°‚ê‚âŒã‰÷‚͂Ȃ­A‚½‚¾Šì‚тƊ´ŽÓ‚Ì‹CŽ‚¿‚¾‚¯‚Å‚µ‚½B

ƒeƒŒƒ‹‚ÍA––Šú‚ª‚ñ‚¾‚¯‚łȂ­A30”N—ˆ‚̈¤‚ðŽ¸‚È‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚é‚Ü‚ÅA‚킸‚©10TŠÔ‚µ‚©‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B”ނ͂܂½Aƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚𕂯‚½‚èˆÔ‚ß‚½‚è‚·‚é‚̂ɗ§‚¿‰ï‚¦‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚É‚à’¼–Ê‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

ƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚ÍA•v‚̑̂ªŠ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚È‚ª‚çA30”NŠÔ˜A‚ê“Y‚Á‚½•v‚ÌŽ€‚ÉŒü‚«‡‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ðŠw‚Ô‚½‚߂ɓ¯‚¶10TŠÔ‚µ‚©‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ—‚ÍS‚Ì’†‚Å–ˆ“ú”Þ‚ÌŽ€‚ÆŒü‚«‡‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒeƒŒƒ‹‚ƃ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚ÍA‚¨ŒÝ‚¢‚̈¤’…‚ðŽã‚ß‚é•û–@‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚ÄA¶‚«Žc‚Á‚½•û‚ÌŽ€•ʂ̔߂µ‚Ý‚ð˜a‚ç‚°‚邿‚¤‚É‚µ‚½‚¢‚Æí‚Él‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B “ñl‚Æ‚àVipassana ‚ª‚»‚Ì•û–@‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚ç‚Í–ˆ“úAŽž‚ɂ͉½ŽžŠÔ‚àˆê‚ÉáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ç‚Í’·ˆø‚­•Ê‚ê‚̔߂µ‚݂̒†‚É‚ ‚銴Šo‚ðˆÓޝ‚µ‘±‚¯A‚Å‚«‚邾‚¯•½Ã‚ɔނç‚̔߂µ‚݂Ƌ°•|‚ðŒ©‚Â‚ß‚Ü‚µ‚½B ƒeƒŒƒ‹‚ÌÅŠú‚Ì”M—ó‚ÈŠè‚¢‚ÍAŽ€‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ð‹­‚­ˆÓޝ‚µA•½Ã‚É–ž‚¿‚½•½˜a‚ÈS‚ðŽ‚Â‚±‚Æ‚ÅAŠè‚¢‚ÍŠ‚¦‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ƒ}ƒTƒ`ƒ…[ƒZƒbƒc‘ØÝ’†AƒeƒŒƒ‹‚ƃ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚̓Cƒ“ƒ^ƒrƒ…[‚ɉž‚¶AŽ©•ª‚½‚¿‚Ìl¶‚Æ·‚µ”—‚Á‚½”Þ‚ÌŽ€‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚Ìl‚¦‚⊴î‚ð‹¤—L‚·‚邱‚ƂɊì‚ñ‚Å“¯ˆÓ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

ƒeƒŒƒ‹: ‚»‚¤‚Å‚·‚ËAŽ„‚ªŠà‚ðŠ³‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂͂²‘¶’m‚Å‚µ‚傤‚ªAˆãŽt‚½‚¿‚ÍŠà‚ðŽ•ž‚Å‚«‚é‰Â”\«‚Í”ñí‚É’á‚¢‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA‚»‚ê‚Í’P‚Ȃ锎š‚̃Q[ƒ€‚Å‚·B ƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚ÆŽ„‚ª‚±‚Ì–â‘è‚ɂǂ¤‘Έ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚ÆAŽÀۂ̂Ƃ±‚ëAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍK‚¹‚Å‚·B ‚¨‚©‚µ‚È‚±‚Ƃɕ·‚±‚¦‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚ª‚ñ‚ª‘¡‚蕨‚Å‚ ‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚È‚º‚È‚çA‚ª‚ñ‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ª“úí¶Šˆ‚Ì’†‚Å‚±‚ê‚܂ŋC‚©‚È‚©‚Á‚½‘½‚­‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ðŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÉŒ©‚¹‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í–ˆ“úA‚æ‚葽‚­‚Ìl‚â•¨Ž–‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚·‚ׂ«‚±‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚·B ˆÈ‘O‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚ê‚ç‚ð“–‘R‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚¾‚ÆŽv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B“Á‚ÉŽ„‚½‚¿‚ðˆ¤‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é—Fl‚½‚¿‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚͂قƂñ‚Ç‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ɂ͂»‚ê‚Ù‚Ç‘½‚­‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ÍŽc‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢A‚ ‚é‚¢‚Í­‚È‚­‚Æ‚àŽc‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÅAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚à‚¤•¨Ž–‚ð“–‚½‚è‘O‚Ì‚±‚ƂƂÍl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ªŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚̂ɂ¢‚‚àŒb‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邯д‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

ƒ”ƒ@[ƒWƒjƒA: •|‚¢‚Å‚·‚©?

‚¢‚¢‚¦A•|‚­‚È‚¢‚Å‚·B ‰½‚ð‹°‚ê‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚©H 30“úˆÈ“à‚ÉŽ€‚Ê‚©‚à’m‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚Å‚à30”N‚ÍŽ€‚ȂȂ¢‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢B ‚½‚Æ‚¦‚ ‚Æ 30 ”N‚ ‚邯‚µ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ÌŽž‚Í¡‚æ‚è‚àŽ€‚Ê€”õ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B Ž„‚Í¡‚Ü‚³‚ÉŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð‚Ü‚¾ŒoŒ±‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Œ»Žž“_‚Å‚ÍAæ‚è‰z‚¦‚ç‚ê‚é‰Â”\«‚͌ܕªŒÜ•ª‚Å‚·B ¶‚«‚Äæ‚è‰z‚¦‚ç‚ê‚é‚©AŽ€‚ñ‚Åæ‚è‰z‚¦‚ç‚ê‚é‚©‚ÌAŒÜ•ªŒÜ•ª‚Å‚·B

Ž€‚Íâ‘Î‚É”ð‚¯‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚½‚¿ˆêlˆêl‚Í‚¢‚‚©‚ÍŽ€‚ɂ܂·B ˆã—Ãê–副‚©‚çé‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B‚µ‚©‚µA”Þ‚ç‚Í–Z‚µ‚¢‚̂ł·B ”Þ‚ç‚ÍÀ‚Á‚ÄŽ€‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä–ˆ•ªl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚é‚킯‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ˆê•ûAŽ„‚Í‘¼‚Él‚¦‚邱‚Ƃ͂ ‚Ü‚è‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÅA‚¨‚»‚ç‚­Ž„‚ÌW’†—Í‚Í”Þ‚ç‚æ‚è‚à­‚µ‰s‚¢‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ì”­Œ©‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‹³‚¦‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B

‚ ‚é–éAŽ„‚Í—Fl‚Æ‚¨‚µ‚á‚ׂ肵‚Ä‚¢‚ÄAlŠÔŠÖŒW‚É–â‘肪‚ ‚邯Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚½‚¾’N‚Æ‚à˜b‚·‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚Íuˆê“xƒm[ƒuƒ‹EƒTƒCƒŒƒ“ƒX‚̃R[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚µ‚Ä10“úŠÔ‰ß‚²‚µ‚½v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚Í‚»‚ê‚És‚«‚½‚¢‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B‹Á‚­‚ׂ«‚±‚Æ‚ÉA”Þ‚ÍŽÀ‘H‚𑱂¯‚ç‚ê‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸ADŠïS‰ ·‚Èl‚âƒR[ƒX‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä’m‚肽‚¢l‚É‘—‚ç‚ê‚鬂³‚ÈûŽq‚ð 2 ûŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނ͂܂¾‚»‚ê‚ç‚ðƒX[ƒcƒP[ƒX‚Ì’†‚É“ü‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚ð“Ç‚ñ‚¾Ž„‚Í‚·‚®‚ɂłàs‚«‚½‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚Å‚àAŠñ•t§‚łȂ¯‚ê‚Îs‚©‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚Í‚³‚Ü‚´‚܂ȃOƒ‹[ƒv‚É“ü‚Á‚½‚èo‚½‚肵‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅA”ñí‚ɉù‹^“I‚Å‚µ‚½B ƒOƒ‹[ƒv‚É“ü‚Á‚Ä‚à‚¤­‚µÚ‚µ‚­’²‚׎n‚߂邯A‚»‚Ì’†‚ɂ͂¢‚‚à’N‚©‚ÌŒoÏ“I—˜‰v‚ð–Ú“I‚Æ‚µ‚½¤‹Æ“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ªŠÜ‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ð–³—¿‚Å‹³‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA‚±‚Ì‘gD‚̈ӎu‚ªˆá‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ª•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚±‚Ì2 û‚̃pƒ“ƒtƒŒƒbƒg‚ð“Ç‚ñ‚Å‚©‚ç 6 TŠÔ‚Ù‚Ç‚±‚̃Zƒ“ƒ^[‚É—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

10“úŠÔ‚̃R[ƒX‚ðI‚¦‚½‚Æ‚«AŽ„‚ÌS‚͉Ƃŕø‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚½‚·‚ׂĂ̖â‘è‚ðŽv‚¢o‚µŽn‚߂܂µ‚½‚ªAM‚¶‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃɖâ‘è‚Í‚»‚±‚ɂ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‰Æ‘°‚â—Fl‚Ì‚ ‚él‚¦‚ɑ΂µ‚ĂƂÁ‚½‚Å‚ ‚낤”½‰ž‚à‚Ý‚ñ‚ȂȂ­‚È‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ªŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚Ì‚ð”Fޝ‚µAŽ„‚Ìs“®‚É’·‚¢ŠÔ‘Ï‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ꂽlX‚ɂǂê‚Ù‚ÇŠ´ŽÓ‚·‚ׂ«‚©‚Æ‚¢‚¤ˆÓޝ‚Å‚¢‚Á‚Ï‚¢‚Å‚µ‚½B ƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚Æ“d˜b‚µ‚Ä‚»‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ð“`‚¦‚é‚Ì‚ª‘Ò‚¿‚«‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚Ü‚½AŽ„‚ª‚ǂꂾ‚¯”Þ—‚ðˆ¤‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚©A‚à‚¤ˆê“xƒ`ƒƒƒ“ƒX‚ð—^‚¦‚Ăقµ‚¢‚Ɣޗ‚ɧŠè‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚àƒR[ƒX‚És‚Á‚ÄŠÔ‚à‚È‚­A‚»‚êˆÈ—ˆAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í”N‚É”‰ñA‘½‚­‚̃R[ƒX‚Å”ñí‚É[‚¢ŽÀ‘H‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Ì—‰ð‚à[‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Ì‚ ‚ç‚ä‚邳‚Ü‚´‚܂Ȗâ‘è‚̉ðŒˆô‚ÍAŒ‹‹ÇAò‰»Aò‰»Aò‰»‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚¢‚Â‚à‚¨ŒÝ‚¢‚É‚Æ‚Ä‚àˆ¤‚µ‡‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì–Ú•W‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Å\•ª‚È’qŒd‚𓾂ÄA‚Ç‚¿‚ç‚©‚ªŽ€‚É•m‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«AŠ®‘S‚Ƀoƒ‰ƒoƒ‰‚ɂȂ邱‚ƂȂ­‚»‚ê‚ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚É‚·‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚»‚Ì–Ú•W‚ð’B¬‚Å‚«‚½‚±‚Ƃ͔ñí‚ÉK‰^‚Å‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚»‚ê‚ð’m‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽÀÛ‚É–Ú•W‚ð’B¬‚·‚é‚Ü‚ÅAŽ©•ª‚½‚¿‚ª–Ú•W‚ð’B¬‚µ‚½‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚̂ǂ¿‚ç‚©‚ªŽ€‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚½‚ç‚Ç‚¤”½‰ž‚·‚é‚©‘S‚­•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

‚»‚ꂪ‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«AŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍAŽ€‚Ƃ͉½‚©‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă̂܂Á‚½‚­V‚µ‚¢—‰ð‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌS‚Ì[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃ𔭌©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B —«“I‚ȃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̉ºA–³ˆÓޝ‚̃Œƒxƒ‹‚ÅA‰½‚©‚ªÁ‚¦‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚Á‚½‚̂ł·B ‚»‚ê‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚É‚æ‚Á‚Äò‰»‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª¡ŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚鎀‚ÌŒoŒ±‚É‚¨‚¢‚ÄA³Šm‚ÉŒ¾‚¤‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ...‚à‚¤‰½‚ª‚È‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚Ì‚©‚ðŒ¾—t‚ÅŒ¾‚¤‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž€‚Ê‚±‚Æ‚ðl‚¦‚邯A‚©‚‚Ď„‚ª‹°•|‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚à‚Ì‚ª‰½‚Å‚ ‚êA‚à‚¤‚»‚±‚ɂ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚ɂ͂»‚ê‚ðà–¾‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA‰½”N‚É‚à‚킽‚éáÒ‘z‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ăǂ¤‚¢‚¤‚킯‚©‚»‚Ì–â‘肪‰ðÁ‚³‚êA‚»‚Ì–â‘è‚ðª–{‚©‚ç’f‚¿Ø‚ç‚ꂽ‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚ƈȊO‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‘f°‚炵‚¢‚Å‚·B

 

ƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“AƒeƒŒƒ‹‚ª‚Ђǂ­‹ê‚µ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚½‚Æ‚«A‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ÆŽ©•ª‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ɂǂ¤‘Έ‚µ‚Ü‚·‚©H

‚»‚ê‚ð˜a‚ç‚°‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚¢ê‡A‚Ç‚¤‘Έ‚µ‚Ü‚·‚©H S—“I‚ɉ½‚©•ʂ̕û–@‚Å•‚¯‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚·‚©H

 

ƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“: ‚±‚ÌŠà‚Ì‚¹‚¢‚ÅAƒeƒŒƒ‹‚Í”ñí‚É•s‰õ‚ÈŽv‚¢‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚æ‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Ž©•ªŽ©g‚Æ“¯‚¶‚悤‚É”Þ‚ðˆ¤‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÅAí‚ɔނ̎蕂¯‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚É‚µ‚½‚¢‚ÆŽv‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚Å‚à‚»‚ꂪo—ˆ‚È‚¢Žž‚à‘½X‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚͔ނ̨̑‚ðŠy‚É‚³‚¹‚½‚èA–ò‚Ȃǂð—^‚¦‚½‚肵‚Ä•‚¯‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚¤‚Ü‚­‚¢‚©‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚à‚æ‚­‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B u‚¤[‚ñA‘¼‚ɉ½‚ª‚Å‚«‚邾‚낤Hv‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚éuŠÔ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

•‚¯‚Ä‚ ‚°‚½‚¢‚¯‚ÇAŽÀÛ‚Í•¨—“I‚É‚»‚±‚܂ł͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚±‚ÅáÒ‘z‚ª–ð‚É—§‚¿‚Ü‚·B uƒeƒŒƒ‹AŒÄ‹z‚ÉW’†‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚傤B Ž©•ª‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ÉW’†‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚傤‚æBv ”Þ‚ÍŽ©•ª‚̒ɂ݂ÉW’†‚µAŽ„‚ÍŽ„‚̒ɂ݂ÉW’†‚µ‚Ü‚·B

Ž„‚̒ɂ݂͖³—ÍŠ´‚̒ɂ݂ł·‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Íí‚ɕω»‚µ‚Ü‚·A‚»‚ꂪ–³í‚Å‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ÍX‚ƕω»‚µ‚Ü‚·B •‚¯‚½‚¢‚¯‚Ç•‚¯‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‹CŽ‚¿‚ªŽžX‚ ‚é‚̂ł·‚ªA‚»‚ÌŽž‚É—Í‚ª—N‚¢‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ÍA‰½”N‚É‚à‚킽‚Á‚ÄŽÀ‘H‚µA¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ɉ½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚ð”Fޝ‚µA‚»‚ê‚ð•½Ã‚ɕۂ‚±‚ÆA‚‚܂èƒoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚̂ƂꂽS‚ðŽ‚¿A–³í‚ðˆÓޝ‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚Ä“à‘¤‚©‚ç¶‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

‚Å‚·‚©‚çA‚»‚̂悤‚ÈŽž‚ª—ˆ‚½‚çAŽ©•ª‚̌ċz‚ÉW’†‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚È‚º‚È‚çA‚»‚±‚ɃSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ÌŒ¾‚¤u¬‚³‚ȉΎRv‚ªŒ»‚ê‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B ‚»‚ê‚炪‹ß‚¢‚Ä‚­‚é‚Ì‚ªŠ´‚¶‚ç‚êA‚»‚̂Ƃ«Ž„‚ÍŽ©•ª‚̌ċz‚ÉW’†‚µ‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚ÍŠ´Šo‚ÉÅ“_‚𓖂Ă܂·B Žž‚ɂ͋ƒ‚¢‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¤‚±‚Æ‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B—Ü‚ªo‚邯‚«AŠç‚ªÄ‚¯‚‚­‚Ì‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚Í‚»‚±‚Éd“_‚ð’u‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B —¬‚ê‚é—Ü‚ÉÅ“_‚𓖂Ă܂·B Ž„‚ÍA‚Ì‚µ‚±‚è‚ÉÅ“_‚𓖂Ă܂·B ‘Ì‘S‘̂̊´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邯A•s‰õŠ´‚ª˜a‚炬‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ꂪ‹@”\‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð”Þ‚ªŠm”F‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAŽ„‚Í”Þ‚ð‚³‚ç‚É•‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚ÄA”Þ‚ª‚»‚ê‚ðŠm”F‚·‚邯A”Þ‚Í‚æ‚èW’†‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ê‚̓p[ƒgƒi[ƒVƒbƒv‚Å‚·B —¼•û‚Ì•û–@‚Å‹@”\‚µ‚Ü‚·B ”Þ‚ÍŽ„‚ª•s‰õ‚ÈŽv‚¢‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚é‚ÆAŽ„‚Ì‚½‚߂ɓ¯‚¶‚悤‚É‚»‚Ì•s‰õ‚ÆŒü‚«‡‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚Æ‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

‘½‚­‚Ìl‚Í¡A‚ ‚È‚½‚ªŽæ‚èŽc‚³‚ê‚邱‚ƂɂȂé‚Ì‚ÅA‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì—§ê‚Í‚æ‚è“‚¢‚à‚̂ł ‚邯l‚¦‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚í‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·A‚»‚ê‚Í‚¢‚Â‚à•·‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B u‚ ‚È‚½‚͉îŒìŽÒ‚Å‚·BŽc‚³‚ꂽl‚Í‚à‚Á‚Æ‘å•ςȂ±‚ƂɂȂé‚Å‚µ‚傤Bv ‚µ‚©‚µA‘O‚É‚àŒ¾‚Á‚½‚悤‚ÉAŽÀ‘H‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ɗ͂Ɨ‰ð‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

anicca‚Ì—‰ð—•ω»A•ω»A•ω»‚Å‚·B ”Þ‚ª–S‚­‚È‚Á‚½‚çAŽ„‚ÍŽÀ‘H‚Ì—ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ì—ÍA‚»‚µ‚ăƒbƒ^[Aˆ¤‚ðŽè‚É“ü‚ê‚邱‚ƂɂȂé‚Å‚µ‚傤B ‰ž‰‡‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚Á‚½ŠF—l‚͉½”N‚É‚à‚킽‚Á‚ÄŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚Æ—Í‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ð’Ê‚¶‚ă”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ªŽ„‚Ìl¶‚É“ü‚Á‚Ä‚«‚½‚±‚Æ‚É‚Æ‚Ä‚àŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ͬ’·‚µAŒ¾—t‚ł͌¾‚¢•\‚¹‚È‚¢—‰ð‚𓾂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚ð•\Œ»‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Žn‚ß‚½“ú‚©‚玄‚½‚¿‚Í–ˆ“úˆê‚ÉáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŒˆ‚µ‚Ä–À‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚ê‚Íí‚ÉŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì¶Šˆ‚Ìd—v‚È•”•ª‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª”N—î‚ðd‚Ë‚é‚ɂ‚ê‚ÄA•òŽd‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Æ‚à”ñí‚Éd—v‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚«‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚±””NAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽc‚è‚Ìl¶‚ð•òŽd‚ÆÀ‚邾‚¯‚ʼn߂²‚·‚±‚ƂɌˆ‚߂܂µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚̓_ƒ“ƒ}‚ðL‚߂邾‚¯‚łȂ­AŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ð‹­‰»‚·‚é‚̂ɂà–ð—§‚¿‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Ì“úX‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ÆŽæ‚è‘g‚݂͋­—͂ł·B

 

ƒeƒŒƒ‹AƒT[ƒrƒX‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚¾‚¯‚Ü‚·‚©?

ƒeƒ‹ƒ‹: •òŽd‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Æ‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[ƒR[ƒX‚ðŽóu‚·‚é‚̂Ɠ¯‚¶‚­‚ç‚¢‘f°‚炵‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B ƒT[ƒrƒX‚Í‚»‚ꎩ‘Ì‚ª•ʂ̃R[ƒX‘S‘̂ł·B Ž„‚Íð”N‰‚ß‚Ä20“úŠÔ‚̃T[ƒrƒX‚ðs‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í’·‚¢ƒR[ƒX‚ɃT[ƒrƒX‚·‚邱‚Ƃɖ²’†‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

–ˆ“ú‚»‚±‚É‚¢‚Ä•òŽd‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚¤‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ÍAŽ©•ª‚É—^‚¦‚ç‚ꂽ‚à‚̂Ɋ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¨‚èA‚»‚ê‚𑼂Ìl‚É‚à—^‚¦‚½‚¢‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B ‘¼‚Ìl‚És‚­‚µ‚½‚¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‹CŽ‚¿‚Í”ü‚µ‚¢Š´î‚Å‚ ‚èA‚—gŠ´‚ð—^‚¦A‚Æ‚Ä‚à–ž‘«Š´‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚·B ‘¼‚Ìl‚ªƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ÉŽ©•ª‚ÌŽžŠÔ‚ðƒvƒŒƒ[ƒ“ƒg‚µ‚Ü‚·‚ªAƒT[ƒo[‚ªŽó‚¯Žæ‚éƒMƒtƒg‚ÍA‚»‚êˆÈã‚ł͂Ȃ¢‚É‚µ‚Ä‚àA“¯‚¶‚­‚ç‚¢‰¿’l‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

áÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÌŠC‚𒭂߂Ȃª‚çA‚»‚ꂪ‹N‚±‚邽‚߂ɂ͎©•ª‚à‚»‚̈ꕔ‚ɂȂç‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚Æ’m‚é‚̂͑f°‚炵‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B æ¶‚©‚çƒgƒCƒŒ‘|œ‚Ìl‚Ü‚ÅA‚»‚±‚É‚¢‚é‚·‚ׂĂÌl‚ª•K—v‚Å‚ ‚èA–ðŠ„‚ªˆá‚¤‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B ‘¼‚̃R[ƒX‚æ‚è‚à‘½‚­‚̃gƒŒ[ƒjƒ“ƒO‚ðŽó‚¯‚éƒR[ƒX‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªAƒT[ƒo[‚ª‚È‚¯‚ê‚΃R[ƒX‚͂܂Á‚½‚­¬—§‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

–½‚ðŒœ‚¯‚Ä키‚±‚Æ‚ÆAˆãŠw“I”»Œˆ‚ð—âÂɎ󂯓ü‚ê‚邱‚Ƃ̊Ԃ̃oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ð‚ǂ̂悤‚ÉŒ©‚‚¯‚Ü‚·‚©?

Ž„‚Í––Šú‚ª‚ñ‚ðŠ³‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚¢‚¤ó‹µ‚ɊׂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Šï–­‚ÈŒ¾—t‚Å‚·B Ž„‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ª––Šú‚ª‚ñ‚Å‚ ‚邯–{‹C‚ÅŽv‚Á‚½‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ˆãŠw•¶Œ£‚⎄‚ª“Ç‚ñ‚¾‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é‘ã‘֗Ö@‚Ì’†‚ÅAŒø‰Ê‚ª‚ ‚Á‚½‚à‚ÌAŒø‰Ê‚ª‚ ‚Á‚½‚悤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚é‚à‚ÌAŒø‰Ê‚ª‚ ‚邯‘åX“I‚Éé“`‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚ÌA‚Ü‚½‚͈ȑO‚ÉŒø‰Ê‚ª‚ ‚Á‚½‚à‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚½‚çA‚»‚ê‚ðŽŽ‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚Å‚àAŽ„‚ÍŽ€‚ʂ̂ª•|‚­‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÅAŽ·’…‚µ‚Ă͂¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

Ž„‚Í¡Ž€‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·A10”NŒãA20”NŒãA30”NŒãAŽ„‚ÍŽ€‚ÉŒü‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚ªŽ€‚ʂƂ¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚ð”ð‚¯‚é‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA‰½‚©‚ð‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚­‚Ä‚½‚Ü‚ç‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ¡‚·‚®‚É‚Å‚àŒ‹‰Ê‚ª‚Å‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚ꂪ‚¤‚Ü‚­‚¢‚¯‚ÎA‘f°‚炵‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·Bƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚ÆŽ„‚ªÀ‚Á‚Ä•òŽd‚·‚鎞ŠÔ‚ª‚¸‚Á‚Æ‘‚¦‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚ꂪ‚¤‚Ü‚­‚¢‚©‚È‚­‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚Í‚»‚ê‚Å‚¢‚¢‚̂ł·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‘f°‚炵‚¢ŽžŠÔ‚ðˆê‚ɉ߂²‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚͈ê‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ}‚É‚â‚Á‚Ä—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚ê‚ç‚·‚ׂĂ̑f°‚炵‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚É‹N‚±‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Š´ŽÓ‚Ì‹CŽ‚¿‚Å‚¢‚Á‚Ï‚¢‚Å‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚͉½‚ª‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àK‚¹‚É‚È‚é‚Æ‘z‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

ƒeƒŒƒ‹‚ÌŽ€‚©‚ç1‚©ŒŽŒãAƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“‚ÍáÒ‘z‚·‚邽‚߂Ƀ}ƒTƒ`ƒ…[ƒZƒbƒcB‚É–ß‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ—‚͔ނ̎€‚Æ‚»‚ê‚ÉŽŠ‚é‚܂ł̎v‚¢o‚ðŒê‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

ƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“: ”Þ‚ÌŽ€‚Ì’©AŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‹N‚«‚ÄáÒ‘z‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ÌŒãA—Fl‚Æ“d˜b‚Řb‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邯‚«‚ÉAƒeƒŒƒ‹‚ªuƒ_ƒCƒAƒ“A¡‚·‚®‚±‚±‚É—ˆ‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚év‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂𕷂«‚Ü‚µ‚½B uOKv‚Æ“š‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚µ‚Ä“d˜b‚ðØ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ª‚»‚±‚É“ü‚邯A”Þ‚ÍuŽžŠÔ‚¾v‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚à‚¤ˆê“xuOKv‚ÆŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í­‚µ˜b‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA”Þ‚Í‚±‚¤q‚˂܂µ‚½B

uŽ„‚Ì‚â‚è•û‚ͳ‚µ‚¢HAƒnƒj[vu‚Í‚¢A‚ ‚È‚½‚ͳ‚µ‚­‚â‚Á‚Ä‚é‚íBvŽ„‚͔ނðˆÀS‚³‚¹‚Ü‚µ‚½B

  ”ނ͂ƂĂà‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚ÄA‹P‚«Žn‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚Ì”§‚ÌF‚͕ςí‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚Í‚½‚¾‹P‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½I

ˆê‚É‚¢‚½—Fl‚Í”Þ‚ðŒ©‚ÄAu”Þ‚Í‹P‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚év‚ÆŠm”F‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”ނ͈¤‚É–ž‚½‚³‚êAŽœ”߂ɖž‚½‚³‚êAƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚͂܂³‚É...‚²——‚̂Ƃ¨‚èA”Þ‚Í‹P‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍŠ®‘S‚É‚»‚ê‚É–²’†‚Å‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚ÍŽ„‚É‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BuOK‚¾‚æAƒnƒj[B ‚ ‚È‚½‚Ȃ炫‚Á‚Æ‘åä•vBv

”ނɂ͋°‚ꂪ‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ÌŽüˆÍ‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂð”Fޝ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍŽ„‚ðŒ©‚ÄB uƒnƒj[AŽ„‚ÍŽ‹—Í‚ðŽ¸‚¢‚‚‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ‚à‚¤s‚­‚æv‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚ÄA”Þ‚ÍŽ„‚ɃLƒX‚µ‚悤‚Ƒ̂ðŠÛ‚߂܂µ‚½B Ž„‚͔ނɃLƒX‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B                 

              ‚»‚ÌuŠÔAŽ„‚ɂł«‚é‚Ì‚ÍA‚±‚Ì‘f°‚炵‚¢ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì‘¡‚蕨‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ”Þ‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚¾‚¯‚Å‚µ‚½B ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ªŠ®‘S‚É‚»‚±‚É‚ ‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅAŽè•ú‚·‚̂͂»‚ê‚قǓ‚¢‚±‚Ƃł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚Ü‚³‚É‚»‚¤‚Å‚µ‚½B ’͂ނ͈̂Ⴄ‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚ÍŽ€‚Ê‘O‚ɉr¥‚µŽn‚߂܂µ‚½B ”Þ‚Í‘§‚ð؂炵‚Ă͂¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚͈¤‚Æ‘S¢ŠE‚Ö‚ÌŽœ”߂ɖž‚¿‚½A‚Æ‚Ä‚à‰¸‚â‚©‚Å”ü‚µ‚¢‘§‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ÍuŽ„v‚ł͂Ȃ­AuŽ„‚ªv‚àuŽ„‚Év‚àuŽ„‚Ì‚à‚Ìv‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ÌuŠÔ‚Í‚Æ‚Ä‚àƒˆ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ÍŠ®‘S‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ég‚ðˆÏ‚˂Ă¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚¨ŒÝ‚¢‚É‚Æ‚Ä‚àˆ¤’…‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‚»‚ꂪ—Ç‚­‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃ͂킩‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ª‚»‚ê‚ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚é•û–@‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠú‘Ò‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ÅŒã‚ÌuŠÔ‚ª—ˆ‚½‚Æ‚«‚ÉA–{“–‚É‚¤‚Ü‚­‚¢‚­‚Ì‚¾‚낤‚©‚Ƃ悭l‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAŽÀÛ‚É‚¤‚Ü‚­‚¢‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Íl¶‚Ìň¤‚ÌlAe—FAŽw“±ŽÒ‚ðŽ¸‚¢‚‚‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͔ނðs‚©‚¹‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͔ނɂµ‚ª‚݂‚¢‚½‚èA‚µ‚ª‚݂‚±‚¤‚Æ‚µ‚½‚肵‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚ɂ‚¢‚Äl‚¦‚é•K—v‚³‚¦‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚Í’P‚É‚»‚̂悤‚É‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B ”ނƈê‚É‚¢‚ÄA‚±‚ê‚ðŒoŒ±‚µAÅŒã‚ÌuŠÔ‚ðæ‚è‰z‚¦‚é‚̂𕂯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚½‚Ì‚ÍAŠì‚Ñ‚¾‚¯‚ł͂Ȃ­AŒõ‰h‚Å‚µ‚½B Šì‚тł¢‚Á‚Ï‚¢‚Å‚µ‚½Bà–¾‚·‚é‚͓̂‚¢‚Å‚·B

”Þ‚ª‘§‚ðˆø‚«Žæ‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«A–{“–‚Éà–¾‚Å‚«‚È‚¢ƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[‚ªŽ„‚Ì’†‚É“`‚í‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B —Ç‚¢ƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[‚ªŽ„‚ðŠÑ‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚»‚ê‚͈Ԃ߂ł ‚èA‚»‚ÌuŠÔAŽ„‚͔ނª¶‚©‚玀‚Ö‹Ž‚Á‚½‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚»‚̂Ƃ«A‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ªŽ„‚É–¾‚ç‚©‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͂‚¢‚ÉA9”NŠÔáÒ‘z‚µAŠ´Šo‚É‹C‚«A–³í‚Ì—‰ð‚ð•½Ã‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚̂ł·‚ªA‚»‚ê‚ªŽ„‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä”ñí‚É–¾Šm‚ÅA”ñí‚É–¾—Ăłµ‚½A‚±‚ꂪ–³í‚Å‚ ‚邯‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚Å‚µ‚½B

Ž„‚ÌS‚͑傫‚­ŠJ‚©‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚̓_ƒCƒAƒ“‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚̓AƒjƒbƒJA‚‚܂肷‚ׂĂ̔s–³í‚ðŠ®‘S‚É—‰ð‚µA¡‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉW’†‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͉½Ž–‚É‚à‚Ü‚Á‚½‚­–³Ž·’…‚¾‚Á‚½‚Ì‚ÅA”Þ‚ª‚±‚ÌuŠÔ‚ð—‰ð‚·‚邯‚¢‚¤‘¡‚蕨‚ðŽ„‚É—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚±‚ƂɂƂĂàŠì‚Ñ‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚Í‚»‚ê‚ð‰i‰“‚ÉŽ‚¿•à‚«A‘¼‚ÌlX‚Æ‚»‚ê‚ð‹¤—L‚Å‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠè‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

ƒeƒŒƒ‹‚ª‚±‚Ì¢‚Å‘§‚ðˆø‚«Žæ‚Á‚½ŒãA—܂͂ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA”ß‚µ‚݂͂Ȃ­A‚½‚¾ˆ³“|“I‚ÈŠì‚Ñ‚¾‚¯‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚±‚ê‚ðà–¾‚·‚é‚͓̂‚¢‚Å‚·B‚È‚º‚È‚çAl¶Åˆ¤‚Ìl‚ðŽ¸‚Á‚½‚΂©‚è‚̂Ƃ«Al‚ÍŠ®‘S‚ɉä‚ð–Y‚ê‚é‚ׂ«‚¾‚ÆŠ´‚¶‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B ‚Å‚àAŽ„‚̓ƒbƒ^‚Å–ž‚½‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚ª–S‚­‚È‚Á‚Ä‚©‚甎žŠÔŒãA”ނ̈â‘̂𑒋Vê‚Ɉø‚«Žæ‚è‚É—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚ÍƒŠƒrƒ“ƒOƒ‹[ƒ€‚̃ƒbƒLƒ“ƒOƒ`ƒFƒA‚Ɉêl‚ÅÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚Ì‚·‚×‚Ä‚Ì•ó•¨‚ðŒ©‰ñ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA”Þ‚ªŽ‚¿‹A‚Á‚½—Bˆê‚̕󕨂̓_ƒ“ƒ}‚Å‚ ‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚µ‚΂炭‚ÌŠÔAŽ„‚ÍŒˆ’f‚ð‰º‚·‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B Ž„‚͉½‚©‚ð‚µ‚És‚«A‚Ü‚é‚Ŕނð‘Ò‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚̂悤‚É‚½‚¾‚»‚±‚É—§‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚½‚Æ‚¦¬‚³‚È‚±‚Ƃł ‚Á‚Ä‚àAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚¢‚‚àˆê‚ÉŒˆ’f‚ð‰º‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ’N‚©‚Æ’·‚¢ŠÔˆê‚É‚¢‚邯A‚±‚Ìe–§‚³‚ª—ö‚µ‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B ‘Έ‚·‚é‚Ì‚ª”ñí‚ɓ‚¢‹ó‹•Š´‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

”Þ‚ÌŽ€ŒãA—܂Ɣ߂µ‚Ý‚ÌuŠÔ‚ª‘±‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ðl‚¦‚邯Žâ‚µ‚¢‚Å‚·‚ªAŽÀ‘H‚ª‚ ‚é‚©‚çƒNƒbƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚É¿‚é‚è‚Ü‚·B‚»‚±‚ÉÀ‚Á‚ÄAŽ©•ª‚̌ċz‚ÉW’†‚µA‚½‚Æ‚¦–j‚ª—܂ŔG‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àAŒÇ“ÆA”ß‚µ‚ÝA‹ó‹•‚³AS‚̒ɂ݂ðŠÏŽ@‚µAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð—÷‚ê‚݂܂·B Ž„‚Í‚½‚¾‚»‚ê‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µA‚»‚Ì’Ê‚è‚É‚³‚¹‚邾‚¯‚Å‚·B

 

 

˜V‚¢A•a‹CAŽ€A

Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚±‚ê‚ç‚·‚ׂĂɈêl‚Å—§‚¿Œü‚©‚¢‚Ü‚·B

’N‚à‚»‚ê‚ç‚ðŽ„‚½‚¿‚Æ‹¤—L‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA

‚½‚Æ‚¦‘½‚­‚Ìl‚ª‹ß‚­‚É‚¢‚ÄA‘娂Èl‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àB

 

—ƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œêƒh[ƒnAS.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

 

70 Years Are Over

What  follows  is  the  translation  of  an  article  by  Goenkaji, originally published  in  the February 1994  issue of the Hindi Vipaśhyana Patrika.

              My life has seen 70 autumns. Who knows how many more  are left? How can the ones that  remain be best  used? May this   awareness be  maintained.

On this occasion some beneficial words of the Buddha come               to  mind.   They  were  spoken  in  Sāvatthī,   in  Anāthapiṇḍikafs  Jetavanarāma.  At  nighttime  a  devaputta  came   to  meet  the  Buddha. He expressed his thoughts to the Buddha in the form of a  gāthā of four lines:

 

 

Accenti kālā, tarayanti rattiyo

Vayoguā anupubba jahanti

Eta bhaya marae  pekkhamāno

Puññāni kayirātha sukhāvahāni

 

Time is passing, nights are passing.

Life is gradually coming to an end.

Observing the fear of (approaching) death

Perform meritorious deeds that yield pleasant fruits.

 

 

Someone rightly said, gMorning comes, evening comes; in the same way the end of life  comes.h Therefore do not let this priceless human  life end  in  vain. Perform meritorious deeds that yield pleasant fruit,  even if only out of  fear  of  approaching death.

If we perform wholesome deeds, they will result in happiness; if we perform unwholesome deeds, they  will result in  suffering  for us—this is an unbreakable law of nature.  Therefore,  to avoid suffering and enjoy happiness, it is  better to do wholesome deeds  rather  than unwholesome deeds.

              We do not know how long we have been crushed under the ever-changing wheel of existence—neither the extent of worldly  happiness and  suffering  in  this life, nor for how long  this wheel of worldly  happiness and  suffering  will continue in  future.

              The  Buddha  discovered  a  simple  and  direct  path  to  full liberation  from  this  wheel   of  existence  and  made  it   easily accessible   to  all.  He   taught  people   the   liberation-endowing technique of Vipassana,  by the practice of which they can free themselves from the wheel of existence and attain the eternal,

unchanging, nibbāna  parama  sukha—ultimate happiness, the ultimate peace of nibbāna—infinitely superior to all  worldly pleasures.

              But  this  liberation  is  only  possible  when  the  habit  of heedlessly  running  after the enjoyment  of worldly pleasures is broken. And  this is what Vipassana enables us to  do: break  the habit of multiplication  of the sakhāras of craving  and  aversion  that  lie in the depths of the subconscious mind.  It  digs out  the sakhāras of craving  for pleasure and  aversion  toward  suffering. It eradicates the longstanding habit of blind reaction.

              As long as craving for sensual pleasures remains, aversion will continue to arise toward worldly suffering, and because of craving and aversion the  wheel of existence will continue to  roll. Only when the wheel of existence breaks can ultimate peace, which is supramundane—beyond  worlds, beyond  the round  of existence, beyond the  field of the  senses—be attained. For this purpose  the  Buddha  taught  the  indispensable  technique  of Vipassana.

              Therefore, upon hearing the gāthā,  the Buddha changed the fourth line:

 

Lokāmisa pajahe santipekkho

 One who hopes for ultimate peace should give up the desire for worldly happiness.

 

              Only by the ardent practice of Vipassana can one eradicate worldly desires. While practicing Vipassana, a  meditator should maintain awareness of his impending death, but there should not be  a  trace  of  fear.  Whenever  death   comes,  one  should   be constantly prepared for it with a  tranquil mind.

              On  his  birthday,  a   Vipassana   meditator  should  certainly consider the  past. He  should make  a  firm resolution not to repeat mistakes  previously  committed,  and  to  continue  to  perform  wholesome deeds for the rest of his life. The most important wholesome deed of all is the practice of the liberating technique of Vipassana. Diligently  practice it; do  not neglect it. Do  not postpone todayfs  practice to tomorrow. Let these words  of the Buddha constantly echo in your ears like a warning:

 

Ajjeva kiccamātappa

Kojaññā maraa suve

 

Perform the work of meditation today itself. (Do not postpone it.)

Who knows, death might come tomorrow.

 

 

              One does not invite death, but when it comes there is no need to be afraid of it. Let us be prepared  every  moment. 

              From time to time we should practice maraānusati (awareness of death). By my own experience I  have seen that this is very beneficial. While practicing, one should  examine onefs mind: gIf I die tomorrow morning, what will be the nature of my  last mind-moment of this life? Will any clinging remain,  even to complete some Dhamma mission?h

              Whenever a sakhāra of some intense emotion  arises in  the mind,  we  should  immediately  practice  maraānusati  and understand, gIf I  die in the very next moment, in what fearful direction  will this emotion deflect the stream of becoming?h As soon as this awareness arises, it is easy  to be free of that emotion.

              There is another advantage to practicing maraānusati from time to time.  One thinks,  gWho knows for how many lives I have been rolling in  this  cycle of existence?  This  time, as  a result of

some wholesome deed, I have obtained the invaluable life of a human  being; I have come in  contact with  pure Dhamma; I have developed  faith  in  Dhamma,  free  from  meaningless  rituals, philosophies, and  sectarian barriers. But what benefit have I derived  from this?h

              Having made this assessment, whatever shortcomings one finds, one develops enthusiasm to correct them. Whether death will come tomorrow morning  or after 100  autumns, I do not know. But no  matter how many  days I have to  live, I will use them to perfect  my pāramitās with a contented mind and make my human life meaningful. Whatever results come, let them  come; whenever they come, let them come  then—I  leave that to Dhamma. For my part, let me continue, to the best of my  ability, to make good use of the time I have remaining in this important  life. 

              For this purpose, let these inspiring words of the Buddha remain with us:

 Uttiṭṭhe nappamajjeyya  dhamma sucarita care.

 

Arise! Live the Dhamma life with diligence.

 

 

Keep living the life of Dhamma and the results will naturally be beneficial.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

Tumhehi kiccaātappa,

akkhātāro  tathāgatā;

paipannā  pamokkhanti,

jhāyino  mārabandhanā.

 

You yourself must make the effort;

the Enlightened Ones only show the way.

Those who practice meditation

will free themselves from the chains of death.

 

Dhammapada 20.276

 

 

Sabbapāpassa  akarana,

kusalassa upasampadā;

sacittapariyodapana,

eta buddhāna  sāsana.

 

Abstain from evil actions;

perform pious actions;

purify  your mind.

This is the teaching of all the Buddhas.

 

Dhammapada 14.183

 

 

The Buddha did not teach suffering. He taught the way leading to happiness. But you have to work with full effort and without wavering. Even though your limbs ache,  do not  give up.  Know that wise  people  of  the past have walked on the same path.

 

Venerable Webu Sayadaw

 

 

 

70”N‚ª‰ß‚¬‚½

ˆÈ‰º‚ÍAƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œêwƒ”ƒBƒp[ƒVƒ…ƒ„ƒiEƒpƒgƒŠƒJx‚Ì 1994 ”N 2 ŒŽ†‚ÉŒ³XŒfÚ‚³‚ꂽƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚É‚æ‚é‹LŽ–‚Ì–|–ó‚Å‚·B

 

Ž„‚Ìl¶‚Í70‰ñ‚ÌH‚ðŒ©‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚ ‚Ɖ½‰ñŽc‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©’N‚É‚à•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Žc‚Á‚½‚à‚Ì‚ð‚Ç‚¤‚â‚Á‚ÄÅ‘åŒÀ‚ÉŠˆ—p‚Å‚«‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H ‚±‚̈ӎ¯‚ªˆÛŽ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

‚±‚Ì‹@‰ï‚ÉA•§‘ɂ̂¢‚­‚‚©‚Ì—L‰v‚ÈŒ¾—t‚ª“ª‚É•‚‚©‚т܂·B ‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÍAnāthapiṇḍika‚ÌJetavanarāma‚Ì’†‚ÅASāvatthīŒê‚Řb‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B –é‚É‚È‚é‚Ædevaputta‚ª•§‘ɂɉ‚É‚â‚Á‚Ä—ˆ‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Í•§‘ɂւ̎v‚¢‚ðŽŸ‚Ì 4 s‚̃K[ƒ^‚ÌŒ`‚Å•\Œ»‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

ŽžŠÔ‚͉߂¬A–é‚͉߂¬‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·B

l¶‚Í™X‚ÉI‚í‚è‚ɋ߂¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Ž€‚Ö‚Ìi‹ß‚­j‹°•|‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Šy‚µ‚¢‰ÊŽÀ‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·Œ÷т̂ ‚ésˆ×‚ðs‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

’N‚©‚ª‚±‚¤Œ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bu’©‚ª—ˆ‚ÄA—[•û‚ª—ˆ‚Ü‚·B “¯‚¶‚悤‚Él¶‚ÌI‚í‚肪—ˆ‚é‚̂ł·Bv ‚Å‚·‚©‚çA‚±‚Ì‚©‚¯‚ª‚¦‚̂Ȃ¢lŠÔ‚Ì–½‚𖳑ʂÉI‚í‚点‚È‚¢‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‚½‚Æ‚¦Ž€‚ª‹ß‚­‚±‚Æ‚ð‹°‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ä‚àAŠy‚µ‚¢ŽÀ‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·Œ÷т̂ ‚ésˆ×‚ðs‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚傤B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ªŒ’‘S‚Èsˆ×‚ðs‚¦‚ÎA‚»‚ê‚ÍK•Ÿ‚ð‚à‚½‚炵‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ª•sŒ’‘S‚Èsˆ×‚ðs‚¦‚ÎA‚»‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ɋꂵ‚Ý‚ð‚à‚½‚ç‚·‚±‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚Í”j‚邱‚Ƃ̂ł«‚È‚¢Ž©‘R–@‘¥‚Å‚·B ‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚ð”ð‚¯‚ÄK•Ÿ‚ð‹Žó‚·‚é‚É‚ÍA•sŒ’‘S‚Èsˆ×‚æ‚è‚àŒ’‘S‚Èsˆ×‚ð‚·‚é•û‚ª—Ç‚¢‚̂ł·B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍA₦‚¸•ω»‚·‚鑶݂̗ւ̉º‚łǂê‚Ù‚Ç’·‚­‰Ÿ‚µ‚‚Ԃ³‚ê‚Ä‚«‚½‚Ì‚©A‚±‚Ì¢‚ÌK•Ÿ‚Ƌꂵ‚Ý‚ª‚Ç‚ê‚قǂ̂à‚̂Ȃ̂©A‚Ü‚½A‚±‚Ì‚±‚Ì¢‚ÌK•Ÿ‚Ƌꂵ‚݂̗ւª«—ˆ‚ǂꂭ‚ç‚¢‘±‚­‚Ì‚©‚à‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

•§‘É‚ÍA‚±‚Ì‘¶Ý‚Ì—Ö‚©‚犮‘S‚ɉð•ú‚³‚ê‚邽‚߂̒Pƒ‚©‚Â’¼Ú“I‚È“¹‚ð”­Œ©‚µA’N‚Å‚àŠÈ’P‚ɃAƒNƒZƒX‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚É‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B ”Þ‚ÍlX‚ɉð•ú‚ð—^‚¦‚郔ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚̃eƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAlX‚Í‘¶Ý‚Ì—Ö‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚êA‰i‰“‚Ì‹«’n‚É“ž’B‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

•s•Ï‚Ìnibbāna parama sukhaA‚‚܂苆‹É‚ÌK•ŸAŸ¸žÏ‚Ì‹†‹É‚Ì•½ˆÀ‚ÍA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚频­“I‚ȉõŠy‚æ‚è‚à–³ŒÀ‚É—D‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B@

‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚̉ð•ú‚ÍA¢‘­“I‚ÈŠy‚µ‚Ý‚ð•s’ˆÓ‚É’Ç‚¢‚©‚¯‚éKе‚ª’f‚½‚ꂽꇂɂ̂݉”\‚Å‚·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚±‚ꂪƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄŽ„‚½‚¿‚ɂł«‚邱‚Ƃł·Bö݈ӎ¯‚̉œ’ê‚É‚ ‚銉–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚̃Tƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚ª‘‘å‚·‚éKе‚ð’f‚‚±‚Ƃł·B ‚»‚ê‚ÍA‰õŠy‚Ö‚ÌŠ‰–]‚Ƌꂵ‚݂ւ̌™ˆ«‚Æ‚¢‚¤ƒTƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚ðŒ@‚è‹N‚±‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚Ä–Ó–Ú“I‚É”½‰ž‚·‚é’·”N‚ÌKе‚ðªâ‚µ‚Ü‚·B

Š´Šo“I‰õŠy‚Ö‚ÌŠ‰–]‚ª‘±‚­ŒÀ‚èA¢‘­“I‚ȋꂵ‚݂ɑ΂·‚錙ˆ«Š´‚ª¶‚¶‘±‚¯AЉ–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä‘¶Ý‚̎ԗւ͉ñ“]‚µ‘±‚¯‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B ‘¶Ý‚Ì—Ö‚ª‰ó‚ꂽ‚Æ‚«‚ɂ̂ÝA¢ŠE‚ð’´‚¦A‘¶Ý‚Ì—Ö‚ð’´‚¦AŠ´Šo‚̗̈æ‚ð’´‚¦‚½A’´¢“I‚È‹†‹É‚Ì•½˜a‚ª’B¬‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚Ì–Ú“I‚Ì‚½‚ß‚ÉA•§‘ɂ̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Æ‚¢‚¤•s‰ÂŒ‡‚ȃeƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄAƒK[ƒ^‚ð•·‚¢‚½•§‘É‚Í 4 s–Ú‚ð•ÏX‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Lokāmisa pajahe santipekkho

‹†‹É‚Ì•½˜a‚ð–]‚Þl‚ÍA¢‘­“I‚ÈK•Ÿ‚Ö‚ÌŠè–]‚ð•úŠü‚·‚ׂ«‚Å‚·B

 

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Ì”MS‚ÈŽÀ‘H‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ă̂ÝA”Ï”Y‚ðªâ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éŠÔAáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Í·‚µ”—‚Á‚½Ž€‚ðˆÓޝ‚µ‘±‚¯‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªA‹°•|‚Ì1‚Â‚Ì­Õ‚à‚ ‚Á‚Ă͂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž€‚ª–K‚ê‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉAl‚Íí‚É•½Ã‚ÈS‚Å‚»‚ê‚É”õ‚¦‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

Ž©•ª‚Ì’a¶“ú‚ÉAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚Í‰ß‹Ž‚ðl—¶‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ”Þ‚ÍAˆÈ‘O‚ɔƂµ‚½‰ß‚¿‚ðŒJ‚è•Ô‚³‚¸AŽc‚è‚Ìl¶‚ð’Ê‚µ‚ÄŒ’‘S‚Èsˆ×‚ðŒp‘±‚·‚邯‚¢‚¤ŒÅ‚¢ŒˆˆÓ‚ð‚·‚×‚«‚Å‚·B ‚·‚ׂĂ̒†‚ÅÅ‚àd—v‚ÈŒ’‘S‚Èsˆ×‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚̉ð•úƒeƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Å‚·B ‚»‚ê‚ð”MS‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‚»‚ê‚𖳎‹‚µ‚È‚¢‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ¡“ú‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚𖾓ú‚ɉ„Šú‚µ‚È‚¢‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B •§‘ɂ̎Ÿ‚ÌŒ¾—t‚ª‚ ‚È‚½‚ÌŽ¨‚ÉŒx‚̂悤‚Éí‚É‹¿‚«“n‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

 

¡“ú‚»‚ꎩ‘Ì‚ÅáÒ‘z‚Ìì‹Æ‚ðŽÀs‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B i‰„Šú‚µ‚È‚¢‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢Bj

–¾“úŽ€‚ª–K‚ê‚é‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚È‚¢‚̂͒N‚É‚à‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB          

         

Ajjeva kiccamātappaṃ, @@@@ @uƒ}ƒn[ƒJƒbƒ`ƒƒ[ƒi‹gˈê–éŒoviw’†•”x133j

ko jaññā maraa suve @               Mahākaccānabhaddekarattasutta  Majjhima Nikāya 133

                                         

ô‚Ü‚³‚É¡“úA”M‹Î‚ª‚È‚³‚ê‚é‚ׂ«‚Å‚ ‚éB’N‚ª–¾“ú‚ÌŽ€‚ð’m‚낤‚©B

 

 

 

Ž€‚𵂭•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªAŽ€‚ª—ˆ‚½Žž‚É‹°‚ê‚é•K—v‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚Å‚·‚©‚çA‚¢‚‚łà”õ‚¦‚Ä‚¨‚«‚Ü‚µ‚傤B

ŽžXAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍmaraānusatiiŽ€‚Ì”Fޝj‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ބީg‚ÌŒoŒ±‚©‚çA‚±‚ê‚Í”ñí‚É—L‰v‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ª•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B ŽÀ‘H’†Al‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ÌS‚ð‹á–¡‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·Bu‚à‚µ–¾“ú‚Ì’©Ž€‚ʂƂµ‚½‚çA¡¶ÅŒã‚ÌS‚ÌuŠÔ‚͂ǂ̂悤‚È‚à‚̂ɂȂ邾‚낤‚©Hvƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÌŽg–½‚ð’B¬‚·‚邽‚߂ł³‚¦A‰½‚ç‚©‚ÌŽ·’…‚ªŽc‚邾‚낤‚©Hv

S‚Ì’†‚ɉ½‚ç‚©‚ÌŒƒ‚µ‚¢Š´î‚̃Tƒ“ƒJ[ƒ‰‚ª¶‚¶‚½‚Æ‚«‚Í‚¢‚‚łàAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚·‚®‚Émaraānusati‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µAŽŸ‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

u‚à‚µŽŸ‚ÌuŠÔ‚ÉŽ€‚ʂȂç‚΂±‚ÌŠ´î‚ªu¶¬‚Ì—¬‚êv‚ð‹üÜ‚³‚¹‚é‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©Hv ‚±‚Ì”Fޝ‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚邯‚»‚ÌŠ´î‚©‚ç‚·‚®‚ÉŽ©—R‚ɂȂé‚̂͊ȒP‚Å‚·B

maraānusati‚ðŽžXŽÀ‘H‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂ͕ʂ̗˜“_‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B l‚Í‚±‚¤l‚¦‚Ü‚·AuŽ„‚ª‚±‚Ì‘¶Ý‚̃TƒCƒNƒ‹‚Ì’†‚łǂꂾ‚¯‚Ìl¶‚ð•à‚ñ‚Å‚«‚½‚©A’N‚É‚à•ª‚©‚ç‚È‚¢B‚µ‚©‚µ¡‰ñ‚ÍŒ‹‰Ê‚Æ‚µ‚ÄA‚ ‚錒‘S‚Èsˆ×‚É‚æ‚èAŽ„‚ÍlŠÔ‚Ì‚©‚¯‚ª‚¦‚̂Ȃ¢–½‚ðŽè‚É“ü‚êAƒˆ‚ȃ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÉG‚ꂽB–³ˆÓ–¡‚È‹VŽ®A“NŠwA@”h‚̕ǂ©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚êAƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ö‚ÌM‹Â‚ð[‚߂Ă«‚½B‚±‚ê‚É‚æ‚Á‚ĂȂñ‚Ä—˜‰v‚𓾂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚½‚Ì‚©Hv

               

‚±‚̂悤‚È•]‰¿‚ð‚·‚é‚ÆA‚Ç‚ñ‚ÈŒ‡“_‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚ðC³‚µ‚悤‚Æ‚¢‚¤”MˆÓ‚ª—N‚¢‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚·B Ž€‚ª–¾“ú‚Ì’©‚É–K‚ê‚é‚Ì‚©A‚»‚ê‚Æ‚à•S‰ñ‚ÌH‚ðŒoŒ±‚·‚éŒã‚É–K‚ê‚é‚Ì‚©AŽ„‚ɂ͕ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚µ‚©‚µAŽ„‚ª‰½“ú¶‚«‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃç‚È‚¢‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA–ž‘«‚µ‚½S‚ÅŽ©•ª‚Ìpāramitās‚ðŠ®¬‚³‚¹AlŠÔ‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚Ìl¶‚ð—LˆÓ‹`‚È‚à‚̂ɂ·‚邽‚߂ɓúX‚ðŽg‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚ǂ̂悤‚ÈŒ‹‰Ê‚ª—ˆ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚É—ˆ‚³‚¹‚Ü‚µ‚傤B‚¢‚©‚Ȃ鎞‚É—ˆ‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ÌŽž‚Í—ˆ‚³‚¹‚Ü‚µ‚傤B‚»‚ê‚̓_ƒ“ƒ}‚É”C‚¹‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚ÍAl¶‚ÉŽc‚³‚ꂽ‚±‚Ì‘åØ‚ÈŽžŠÔ‚ðA‚Å‚«‚éŒÀ‚è—LˆÓ‹`‚ɉ߂²‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚«‚½‚¢‚ÆŽv‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚Ì–Ú“I‚Ì‚½‚ß‚ÉA•§‘ɂ̎Ÿ‚ÌŠ´“®“I‚ÈŒ¾—t‚ðŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÉŽc‚µ‚Ä‚¨‚«‚Ü‚µ‚傤B

 

Uttiṭṭhe nappamajjeyya  dhamma sucarita care.

Dhammapada verse 168 (13.168)@@@@ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}ƒpƒ_–@‹å@u¢ŠÔ•iv13@168

‹N‚«‚È‚³‚¢I ”MS‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ}¶Šˆ‚ð‘—‚è‚Ü‚µ‚傤B

 

 

ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì¶Šˆ‚𑗂葱‚¯‚ê‚ÎAŒ‹‰Ê‚ÍŽ©‘R‚É—L‰v‚ɂȂé‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

‚ ‚È‚½Ž©g‚ª“w—Í‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‰ð’E‚µ‚½ŽÒ‚½‚¿‚Í“¹‚ðŽ¦‚·‚¾‚¯‚Å‚·B

áÒ‘z‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚él‚½‚¿‚Í

Ž€‚̽‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 Dhammapada 20.276

 

 

Ž×ˆ«‚Èsˆ×‚ð”ð‚¯‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B

Œhåi‚Èsˆ×‚ðs‚È‚¢‚Ü‚·

S‚ðò‰»‚µ‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚ꂪ”•§‚Ì‹³‚¦‚Å‚·B

Dhammapada 14.183

 

 

 

•§‘ɂ͋ꂵ‚Ý‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B K‚¹‚ÉŽŠ‚é“¹‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µAƒuƒŒ‚¸‚É‘S—͂Ŏæ‚è‘g‚Þ•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B Žè‘«‚ª’É‚­‚Ä‚à’ú‚߂Ȃ¢‚Å‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‰ß‹Ž‚ÌŒ«–¾‚ÈlX‚à“¯‚¶“¹‚ð•à‚ñ‚Å‚«‚½‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚Á‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B

 

—ƒEƒFƒuEƒTƒ„ƒh[‘¸ŽÒ

 

 

 

 

Appendix

The Art of Living: Vipassana Meditation

 

Based on a public talk by S.N. Goenka, delivered in Bern, Switzerland.

 

Everyone seeks peace and harmony, because this is what we lack in our lives. From time to time, we all experience agitation, irritation, and disharmony. And when we suffer from these miseries, we donft keep them to ourselves; we often distribute them to others as well. Unhappiness permeates the atmosphere around someone who is miserable, and those who come in contact with such a person also become affected. Certainly, this is not a skillful way to live.

 

We ought to live at peace with ourselves and at peace with others. After all, human beings are social beings, having to live in society and deal with each other. But how are we to live peacefully? How are we to remain harmonious within and maintain peace and harmony around us, so that others can also live peacefully and harmoniously?

 

In order to be relieved of our misery, we have to know the basic reason for it, the cause of the suffering. If we investigate the problem, it becomes clear that whenever we start generating any negativity or impurity in the mind, we are bound to become unhappy. Negativity in the mind, a mental defilement or impurity, cannot coexist with peace and harmony.

 

How do we start generating negativity? Again, by investigating, it becomes clear. We become unhappy when we find someone behaving in a way that we donft like or when we find something happening that we donft like. Unwanted things happen, and we create tension within. Wanted things do not happen, some obstacle comes in the way, and again, we create tension within—we start tying knots within. And throughout life, unwanted things keep on happening, wanted things may or may not happen, and this process of reaction, of tying knots—Gordian knots—makes the entire mental and physical structure so tense, so full of negativity, that life becomes miserable.

 

Now, one way to solve this problem is to arrange that nothing unwanted happens in life—that everything keeps happening exactly as we desire. Either we must develop the power, or somebody else who will come to our aid must have the power, to see that unwanted things do not happen and that everything we want happens. But this is impossible. There is no one in the world whose desires are always fulfilled, in whose life everything happens according to his or her wishes, without anything unwanted happening. Things constantly occur that are contrary to our desires and wishes. So the question arises: how can we stop reacting blindly when confronted with things that we donft like? How can we stop creating tension and remain peaceful and harmonious?

 

In India, as well as in other countries, wise saintly persons of the past studied this problem—the problem of human suffering—and found a solution. If something unwanted happens and you start to react by generating anger, fear, or any negativity, then, as soon as possible, you should divert your attention to something else. For example, get up, take a glass of water, start drinking—your anger wonft multiply; on the other hand, itfll begin to subside. Or start counting: one, two, three, four. Or start repeating a word, or a phrase, or some mantra, perhaps the name of a god or saintly person towards whom you have devotion. The mind is diverted, and to some extent, youfll be free of the negativity, free of the anger.

 

This solution was helpful; it worked. It still works. Responding like this, the mind feels free from agitation. However, the solution works only at the conscious level. In fact, by diverting the attention you push the negativity deep into the unconscious, and there you continue to generate and multiply the same defilement. On the surface, there is a layer of peace and harmony, but in the depths of the mind, there is a sleeping volcano of suppressed negativity that sooner or later may erupt in a violent explosion.

 

Other explorers of inner truth went still further in their search and, by experiencing the reality of mind and matter within themselves, recognized that diverting the attention is only running away from the problem. Escape is no solution; you have to face the problem. Whenever negativity arises in the mind, just observe it, face it. As soon as you start to observe a mental impurity, it begins to lose its strength and slowly withers away.

 

A good solution; it avoids both extremes—suppression and expression. Burying the negativity in the unconscious will not eradicate it, and allowing it to manifest as unwholesome physical or vocal actions will only create more problems. But if you just observe, then the defilement passes away, and you are free of it. This sounds wonderful, but is it really practical? Itfs not easy to face onefs own impurities. When anger arises, it so quickly overwhelms us that we donft even notice. Then, overpowered by anger, we perform physical or vocal actions that harm ourselves and others. Later, when the anger has passed, we start crying and repenting, begging pardon from this or that person, or from God: gOh, I made a mistake, please excuse me!h But the next time we are in a similar situation, we again react in the same way. This continual repenting doesnft help at all.

 

The difficulty is that we are not aware when negativity starts. It begins deep in the unconscious mind, and by the time it reaches the conscious level, it has gained so much strength that it overwhelms us, and we cannot observe it.

 

Suppose, then, that I employ a private secretary so that whenever anger arises he says to me, gLook, anger is starting!h Since I cannot know when this anger will start, Ifll need to hire three private secretaries for three shifts, around the clock! Letfs say I can afford it, and anger begins to arise. At once my secretary tells me, gOh look—anger has started!h The first thing Ifll do is rebuke him: gYou fool! You think youfre paid to teach me?h Ifm so overpowered by anger that good advice wonft help. Perhaps wisdom does prevail, and I donft scold him. Instead, I say, gThank you very much. Now I must sit down and observe my anger.h Yet, is it possible? As soon as I close my eyes and try to observe anger, the object of the anger immediately comes into my mind—the person or incident which initiated the anger. Then Ifm not observing the anger itself; Ifm merely observing the external stimulus of that emotion. This will only serve to multiply the anger and is, therefore, no solution. It is very difficult to observe any abstract negativity, abstract emotion, divorced from the external object that originally caused it to arise.

 

However, someone who reached the ultimate truth found a real solution. He discovered that whenever any impurity arises in the mind, physically two things start happening simultaneously. One is that the breath loses its normal rhythm. We start breathing harder whenever negativity comes into the mind. This is easy to observe. At a subtler level, a biochemical reaction starts in the body, resulting in some sensation. Every impurity will generate some sensation or other within the body.

 

This presents a practical solution. An ordinary person cannot observe abstract defilements of the mind—abstract fear, anger, or passion. But with proper training and practice, it is very easy to observe respiration and body sensations, both of which are directly related to mental defilements.

 

Respiration and sensations will help in two ways. First, they will be like private secretaries. As soon as negativity arises in the mind, the breath will lose its normality; it will start shouting, gLook, something has gone wrong!h And we cannot scold the breath; we have to accept the warning. Similarly, the sensations will tell us that something has gone wrong. Then, having been warned, we can start observing the respiration, start observing the sensations, and very quickly we find that the negativity passes away.

 

This mental-physical phenomenon is like a coin with two sides. On one side are the thoughts and emotions arising in the mind; on the other side are the respiration and sensations in the body. Any thoughts or emotions, any mental impurities that arise, manifest themselves in the breath and the sensations of that moment. Thus, by observing the respiration or the sensations, we are, in fact, observing mental impurities. Instead of running away from the problem, we are facing reality as it is. As a result, we discover that these impurities lose their strength; they no longer overpower us as they did in the past. If we persist, they eventually disappear altogether, and we begin to live a peaceful and happy life, a life increasingly free of negativities.

 

In this way, the technique of self-observation shows us reality in its two aspects, inner and outer. Previously we only looked outward, missing the inner truth. We always looked outside for the cause of our unhappiness; we always blamed and tried to change the reality outside. Being ignorant of the inner reality, we never understood that the cause of suffering lies within, in our own blind reactions toward pleasant and unpleasant sensations.

 

Now, with training, we can see the other side of the coin. We can be aware of our breathing and also of what is happening inside. Whatever it is, breath or sensation, we learn just to observe it without losing our mental balance. We stop reacting and multiplying our misery. Instead, we allow the defilements to manifest and pass away.

 

The more one practices this technique, the more quickly negativities will dissolve. Gradually the mind becomes free of defilements, becomes pure. A pure mind is always full of love—selfless love for all others, full of compassion for the failings and sufferings of others, full of joy at their success and happiness, full of equanimity in the face of any situation.

 

When one reaches this stage, the entire pattern of onefs life changes. It is no longer possible to do anything vocally or physically that will disturb the peace and happiness of others. Instead, a balanced mind not only becomes peaceful, but the surrounding atmosphere also becomes permeated with peace and harmony, and this will start affecting others, helping others too.

 

By learning to remain balanced in the face of everything experienced inside, one develops detachment towards all that one encounters in external situations as well. However, this detachment is not escapism or indifference to the problems of the world. Those who regularly practice Vipassana become more sensitive to the sufferings of others and do their utmost to relieve suffering in whatever way they can—not with any agitation but with a mind full of love, compassion, and equanimity. They learn holy indifference—how to be fully committed, fully involved in helping others while at the same time maintaining balance of mind. In this way, they remain peaceful and happy while working for the peace and happiness of others.

 

This is what the Buddha taught: an art of living. He never established or taught any religion, any gism.h He never instructed those who came to him to practice any rites or rituals, any empty formalities. Instead, he taught them just to observe nature as it is, by observing the reality inside. Out of ignorance, we keep reacting in ways that harm ourselves and others. But when wisdom arises—the wisdom of observing reality as it is—this habit of reacting falls away. When we cease to react blindly, then we are capable of real action—action proceeding from a balanced mind, a mind that sees and understands the truth. Such action can only be positive, creative, helpful to ourselves and to others.

 

What is necessary, then, is to gknow thyselfh—advice that every wise person has given. We must know ourselves, not just intellectually in the realm of ideas and theories and not just emotionally or devotionally, simply accepting blindly what we have heard or read. Such knowledge is not enough. Rather, we must know reality experientially. We must experience directly the reality of this mental-physical phenomenon. This alone will help us be free of our suffering.

 

This direct experience of our own inner reality, this technique of self-observation, is what is called Vipassana meditation. In the language of India in the time of the Buddha, passanā meant seeing in the ordinary way, with onefs eyes open; but vipassanā is observing things as they actually are, not just as they appear to be. Apparent truth has to be penetrated until we reach the ultimate truth of the entire psycho-physical structure. When we experience this truth, then we learn to stop reacting blindly, to stop creating negativities—and naturally, the old ones are gradually eradicated. We become liberated from misery and experience true happiness.

 

There are three steps to the training given in a meditation course. First, one must abstain from any action, physical or vocal, that disturbs the peace and harmony of others. One cannot work to liberate oneself from impurities of the mind while at the same time continuing to perform deeds of body and speech that only multiply them. Therefore, a code of morality is the essential first step of the practice. One undertakes not to kill, not to steal, not to commit sexual misconduct, not to tell lies, and not to use intoxicants. By abstaining from such actions, one allows the mind to quiet down sufficiently in order to proceed further.

 

The next step is to develop some mastery over this wild mind by training it to remain fixed on a single object, the breath. One tries to keep onefs attention on the respiration for as long as possible. This is not a breathing exercise; one does not regulate the breath. Instead, one observes natural respiration as it is, as it comes in, as it goes out. In this way, one further calms the mind so that it is no longer overpowered by intense negativities. At the same time, one is concentrating the mind, making it sharp and penetrating, capable of the work of insight.

 

These first two steps, living a moral life, and controlling the mind, are very necessary and beneficial in themselves, but they will lead to suppression of negativities unless one takes the third step: purifying the mind of defilements by developing insight into onefs own nature. This is Vipassana: experiencing onefs own reality by the systematic and dispassionate observation within oneself of the ever-changing mind-matter phenomenon manifesting as sensations. This is the culmination of the teaching of the Buddha: self-purification by self-observation.

 

It can be practiced by one and all. Everyone faces the problem of suffering. It is a universal malady that requires a universal remedy, not a sectarian one. When one suffers from anger, itfs not Buddhist anger, Hindu anger, or Christian anger. Anger is anger. When one becomes agitated as a  result of this anger, this agitation is not Christian, or Jewish, or Muslim. The malady is universal. The remedy must also be universal.

              Vipassana is such a remedy. No one will object to a code of living which respects the peace and harmony of others. No one will object to developing control over the mind. No one will object to  developing  insight into onefs own nature, by which it is possible to free the mind of negativities. Vipassana is a universal path.

             Observing reality as it is by observing the truth inside—this is knowing oneself directly and experientially. As one practices, one keeps freeing oneself from the misery of mental impurities.

From the gross, external, apparent truth, one penetrates to the ultimate truth of mind and matter. Then one  transcends that, and experiences a truth that is beyond mind and matter, beyond time and space, beyond the  conditioned field of relativity: the truth of total liberation from all defilements, all impurities,  all  suffering. 

Whatever name one gives this ultimate truth is irrelevant; it is the final goal of everyone. 

May you all experience this ultimate truth. May all people be free from misery. May they enjoy real peace, real harmony, real happiness.

May all beings be happy.

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

•t˜^@@@Appendix

The Art of Living:@¶‚«‚é‹Z@@@@ Vipassana áÒ‘z

 

 

S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ‚ÌŒöŠJu‰‰‚ÉŠî‚¢‚ÄAƒXƒCƒX‚̃xƒ‹ƒ“‚Ås‚í‚ꂽ‚à‚Ì‚©‚ç‚̈ø—p‚Å‚·B

 

’N‚à‚ª•½˜a‚Æ’²˜a‚ð‹‚߂܂·B‚È‚º‚Ȃ炻‚ê‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì¶Šˆ‚ÉŒ‡‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚é‚à‚Ì‚¾‚©‚ç‚Å‚·BŽžÜAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠFA‹»•±A‰Õ—§‚¿A•s’²˜a‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì•s‰õŠ´‚ɋꂵ‚Þ‚ÆA‚»‚ê‚ðŽ©•ª‚¾‚¯‚É—¯‚߂è‚­‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚µ‚΂µ‚΂»‚ê‚𑼂Ìl‚É‚à“`‚¦‚Ü‚·B•sK‚Èl‚ÌŽü‚è‚ɂ͕sK‚È•µˆÍ‹C‚ªL‚ª‚èA‚»‚Ìl‚ÆÚG‚·‚élX‚à‰e‹¿‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚·BŠm‚©‚ÉA‚±‚ê‚Ín’B‚µ‚½¶‚«•û‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ©•ªŽ©g‚Æ‘¼ŽÒ‚Ƃ̕½˜a‚ɶ‚«‚é‚ׂ«‚Å‚·BlŠÔ‚͎Љï“I‚È‘¶Ý‚Å‚ ‚èAŽÐ‰ï‚Ŷ‚«A‚¨ŒÝ‚¢‚ɑΈ‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚µ‚©‚µA‚ǂ̂悤‚É‚µ‚Ä•½˜a‚ɶ‚«‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H‚ǂ̂悤‚É‚µ‚Ä“à–ʂŒ²˜a‚ð•Û‚¿AŽüˆÍ‚É•½˜a‚Æ’²˜a‚ðˆÛŽ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«A‘¼‚Ìl‚à•½˜a‚Å’²˜a“I‚ɶ‚«‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

 

Ž„‚½‚¿‚̋ꂵ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚邽‚߂ɂÍA‚»‚ê‚ÌŠî–{“I‚È——RA‹ê‚µ‚݂̌´ˆö‚ð’m‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B–â‘è‚ð’T‹‚·‚邯AS‚ɔےè“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚â•sƒ•¨‚𶬂µŽn‚߂邯AŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í•sK‚ɂȂ邱‚Æ‚ª–¾‚ç‚©‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·BS‚Ì’†‚̔ےè“I‚È—v‘f‚⃃“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ìâq‚ê‚â•sƒ•¨‚Í•½˜a‚Æ’²˜a‚Æ“¯‹‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

‚Å‚ÍA‚ǂ̂悤‚É‚µ‚Ĕےè“I‚ÈŠ´î‚𶬂µŽn‚ß‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©HĂђT‹‚µ‚Ä‚Ý‚é‚ÆA–¾‚ç‚©‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

‘¼l‚ªŽ©•ª‚ªD‚܂Ȃ¢U‚é•‘‚¢‚ð‚µ‚½‚èAD‚܂Ȃ¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚Æ‚«‚É•sK‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ü‚·B

–]‚Ü‚µ‚­‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‹N‚±‚邯Al‚Ì“à–ʂْ͋£‚µA‚Ü‚½A‰½‚©‚ªŽ×–‚‚ð‚µ‚Ä–]‚Ü‚µ‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‹N‚±‚ç‚È‚­‚Ä‚àA“à–ʂْ͋£‚µAŒ‹‚Ñ–Ú‚ðì‚èŽn‚߂܂·B‚»‚µ‚ÄAI¶A–]‚Ü‚µ‚­‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃ͌p‘±‚µA–]‚Ü‚µ‚¢‚±‚Ƃ͋N‚±‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚͂킩‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚±‚Ìu”½‰žvA‚·‚Ȃ킿ƒSƒ‹ƒfƒBƒAƒX‚ÌŒ‹‚іڂ̃vƒƒZƒX‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄA‘S‘Ì‚ÌSg\‘¢‚ª‹Ù’£‚µA”Û’è“I‚È‚à‚̂ł¢‚Á‚Ï‚¢‚ɂȂèA¶Šˆ‚ª‹ê‚µ‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚Ì–â‘è‚ð‰ðŒˆ‚·‚éˆê‚‚̕û–@‚ÍAl¶‚Å–]‚Ü‚µ‚­‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‰½‚à‹N‚±‚ç‚È‚¢‚悤‚É‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B‚·‚ׂĂªŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì–]‚Þ’Ê‚è‚É‹N‚±‚葱‚¯‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂê‚ÎA‚Ü‚½‚Í•‚¯‚É—ˆ‚é’N‚©‚ª‚»‚ê‚ðŽÀŒ»‚·‚é—Í‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚ê‚ÎA‚»‚ê‚Å‚¢‚¢‚̂ł·B‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚ê‚Í•s‰Â”\‚Å‚·B¢ŠE‚É‚Íí‚É’N‚à‚ª–]‚Þ’Ê‚è‚ɂȂ邱‚Ƃ͂Ȃ­A–]‚Ü‚µ‚­‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‹N‚±‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

í‚ÉŽ„‚½‚¿‚Ì—~–]‚ÆŠè–]‚É”½‚·‚镍ޖ‚ª‹N‚±‚è‚Ü‚·B‚±‚±‚Å‹^–₪•‚‚©‚т܂·B

‚Å‚ÍAD‚«‚ł͂Ȃ¢‚à‚̂ɒ¼–Ê‚µ‚½‚Æ‚«‚ÉŸŽè‚É”½‰ž‚·‚é‚Ì‚ð‚ǂ̂悤‚ÉŽ~‚߂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H

‚Ü‚½A‚ǂ̂悤‚É‚µ‚ċْ£‚ðì‚èo‚³‚¸‚É•½˜a‚Å’²˜a“I‚É‚¢‚ç‚ê‚é‚̂łµ‚傤‚©H

 

ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Å‚ÍA‚»‚µ‚Ä‘¼‚Ì‘‚Å‚àA‰ß‹Ž‚ÌŒ«–¾‚ȹl‚½‚¿‚ÍlŠÔ‚̋ꂵ‚݂̖â‘è‚ðŒ¤‹†‚µA‰ðŒˆô‚ðŒ©o‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚à‚µ‚à‰½‚©–]‚Ü‚µ‚­‚È‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ª‹N‚±‚èA“{‚èA‹°‚êA‚Ü‚½‚Í‘¼‚̔ےè“I‚ÈŠ´î‚𶬂µŽn‚߂邯A‚Å‚«‚邾‚¯‘‚­’ˆÓ‚ð•ʂ̂à‚̂Ɍü‚¯‚é‚ׂ«‚¾‚Ɣނç‚Í”Fޝ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚½‚Æ‚¦‚ÎA—§‚¿ã‚ª‚Á‚Ä…‚ðˆù‚ÞAˆù‚ÝŽn‚߂邯“{‚è‚Í‘•‚¹‚¸‚ÉA‹t‚ÉAŽû‚Ü‚èŽn‚߂܂·B‚Ü‚½‚͈êA“ñAŽOAŽl‚Æ”‚¦Žn‚ß‚½‚èA‚Ü‚½‚ÍŒ¾—tAƒtƒŒ[ƒYA‚ ‚é‚¢‚ÍM‹Â‚Ì‚ ‚é_‚⹎҂̖¼‘O‚ðŒJ‚è•Ô‚µŽn‚߂邯Aƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Í•ûŒü“]Š·‚µA”Û’è“I‚ÈŠ´î‚©‚ç‚ ‚é’ö“x‚͉ð•ú‚³‚ê‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

‚±‚̉ðŒˆô‚Í–ð—§‚¿A‹@”\‚µA¡‚à‚È‚¨‹@”\‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚±‚̂悤‚É”½‰ž‚·‚邯Aƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Í‹»•±‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚邯д‚¶‚Ü‚·B‚½‚¾‚µA‚±‚̉ðŒˆô‚͈ӎ¯ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚ł̂݋@”\‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚µ‚©‚µAŽÀÛ‚É‚ÍA’ˆÓ‚ð‚»‚ç‚·‚±‚Æ‚ÅA”Û’è“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ðö݈ӎ¯‚ɉŸ‚µ‚â‚èA‚»‚±‚Å“¯‚¶‚悤‚ȉ˜‘÷iŒ‹‚Ñ–ÚAŽ©“®”½‰ž‰ñ˜Hj‚𶬂µ‘•‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B•\–ʂɂ͕½˜a‚Æ’²˜a‚Ì‘w‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚ªAS‚̉œ’ê‚ɂ͗}ˆ³‚³‚ꂽ”Û’è“I‚Èu‹x‰ÎŽRv‚ª‚ ‚èA‚¢‚¸‚ꌃ‚µ‚¢”š”­‚ð‹N‚±‚·‚©‚à‚µ‚ê‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

“à‚È‚é^ŽÀ‚Ì’T‹ŽÒ‚½‚¿‚Í‚³‚ç‚É[‚­–â‚¢’¼‚µAŽ©•ª‚Ì“à‚È‚éS‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚ÌŽÀÝ‚ðŒoŒ±‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄA’ˆÓ‚ð‚»‚ç‚·‚±‚Ƃ͖â‘è‚©‚瓦‚°‚邾‚¯‚Å‚ ‚邱‚ƂɋC‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B“¦”ð‚͉ðŒˆô‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB–â‘è‚É—§‚¿Œü‚©‚¤•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BS‚ɔےè“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ªŒ»‚ꂽ‚Æ‚«‚ÍA‚»‚ê‚ÉŠñ‚è“Y‚¢A‚½‚¾’¼Ž‹‚·‚邾‚¯‚Å‚·Bƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì•sƒ•¨iŽ©“®”½‰ž‰ñ˜Hj‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µŽn‚߂邯A‚»‚ê‚Í—Í‚ðŽ¸‚¢A‚ä‚Á‚­‚è‚ÆŠ‘Þ‚µŽn‚߂܂·B

 

‚±‚ê‚Í—Ç‚¢‰ðŒˆô‚Å‚·B—}§‚Æ”­Œ»‚Ì—¼‹É‚ð‰ñ”ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B”Û’è“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ðö݈ӎ¯‚ɉŸ‚µž‚߂Ăàªâ‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A‚»‚ê‚ð•sŒ’‘S‚È•¨—“Isˆ×A‚·‚Ȃ킿”­º“Is“®‚Æ‚µ‚Ä”­Œ»‚³‚¹‚邱‚Ƃ͖â‘è‚ð‚Ü‚·‚Ü‚·‘•‚³‚¹‚邾‚¯‚Å‚·B‚µ‚©‚µA‚½‚¾ŠÏŽ@‚·‚邾‚¯‚ÅA•sƒ•¨‚Í‹Ž‚èA‚»‚ê‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚ê‚Í‘f°‚炵‚¢‚悤‚É•·‚±‚¦‚Ü‚·‚ªA–{“–‚ÉŽÀ—p“I‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H

Ž©•ªŽ©g‚Ì•sƒ•¨‚ÉŒü‚«‡‚¤‚±‚Ƃ͊ȒP‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB“{‚肪—N‚«ã‚ª‚邯AŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‚·‚®‚Ɉ³“|‚³‚êA‚»‚ê‚É‹C‚©‚È‚¢‚܂܂ł·B‚»‚ÌŒãA“{‚è‚Ɉ³“|‚³‚ê‚ÄŽ©•ª‚⑼l‚ÉŠQ‚ð—^‚¦‚镨—“Isˆ×‚·‚Ȃ킿”­º“Is“®‚ð‹N‚±‚µ‚Ü‚·B“{‚肪‰ß‚¬‹Ž‚Á‚½ŒãAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‹ƒ‚«o‚µAŒã‰÷‚µA‘ŠŽè‚â_‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä‹–‚µ‚𿂤‚±‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

u‚ ‚ AŽ„‚͊ԈႦ‚ð‚¨‚©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½A‚·‚݂܂¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½Iv‚µ‚©‚µAŽŸ‚É“¯—l‚Ì󋵂ɒ¼–Ê‚·‚邯A‚Ü‚½“¯‚¶‚悤‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ÌI‚í‚è‚̂Ȃ¢‰÷‚¢‰ü‚߂͑S‚­•‚¯‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

–â‘è‚͔ےè“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ª‹N‚±‚èŽn‚ß‚½‚Æ‚«‚É‹C‚©‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B‚»‚ê‚Íö݈ӎ¯‚Ì[‚¢•”•ª‚ÅŽn‚Ü‚èAˆÓޝƒŒƒxƒ‹‚É’B‚·‚é‚܂łɔñí‚ɑ傫‚È‹­‚³‚𓾂Ă¢‚Ü‚·B‚»‚ê‚Ɉ³“|‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邯A‚à‚¤ŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

‚Å‚ÍA‚à‚µŽ„‚ª”é‘‚ðŒÙ‚Á‚ÄA“{‚肪—N‚«ã‚ª‚邯uŒ©‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢A“{‚肪Žn‚Ü‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·‚æIv‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚Ä‚­‚ê‚邿‚¤‚É‚·‚é‚̂͂ǂ¤‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©H@“{‚è‚Í‚¢‚ÂŽn‚܂邩‚ð’m‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚È‚¢‚Ì‚ÅA24ŽžŠÔ‚Å3l‚̔鑂ðŒÙ‚¤•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚»‚ꂪ‚Å‚«‚邯‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚傤B“{‚肪—N‚«ã‚ª‚èŽn‚ß‚½‚çA‚·‚®‚ɔ鑂ªu‚ ‚ AŒ©‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢A“{‚肪Žn‚Ü‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·Iv‚Æ‹³‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚·B‚·‚邯ʼn‚É‚â‚邱‚Æ‚Íu”nŽ­ŽÒIŽ„‚ðŽwަ‚·‚邽‚߂ɋ‹—¿‚ð‚à‚ç‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©Hv‚Ɣ鑂Ɏ¶Ó‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B“{‚è‚Ɉ³“|‚³‚ê‚ÄA—Ç‚¢ƒAƒhƒoƒCƒX‚Í•‚¯‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

 

‚¨‚»‚ç‚­’mŒb‚ªŸ‚èA”é‘‚ðŽ¶‚ç‚È‚¢‚ÅςނƂµ‚Ü‚µ‚傤B‘ã‚í‚è‚Éu‚Ç‚¤‚à‚ ‚肪‚Æ‚¤B¡AÀ‚Á‚ÄŽ©•ª‚Ì“{‚è‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Ëv‚ÆŒ¾‚¤‚̂łµ‚傤B‚µ‚©‚µA‚»‚ê‚͉”\‚Ȃ̂łµ‚傤‚©H@–Ú‚ð•‚¶‚Ä“{‚è‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚悤‚Æ‚·‚邯A“{‚è‚Ì‘ÎÛ‚ª‚·‚®‚ÉŽv‚¢•‚‚©‚т܂·A“{‚è‚ÌŒ´ˆö‚ƂȂÁ‚½l‚âo—ˆŽ–‚Å‚·B‚»‚ÌŽž“_‚ł͎©•ª‚Ì“{‚è‚»‚Ì‚à‚Ì‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł͂Ȃ­AŠ´î‚ÌŠO•”‚ÌŽhŒƒi“ü—ÍM†j‚ð’P‚ÉŠÏŽ@‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚Í“{‚è‚ð‘•‚·‚邾‚¯‚Å‚ ‚èA‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ĉðŒˆô‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB’ŠÛ“I‚Ŕےè“I‚È‚à‚ÌA’ŠÛ“I‚ÈŠ´î‚ðA‚»‚ꂪʼn‚Ɉø‚«‹N‚±‚³‚ꂽŠO•”‚Ì‘ÎÛ‚©‚çØ‚è—£‚µ‚ÄŠÏŽ@‚·‚é‚͔̂ñí‚ɓ‚¢‚̂ł·B

 

‚½‚¾‚µA‹†‹É‚Ì^ŽÀ‚É’B‚µ‚½l‚Í–{“–‚̉ðŒˆô‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Í‹C‚¢‚½‚̂ł·BS‚É•sƒ•¨‚ª”­¶‚·‚邯A•¨—“I‚É“¯Žž‚É2‚‚̂±‚Æ‚ªŽn‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚·Bˆê‚‚͌ċz‚ª³í‚ÈƒŠƒYƒ€‚ðŽ¸‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·BS‚ɔےè“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ª•‚‚©‚Ñオ‚邯AŒÄ‹z‚ªr‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚ÍŠÈ’P‚ÉŠÏŽ@‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚æ‚è”÷ׂȃŒƒxƒ‹‚Å‚ÍA¶‘Ì“à‚ʼn»Šw”½‰ž‚ªŽn‚Ü‚èA‰½‚ç‚©‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·B ‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é•sƒ•¨‚͑̓à‚ɉ½‚ç‚©‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ð¶‚Ýo‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚ê‚ÍŽÀ—p“I‚ȉðŒˆô‚Å‚·B•’Ê‚Ìl‚ÍA’ŠÛ“I‚ÈS‚̉˜‚êA‚‚܂蒊ۓI‚È‹°•|A“{‚èAî”M‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚µ‚©‚µA“K؂ȌP—û‚ÆŽÀ‘H‚ðς߂ÎAƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚̔ϔY‚É’¼ÚŠÖŒW‚·‚éŒÄ‹z‚Ƒ̂̊´Šo‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚é‚͔̂ñí‚ÉŠÈ’P‚Å‚·B

 

ŒÄ‹z‚ÆŠ´Šo‚Í 2 ‚‚̕û–@‚Å–ð—§‚¿‚Ü‚·B ‚Ü‚¸A‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÍŽ„ݔ鑂̂悤‚È‚à‚̂ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B S‚Ì’†‚ɃlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚ÈŠ´î‚ª¶‚¶‚邯‚·‚®‚ÉAŒÄ‹z‚ͳ킳‚ðŽ¸‚¢‚Ü‚·B u‚Ù‚çA‰½‚©–â‘肪‹N‚±‚Á‚½Iv‚Æ‹©‚ÑŽn‚ß‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B ‚µ‚©‚µ‘§‚ðŽ¶‚é‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŒx‚ðŽó‚¯“ü‚ê‚邵‚©‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB“¯—l‚ÉAŠ´Šo‚͉½‚©‚ªŠÔˆá‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ðŽ„‚½‚¿‚É’m‚点‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄAŒx‚ðŽó‚¯‚ÄAŒÄ‹z‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µAŠ´Šo‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µŽn‚߂邯A‚·‚®‚ɃlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚ÈŠ´î‚ªÁ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚­‚±‚Æ‚ª‚í‚©‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚̃ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Æ•¨—‚ÌŒ»Û‚ÍAƒRƒCƒ“‚Ì—¼–ʂ̂悤‚È‚à‚̂ł·B ˆê•û‚É‚ÍS‚Ì’†‚Ŷ‚¶‚éŽvl‚⊴‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ”½‘Α¤‚ɂ͌ċz‚Ƒ̂̊´Šo‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B ¶‚¶‚½‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éŽvl‚⊴îAƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì•sƒ•¨‚ÍA‚»‚ÌuŠÔ‚̌ċz‚⊴Šo‚ÉŒ»‚ê‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚͌ċz‚⊴Šo‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄAŽÀۂɂ̓ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì•sƒ•¨‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í–â‘è‚©‚瓦‚°‚é‚̂ł͂Ȃ­A‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂̌»ŽÀ‚ÆŒü‚«‡‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ÌŒ‹‰ÊA‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì•sƒ•¨‚ª‚»‚Ì—Í‚ðŽ¸‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ª‚í‚©‚Á‚Ä‚«‚Ü‚·B‚»‚ê‚ç‚Í‚à‚Í‚âAˆÈ‘O‚̂悤‚ÉŽ„‚½‚¿‚ðˆ³“|‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ”S‚è‹­‚­‘±‚¯‚ê‚ÎAÅI“I‚ɂ͂»‚ê‚ç‚ÍŠ®‘S‚ÉÁ‚¦AŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í•½˜a‚ÅK‚¹‚È¶Šˆ‚ð‘—‚èŽn‚ßA‚Ü‚·‚Ü‚·”Û’è“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ꂽ¶Šˆ‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚̂悤‚ÉAŽ©ŒÈŠÏŽ@‚̃eƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ÍAŒ»ŽÀ‚ð“à‚ÆŠO‚Ì2 ‚‚̑¤–Ê‚©‚猩‚Ü‚·BˆÈ‘O‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠO‘¤‚¾‚¯‚ðŒ©‚Ä‚¢‚ÄA“à‘¤‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðŒ©“¦‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ì•sK‚ÌŒ´ˆö‚ðí‚ÉŠO‘¤‚É‹‚߂Ă¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Íí‚ÉŠO‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ð”ñ“‚ÄA•Ï‚¦‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B “à‚Ȃ錻ŽÀ‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä–³’m‚ÈŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍA‹ê‚µ‚݂̌´ˆö‚ªŽ©•ªŽ©g‚Ì’†‚É‚ ‚éA‰õ‚¢Š´Šo‚â•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ɑ΂·‚é–Ó–Ú“I‚È”½‰ž‚É‚ ‚邱‚Ƃ𭂵‚à—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B

 

ƒgƒŒ[ƒjƒ“ƒO‚ðs‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ÅAƒRƒCƒ“‚Ì— ‘¤‚ªŒ©‚¦‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ©•ª‚̌ċz‚â“à‘¤‚ʼn½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ðˆÓޝ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚ꂪ‰½‚Å‚ ‚êAŒÄ‹z‚Å‚ ‚ꊴŠo‚Å‚ ‚êAŽ„‚½‚¿‚̓ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚̃oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ðŽ¸‚í‚¸‚É‚½‚¾‚»‚ê‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠw‚т܂·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í”½‰ž‚µ‚ĔߎS‚³‚ð”{‘‚³‚¹‚é‚Ì‚ð‚â‚߂܂·B‚»‚Ì‘ã‚í‚è‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚͔ϔY‚ªŒ»‚ê‚Ä‚ÍÁ‚¦‹Ž‚邱‚Æ‚ðŒ©Žç‚è‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚̃eƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚ê‚΂·‚é‚Ù‚ÇAƒlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚ÈŠ´î‚Í‚æ‚è‘‚­‰ðÁ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B ™X‚ÉS‚͔ϔY‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚êAƒˆ‚ɂȂÁ‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·B ƒˆ‚ÈS‚Íí‚Ɉ¤‚É–ž‚¿‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‘¼ŽÒ‚·‚ׂĂɑ΂·‚閳ބ‚̈¤A‘¼ŽÒ‚ÌŽ¸”s‚â‹ê‚µ‚݂ɑ΂·‚铯îS‚É–ž‚¿A”Þ‚ç‚̬Œ÷‚âK•Ÿ‚ɑ΂·‚éŠì‚тɖž‚¿A‚Ç‚ñ‚È󋵂ɒ¼–Ê‚µ‚Ä‚àɸ‚É–ž‚¿‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚Ì’iŠK‚É’B‚·‚邯Al¶‚̃pƒ^[ƒ“‘S‘Ì‚ª•Ï‚í‚è‚Ü‚·B ‘¼l‚Ì•½˜a‚ÆK•Ÿ‚ð—‚·‚悤‚È‚±‚Æ‚ðAŒ¾Œê‚âg‘Ì‚Ås‚¤‚±‚Ƃ͂à‚Í‚â•s‰Â”\‚Å‚·B ‚Þ‚µ‚ëAƒoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚̂Ƃꂽƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Í•½˜a‚ɂȂ邾‚¯‚łȂ­AŽüˆÍ‚Ì•µˆÍ‹C‚É‚à•½˜a‚Æ’²˜a‚ªZ“§‚µA‚»‚ꂪ‘¼‚Ìl‚ɉe‹¿‚ð—^‚¦A‘¼‚Ìl‚𕂯‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

“à‘¤‚ÅŒoŒ±‚·‚é‚·‚ׂĂ̂à‚̂ɒ¼–Ê‚µ‚ăoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ð•ۂ‚±‚Æ‚ðŠw‚Ô‚±‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄAŠO‘¤‚Ì󋵂ő˜‹ö‚·‚é‚·‚ׂĂ̂à‚̂ɑ΂µ‚Ä‚à–³Ž·’…‚ªˆç‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚·B‚µ‚©‚µA‚±‚Ì–³Ž·’˜‚ÍŒ»ŽÀ“¦”ð‚⢊E‚Ì–â‘è‚Ö‚Ì–³ŠÖS‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ð’èŠú“I‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚·‚él‚ÍA‘¼ŽÒ‚̋ꂵ‚݂ɑ΂µ‚Ä‚æ‚è•qŠ´‚ɂȂèA“®—h‚·‚邱‚ƂȂ­Aˆ¤AŽœ”ßAɸ‚É–ž‚¿‚½S‚ð‚à‚Á‚ÄA‚Å‚«‚éŒÀ‚è‚Ì•û–@‚ŋꂵ‚Ý‚ð˜a‚ç‚°‚悤‚Æ‘S—Í‚ðs‚­‚µ‚Ü‚·B ”Þ‚ç‚ÍA¹‚Ȃ閳ŠÖSA‚‚܂èS‚̃oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ðˆÛŽ‚µ‚È‚ª‚çA‘¼‚Ìl‚𕂯‚邱‚ƂɑS—Í‚ðs‚­‚µA‘S–Ê“I‚ÉŠÖ—^‚·‚é•û–@‚ðŠw‚т܂·B ‚±‚̂悤‚É‚µ‚ÄA”Þ‚ç‚Í‘¼‚ÌlX‚Ì•½˜a‚ÆK•Ÿ‚Ì‚½‚߂ɓ­‚«‚È‚ª‚çAŽ©•ª‚Ì•½˜a‚ÆK•Ÿ‚ð•Û‚¿‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚ꂪƒuƒbƒ_‚ª‹³‚¦‚½A¶‚«‚ép‚Å‚·B ”Þ‚Í‚¢‚©‚È‚é@‹³‚àA‚¢‚©‚È‚éuŽå‹`v‚àŠm—§‚µ‚½‚苳‚¦‚½‚肵‚½‚±‚Ƃ͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ”Þ‚ÍŽ©•ª‚Ì‚à‚Æ‚É‚â‚Á‚Ä—ˆ‚½lX‚ÉA‚¢‚©‚È‚é‹VŽ®‚â‹V—çA‹ó‹•‚ÈŒ`Ž®‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邿‚¤Œˆ‚µ‚ÄŽwަ‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B ‚»‚Ì‘ã‚í‚è‚ÉA“à•”‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄŽ©‘R‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂ɂ½‚¾ŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ð‹³‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B –³’m‚䂦‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŽ©•ªŽ©g‚⑼l‚ð‚‚¯‚邿‚¤‚È”½‰ž‚ð‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B ‚µ‚©‚µA’qŒdA‚‚܂茻ŽÀ‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɋώ@‚·‚é’qŒd‚ª¶‚Ü‚ê‚邯A‚±‚Ì”½‰ž‚·‚éKе‚ÍÁ‚¦‚Ü‚·B –Ó–Ú“I‚É”½‰ž‚·‚é‚Ì‚ð‚â‚߂邯‚«AŽ„‚½‚¿‚̓oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ÌŽæ‚ꂽSA‚‚܂è^ŽÀ‚ðŒ©‚Ä—‰ð‚·‚éS‚©‚çŽn‚Ü‚é^‚Ìs“®‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚̂悤‚Ès“®‚ÍAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚à‘¼l‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‚àA‘OŒü‚«‚Å‘n‘¢“I‚Ŗ𗧂‚à‚̂ł·B

 

‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA•K—v‚Ȃ̂ÍuŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð’m‚év‚±‚Ƃł·B‚±‚ê‚ÍA‚·‚ׂĂ̌«–¾‚ÈlX‚ª—^‚¦‚Ä‚«‚½ƒAƒhƒoƒCƒX‚Å‚·B’m“I‚ȃAƒCƒfƒA‚â—˜_‚âAŠ´î‚âMS‚âA•·‚¢‚½‚è“Ç‚ñ‚¾‚肵‚½‚±‚Æ‚ð–Ó–Ú“I‚Ɏ󂯓ü‚ê‚邾‚¯‚łȂ­AŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð’m‚ç‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚̂悤‚È’mޝ‚¾‚¯‚Å‚Í\•ª‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚Þ‚µ‚ëAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍŒoŒ±“I‚ÉŒ»ŽÀ‚ð’m‚ç‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB Ž„‚½‚¿‚Í‚±‚ÌSgŒ»Û‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ð’¼Ú‘ÌŒ±‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚ꂾ‚¯‚ÅŽ„‚½‚¿‚͋ꂵ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B

 

Ž©g‚Ì“à‚Ȃ錻ŽÀ‚ð’¼ÚŒoŒ±‚·‚邱‚ÌŽ©ŒÈŠÏŽ@‚̃eƒNƒjƒbƒN‚ÍAVipassanaáÒ‘z‚ƌĂ΂ê‚é‚à‚̂ł·B ƒuƒbƒ_‚ÌŽž‘ã‚̃Cƒ“ƒh‚ÌŒ¾Œê‚Åpassanā‚Í–Ú‚ðŠJ‚¯‚Ä•’ʂɌ©‚邱‚Æ‚ðˆÓ–¡‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B ‚µ‚©‚µƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÍA•¨Ž–‚ð‚½‚¾Œ©‚¦‚邾‚¯‚ł͂Ȃ­A‚ ‚邪‚܂܂ðŽÀÛ‚ÉŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B uS—‚Æ•¨—‚Ì\‘¢v‘S‘̂̋†‹É‚Ì^ŽÀ‚É“ž’B‚·‚é‚Ü‚ÅAŒ©‚©‚¯‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ð“Ë‚«”²‚¯‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚±‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ðŒoŒ±‚·‚邯A–Ó–Ú“I‚É”½‰ž‚·‚é‚Ì‚ð‚â‚ßA”Û’è“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·‚Ì‚ð‚â‚߂邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚»‚µ‚Ä“–‘R‚Ì‚±‚ƂȂª‚çAŒÃ‚¢‚à‚͙̂X‚ɪ₳‚ê‚Ü‚·B Ž„‚½‚¿‚͋ꂵ‚Ý‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚êA^‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ðŒoŒ±‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

áÒ‘zƒR[ƒX‚Ås‚í‚ê‚éƒgƒŒ[ƒjƒ“ƒO‚É‚Í 3 ‚‚̃Xƒeƒbƒv‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

‚Ü‚¸Ag‘̃Œƒxƒ‹‚Ɖ¹ºƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å‘¼l‚Ì•½˜a‚Æ’²˜a‚ð—‚·‚悤‚È‚¢‚©‚È‚ésˆ×‚àT‚܂Ȃ¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB l‚ÍS‚Ì•sƒ•¨‚©‚玩•ª‚ð‰ð•ú‚µ‚悤‚Æ“w—Í‚µ‚È‚ª‚çA“¯Žž‚É‚»‚ê‚ç‚ð‘‘傳‚¹‚邾‚¯‚Ìg‘̂⌾—t‚Ìsˆ×‚𑱂¯‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA“¹“¿‹K”͎͂À‘H‚Ìd—v‚Èʼn‚̃Xƒeƒbƒv‚Å‚·BŽE‚³‚È‚¢‚±‚ÆA“‚܂Ȃ¢‚±‚ÆA«“I•s“KØsˆ×‚ð‚µ‚È‚¢‚±‚ÆA‰R‚ð‚‚©‚È‚¢‚±‚ÆA‚»‚µ‚ÄçÇ炳‚¹‚é‚à‚Ì‚ðŽg—p‚µ‚È‚¢‚±‚Ƃ𾂢‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚̂悤‚Èsˆ×‚ðT‚¦‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄAS‚ð\•ª‚ÉÂ߂Ă³‚ç‚Éæ‚Éi‚Þ‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

 

ŽŸ‚̃Xƒeƒbƒv‚ÍA–춂̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðŒÄ‹z‚Æ‚¢‚¤’Pˆê‚Ì‘ÎۂɌŒ肷‚éŒP—û‚ÅA‚ ‚é’ö“x“Œä‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·BŒÄ‹z‚É’ˆÓ‚ð‚Å‚«‚邾‚¯’·‚­Œü‚¯‘±‚¯‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ê‚͌ċz–@‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚̂Ōċz‚ð’²ß‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚Ì‘ã‚í‚è‚ÉAŽ©‘R‚̌ċz‚ª‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂ɓü‚Á‚Ä‚Ío‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Ì‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚±‚̂悤‚É‚µ‚ÄAS‚ð‚³‚ç‚É—Ž‚¿’…‚©‚¹‚邯A‹­‚¢”Û’è“I‚È‚à‚̂Ɉ³“|‚³‚ê‚È‚­‚È‚è‚Ü‚·B “¯Žž‚ÉA“à‘¤‚É“´Ž@—͂𓭂©‚¹‚邽‚ß‚ÉS‚ª‰s‚­ŠÑ’ʂł«‚邿‚¤‚ÉS‚ðW’†‚³‚¹‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ìʼn‚Ì 2 ‚‚̃XƒeƒbƒvA‚‚܂蓹“¿“I‚È¶Šˆ‚𑗂邱‚Ƃƃ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚ðƒRƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÍA‚»‚ꎩ‘Ì”ñí‚É•K—v‚Å—L‰v‚Å‚·‚ªA‘æ 3 ‚̃XƒeƒbƒvA‚‚܂莩•ªŽ©g‚Ì«Ž¿‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă̓´Ž@‚ð[‚ß‚ÄS‚̉˜‚ê‚ðò‰»‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ðs‚í‚È‚¯‚ê‚ÎAƒlƒKƒeƒBƒu‚ÈŠ´î‚ð—}§‚·‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

Š´Šo‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŒ»‚ê‚é₦‚¸•ω»‚·‚éuS‚Æ•¨Ž¿v‚ÌŒ»Û‚Å‚ ‚鎩•ª‚ðA‘ÌŒn“I‚©‚—âÂɊώ@‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ð‘ÌŒ±‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·B ‚±‚ê‚ÍuŽ©ŒÈŠÏŽ@‚É‚æ‚鎩ŒÈò‰»v‚Æ‚¢‚¤ƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚Ì’¸“_‚Å‚·B‚±‚ꂪƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Å‚·B

               

‚»‚ê‚Í’N‚Å‚àŽÀ‘H‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B ’N‚à‚ª‹ê‚µ‚݂̖â‘è‚É’¼–Ê‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B ‚±‚ê‚Í••Õ“I‚È•a‹C‚Å‚ ‚èA@”h‚Ɉˋ’‚µ‚½‚à‚̂ł͂Ȃ­A••Õ“I‚ÈŽ¡—Ö@‚ª•K—v‚Å‚·B l‚ª“{‚è‚ɋꂵ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚邯‚«A‚»‚ê‚Í•§‹³‚Ì“{‚è‚Å‚àAƒqƒ“ƒY[‹³‚Ì“{‚è‚Å‚àAƒLƒŠƒXƒg‹³‚Ì“{‚è‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB “{‚è‚Í“{‚è‚Å‚·B‚±‚Ì“{‚è‚ÌŒ‹‰Ê‚Æ‚µ‚Äl‚ª“®—h‚·‚邯‚«A‚»‚Ì“®—h‚̓LƒŠƒXƒg‹³“I‚Å‚àAƒ†ƒ_ƒ„“I‚Å‚àAƒCƒXƒ‰ƒ€“I‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚±‚Ì•a‹C‚Í¢ŠE‹¤’ʂł·B Ž¡—Ö@‚à••Õ“I‚łȂ¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Í‚»‚̂悤‚ÈŽ¡—Ö@‚Å‚·B ‘¼l‚Ì•½˜a‚Æ’²˜a‚ð‘¸d‚·‚é¶Šˆ‹K”͂ɔ½‘΂·‚él‚Í‚¢‚È‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B S‚̃Rƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚ðˆç‚Þ‚±‚Ƃɔ½‘΂·‚él‚Í‚¢‚È‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B Ž©•ªŽ©g‚Ì«Ž¿‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă̓´Ž@—Í‚ð—{‚¢A‚»‚ê‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄS‚ð”Û’è“I‚È‚à‚Ì‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邱‚Ƃɔ½‘΂·‚él‚Í‚¢‚È‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤B ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Í••Õ“I‚È“¹‚Å‚·B

  “à‚È‚é^ŽÀ‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚ÄŒ»ŽÀ‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɋώ@‚·‚邱‚ÆA‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ð’¼Ú“I‚©‚ÂŒoŒ±“I‚É’m‚邱‚Ƃł·B Cs‚·‚é‚ɂ‚ê‚ÄAƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì•sƒ•¨‚̋ꂵ‚Ý‚©‚玩•ª‚ð‰ð•ú‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B

‘e‘å‚ÅŠO–Ê“I‚ÈŒ©‚©‚¯‚Ì^ŽÀ‚©‚çAS‚Æ•¨Ž¿‚Ì‹†‹É‚Ì^ŽÀ‚É“ž’B‚µ‚Ü‚·B ‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚»‚ê‚ð’´‰z‚µ‚ÄAS‚Æ•¨Ž¿AŽžŠÔ‚Æ‹óŠÔ‚ð’´‚¦A‘Š‘Î«—˜_‚ÌðŒ•t‚¯‚³‚ꂽê‚ð’´‚¦‚½^—A‚·‚Ȃ킿A‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éâq‚êA‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é•sƒ•¨A‚ ‚ç‚ä‚é‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚©‚ç‚ÌŠ®‘S‚ȉð•ú‚Ì^—‚ð‘ÌŒ±‚µ‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚Ì‹†‹É‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ɂǂñ‚È–¼‘O‚ð•t‚¯‚é‚©‚ÍŠÖŒW‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‚»‚ê‚Í‘Sˆõ‚ÌÅI–Ú•W‚Å‚·B

 

ŠF‚³‚ñ‚à‚±‚Ì‹†‹É‚Ì^ŽÀ‚ð‘ÌŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B

‚·‚ׂĂÌl‚ª•sK‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

‚·‚ׂĂÌl‚ª^‚Ì•½˜aA^‚Ì’²˜aA^‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ð‹Žó‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

‚·‚ׂĂ̑¶Ý‚ªK‚¹‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

 

S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"The Practice of Mettā Bhāvanā in Vipassana Meditation"

 

A paper presented at the Seminar on Vipassana Meditation convened at Dhamma Giri, India, in December 1986.

 

The practice of mettā-bhāvanā (meditation of loving-kindness) is an important adjunct to the technique of Vipassana meditation—indeed, its logical outcome. In mettā-bhāvanā, one radiates loving-kindness and good will toward all beings, deliberately charging the atmosphere around with calming, positive vibrations of pure and compassionate love. The Buddha instructed his followers to develop mettā in order to lead more peaceful and harmonious lives, and to help others do so as well. Students of Vipassana are encouraged to follow that instruction because mettā is the way to share with all others the peace and harmony we are developing.

 

The Tipiaka commentaries state: Mijjati siniyhatiti mettā—gThat which inclines one to a friendly disposition is mettā.h It is a sincere wish, without a trace of ill will, for the good and welfare of all. Adosoti mettā—gNon-aversion is mettā.h The chief characteristic of mettā is a benevolent attitude. It culminates in the identification of oneself with all beings—recognition of the fellowship of all life.

 

To grasp this concept at least intellectually is easy enough, but it is far harder to develop this attitude in oneself. To do so, some practice is needed, and so we have the technique of mettā-bhāvanā, the systematic cultivation of goodwill toward others. To be really effective, mettā meditation must be practiced along with Vipassana meditation. So long as negativities such as aversion dominate the mind, it is futile to formulate conscious thoughts of goodwill, and doing so would be merely a ritual devoid of inner meaning. However, when negativities are removed by the practice of Vipassana, goodwill naturally wells up in the mind. Emerging from the prison of self-obsession, we begin to concern ourselves with the welfare of others.

 

For this reason, the technique of mettā-bhāvanā is introduced only at the end of a Vipassana course, after the participants have passed through the process of purification. At such a time, meditators often feel a deep wish for the well-being of others, making their practice of mettā truly effective. Though limited time is devoted to it in a course, mettā may be regarded as the culmination of the practice of Vipassana. Nibbāna can be experienced only by those whose minds are filled with loving-kindness and compassion for all beings. Simply wishing for that state is not enough; we must purify our minds to attain it. We do so by Vipassana meditation; hence the emphasis on this technique during a course.

 

As we practice, we become aware that the underlying reality of the world, ourselves included, is a moment-to-moment arising and passing away. We realize that the process of change continues beyond our control and regardless of our wishes. Gradually, we understand that any attachment to what is ephemeral and insubstantial produces suffering for us. We learn to be detached and to keep the balance of our minds in the face of any transient phenomena. Then we begin to experience what real happiness is: not the satisfaction of desire or the forestalling of fear, but rather liberation from the cycle of desire and fear. As inner serenity develops, we clearly see how others are enmeshed in suffering, and naturally, the wish arises, gMay they find what we have found: the way out of misery, the path of peace.h This is the proper volition for the practice of mettā-bhāvanā.

 

Mettā is not prayer, nor is it the hope that an outside agency will help. On the contrary, it is a dynamic process producing a supportive atmosphere in which others can act to help themselves. Mettā can be directed toward a particular person or it may be omnidirectional. The realization that mettā is not produced by us makes its transmission truly selfless. In order to conduct mettā, the mind must be calm, balanced, and free from negativity. This is the type of mind developed in the practice of Vipassana. A meditator knows by experience how anger, antipathy, or ill will destroy peace and frustrate any effort to help others. Only as hatred is removed and equanimity developed can we be happy and wish happiness for others. The words gMay all beings be happyh have great force only when uttered from a pure mind. Backed by this purity, they will certainly be effective in fostering the happiness of others.

 

We must, therefore, examine ourselves before practicing mettā-bhāvanā to check whether we are really capable of transmitting mettā. If we find even a tinge of hatred or aversion in our minds, we should refrain at that time; otherwise, we would transmit that negativity, causing harm to others. However, if the mind and body are filled with serenity and well-being, it is natural and appropriate to share this happiness with others: gMay you be happy; may you be liberated from the defilements that are the causes of suffering. May all beings be peaceful.h This loving attitude enables us to deal far more skillfully with the vicissitudes of life. Suppose, for example, one encounters a person who is acting out of deliberate ill will to harm others. The common response—to react with fear and hatred—is self-centered, does nothing to improve the situation and, in fact, magnifies the negativity. It would be far more helpful to remain calm and balanced, with a feeling of goodwill, especially for the person who is acting wrongly. This must not be merely an intellectual stance, a veneer over unresolved negativity. Mettā works only when it is the spontaneous outflow of a purified mind. The serenity gained in Vipassana meditation naturally gives rise to feelings of mettā, and throughout the day, this will continue to affect us and our environment in a positive way.

 

Thus, Vipassana ultimately has a dual function: to bring us happiness by purifying our minds, and to help us foster the happiness of others by preparing us to practice mettā. What, after all, is the purpose of freeing ourselves from negativity and egotism unless we share these benefits with others? In a retreat, we temporarily cut ourselves off from the world in order to return and share with others what we have gained in solitude. These two aspects of the practice of Vipassana are inseparable.

 

In these times of widespread malaise, economic disparity, and violent unrest, the need for mettā-bhāvanā is greater than ever. If peace and harmony are to reign throughout the world, they must first be established in the minds of all its inhabitants.

 

 

 

uƒƒbƒ^Eƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘Hv@@ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW

 

1986”N12ŒŽAƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}EƒMƒŠ‚ÅŠJ³‚ꂽƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zƒZƒ~ƒi[‚Å”­•\‚³‚ꂽ˜_•¶B

 

ƒƒbƒ^Eƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[iŽœˆ¤‚ÌáÒ‘zj‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z–@‚Ìd—v‚ȕ⊮‚Å‚ ‚èAŽÀۂɂ͂»‚̘_—“I‚ÈŒ‹‰Ê‚Å‚·Bƒƒbƒ^Eƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[‚Å‚ÍA‘S‚Ă̑¶Ý‚ɑ΂µ‚ÄŽœˆ¤‚Æ‘PˆÓ‚ð•ú‚¿A‰¸‚â‚©‚ÅϋɓI‚Ȉ¤‚Ì”g“®‚ÅŽüˆÍ‚Ì•µˆÍ‹C‚ðˆÓ}“I‚É–ž‚½‚µ‚Ü‚·Bƒuƒbƒ_‚͔ނ̒íŽq‚½‚¿‚Ƀƒbƒ^‚ðˆç‚ނ悤‚ÉŽw“±‚µA‚æ‚蕽˜a‚Å’²˜a‚̂Ƃꂽ¶Šˆ‚ð‘—‚èA‘¼ŽÒ‚à“¯—l‚É‚·‚邿‚¤‚É‘£‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚̶“k‚½‚¿‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªˆç‚­‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚镽˜a‚Æ’²˜a‚𑼎҂Ƌ¤—L‚·‚é•û–@‚Æ‚µ‚ÄA‚±‚ÌŽwަ‚É]‚¤‚悤§—コ‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

ŽO‘ ‚Ì’Žß‚É‚æ‚ê‚ÎAu—FD“I‚ȑԓx‚ÉŒX‚­‚à‚Ì‚ªƒƒbƒ^‚Å‚ ‚év‚Æq‚ׂĂ¢‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚Í‘S‚Ă̎҂ÌK•Ÿ‚Æ•Ÿ—˜‚ɑ΂·‚鈫ˆÓ‚Ì­Õ‚ªˆê؂Ȃ¢½ŽÀ‚ÈŠè‚¢‚Å‚·B‚Ü‚½Au”ñ“G‘ÎS‚ªƒƒbƒ^‚Å‚ ‚év‚Æ‚àq‚ׂĂ¢‚Ü‚·Bƒƒbƒ^‚ÌŽå—v‚È“Á’¥‚ÍŽœ”ß[‚¢‘Ô“x‚Å‚ ‚èA‚±‚ê‚Í‘S‚Ă̶–½‚Ƃ̌𗬂ð”Fޝ‚·‚邱‚ƂŌ‹ŽÀ‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

‚±‚ÌŠT”O‚ð­‚È‚­‚Æ‚à’m«“I‚É—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͊ȒP‚Å‚·‚ªA‚±‚̑ԓx‚ðŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ň笂³‚¹‚邱‚Ƃ͔ñí‚ɓ‚¢‚±‚Ƃł·B‚»‚Ì‚½‚߂ɂ͎À‘H‚ª•K—v‚Å‚ ‚èA‚»‚Ì‚½‚߂Ƀƒbƒ^Eƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[A‚‚܂葼ŽÒ‚ɑ΂·‚é‘PˆÓ‚ð‘ÌŒn“I‚Ɉç‚Þ•û–@‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BŽÀÛ‚ÉŒø‰Ê“I‚É‚·‚邽‚߂ɂÍAƒƒbƒ^áÒ‘z‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ƂƂà‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚³‚ê‚é‚ׂ«‚Å‚·B

‘ž‚µ‚݂Ȃǂ̔ےè“I‚ÈŠ´î‚ªS‚ðŽx”z‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éŒÀ‚èA‘PˆÓ‚̈ӎ¯“I‚ÈŽvl‚ðŒ`¬‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͖³‘ʂł ‚èAŽÀۂɂ͓à–ʂ̈Ӗ¡‚ðŽ‚½‚È‚¢‹VŽ®‚ɉ߂¬‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚½‚¾‚µAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ĕےè“I‚ÈŠ´î‚ªŽæ‚蜂©‚ê‚邯A‘PˆÓ‚ÍŽ©‘R‚ÉS‚É—N‚«ã‚ª‚è‚Ü‚·B

uŽ©ŒÈ‚ðŽ²‚É‚µ‚½‹­”—ŠÏ”OiŽ©ŒÈ–{ˆÊ«jv‚̘S–‚©‚ço‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‘¼ŽÒ‚Ì•Ÿ—˜‚ÉŠÖS‚ðŠñ‚¹Žn‚߂܂·B

 

‚±‚Ì‚½‚ßAƒƒbƒ^Eƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[EƒR[ƒX‚ÌÅŒã‚ɂ̂ݓ±“ü‚³‚êAŽQ‰ÁŽÒ‚ªò‰»‚̃vƒƒZƒX‚ðŒo‚½Œã‚És‚í‚ê‚Ü‚·B‚»‚̂悤‚ÈŽž‚ÉáÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚Í‘¼ŽÒ‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ð[‚­–]‚ÝAƒƒbƒ^‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ª–{“–‚ÉŒø‰Ê“I‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·BƒR[ƒX‚Å‚»‚ê‚ÉŠ„‚è“–‚Ä‚ç‚ê‚鎞ŠÔ‚ÍŒÀ‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·‚ªAƒƒbƒ^‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Ì’¸“_‚ÆŒ©‚È‚·‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

Nibbāna‚ÍAŽœ”ß[‚³‚Æ‘S‚Ă̶–½‚̒ɂ݂ɋ¤Š´‚·‚éS‚Å–ž‚½‚³‚ꂽŽÒ‚ɂ̂݌oŒ±‚³‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

‚»‚Ìó‘Ô‚ðŠè‚¤‚¾‚¯‚Å‚Í\•ª‚ł͂Ȃ­AŽ©•ª‚ÌS‚ðò‰»‚µ‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚Ì‚½‚߂ɂ̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ª•K—v‚Å‚ ‚èA‚»‚ꂪƒR[ƒX‚Ì’†‚Åd“_‚É’u‚©‚ê‚é——R‚Å‚·B

 

ŽÀ‘H‚·‚é’†‚ÅA¢ŠEA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ©•ªŽ©g‚ªuŠÔ‚©‚çuŠÔ‚ւƶ‚¶A‰ß‚¬‹Ž‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Æ‚¢‚¤Šî–{“I‚ÈŒ»ŽÀ‚É‹C‚«‚Ü‚·B

•ω»‚̃vƒƒZƒX‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚̃Rƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹‚ð’´‚¦‚Ä‘±‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚ÆA‚»‚µ‚ÄŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌŠó–]‚ÉŠÖŒW‚È‚­‘±‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ü‚·B

™X‚ÉA™R‚¢‚à‚Ì‚âŽÀ‘̂̂Ȃ¢‚à‚̂ւ̎·’…‚ª‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚ð¶‚Þ‚±‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ü‚·B

’´‰z“I‚ÈŒ»Û‚ɑ΂µ‚ÄŽ·’…‚¹‚¸AˆêŽž“I‚ÈŒ»Û‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä‚àS‚̃oƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ð•ۂ‚±‚Æ‚ðŠw‚т܂·B

‚»‚¤‚·‚邱‚ƂŖ{“–‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ª‰½‚Å‚ ‚é‚©‚ðŒoŒ±‚µŽn‚߂܂·B

 

–{“–‚ÌK•Ÿ‚Ƃ͗~–]‚Ì–ž‘«‚â‹°‚ê‚̉ñ”ð‚ł͂Ȃ­A—~–]‚Æ‹°‚ê‚̃TƒCƒNƒ‹‚©‚ç‚̉ð•ú‚Å‚·B

“à‚Ȃ鯂³‚ªˆç‚Ü‚ê‚é‚ɂ‚ê‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‘¼ŽÒ‚ª‹ê‚µ‚݂Ɏú‚í‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂𖾊m‚É”Fޝ‚µAu”Þ‚ç‚ªŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªŒ©‚‚¯‚½‚à‚ÌA‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚©‚ç‚Ì—£’EA•½˜a‚Ì“¹‚ðŒ©‚Â‚¯‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚Év‚ÆŽ©‘R‚Ɋ肤‚悤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚ꂪƒƒbƒ^Eƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚é“K؂Ȉӎu‚Å‚·B

 

ƒƒbƒ^‚Í‹F‚è‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚µAŠO•”‚Ì—Í‚ª•‚¯‚Ä‚­‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ð–]‚Þ‚à‚Ì‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚»‚ê‚͂ނµ‚ëAŽ©•ªŽ©g‚𕂯‚邽‚߂ɋ¦—Í“I‚È•µˆÍ‹C‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·“®“IƒvƒƒZƒX‚Å‚·B

ƒƒbƒ^‚Í“Á’è‚ÌŒÂl‚ÉŒü‚¯‚ç‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚à‚ ‚èA‘S•ûŒü‚ÉŒü‚¯‚ç‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B

ƒƒbƒ^‚ÍŽ„‚½‚¿‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ķ‚Ýo‚³‚ê‚é‚à‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅA‚»‚Ì“`’B‚ª^‚É–³žino-selfj‚Ì‚à‚̂ƂȂè‚Ü‚·B@

ƒƒbƒ^‚ðs‚¤‚½‚߂ɂÍAƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Í©‚Ńoƒ‰ƒ“ƒX‚ªŽæ‚êA”Û’è“I‚ÈŠ´î‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¯‚ê‚΂Ȃè‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚±‚ꂪƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚ňç‚Ü‚ê‚éƒ^ƒCƒv‚̃}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚Å‚·B

“{‚è‚â”½Š´‚∫ˆÓ‚ª•½˜a‚ð”j‰ó‚µ‚ÄA‘¼ŽÒ‚𕂯‚邽‚߂̓w—Í‚ð–WŠQ‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ðáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÍŒoŒ±‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä’m‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

‘ž‚µ‚Ý‚ªŽæ‚蜂©‚êAɸ‚ªˆç‚Ü‚ê‚邯AK•ŸŠ´‚ªŽ©‘R‚ÆS‚É—N‚«ã‚ª‚è‚Ü‚·BŽ©ŒÈ’†S“I‚ÈS‚̘S–‚©‚ço‚Ä‚«‚½ŽžAŽ„‚½‚¿‚Í‘¼ŽÒ‚Ì•Ÿ—˜‚ɑ΂·‚éŠÖS‚ðŽ‚¿Žn‚߂܂·B

 

u‚·‚ׂĂ̑¶Ý‚ªK•Ÿ‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚Év‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ¾—t‚ÍAƒˆ‚ÈS‚©‚ç”­‚¹‚ç‚ê‚鎞‚ɂ̂ݑ傫‚È—Í‚ðŽ‚¿‚Ü‚·B‚±‚̃ˆ‚³‚ª— ‘Å‚¿‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚邯A‚»‚ê‚ÍŠmŽÀ‚É‘¼ŽÒ‚ÌK•Ÿ‚ð‘£i‚·‚é‚̂ɖ𗧂¿‚Ü‚·B

 

‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄAƒƒbƒ^Eƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚é‘O‚É‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿Ž©g‚ªƒƒbƒ^‚ð“`‚¦‚é‚̂ɖ{“–‚É“K‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚Ç‚¤‚©‚ðŠm”F‚·‚é•K—v‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BS‚É­‚µ‚Å‚à‘ž‚µ‚Ý‚â”½Š´‚ª‚ ‚éꇂÍA‚»‚ÌŽž‚ÍT‚¦‚é‚ׂ«‚Å‚·B‚»‚¤‚łȂ¯‚ê‚ÎA‚»‚̔ےè“I‚ȃGƒlƒ‹ƒM[‚𑼎҂ɓ`‚¦A‚»‚Ì‘¼ŽÒ‚ÉŠQ‚ð—^‚¦‚邱‚ƂɂȂè‚Ü‚·B‚½‚¾‚µAS‚Ƒ̂ª•½‰¸‚ÅK•Ÿ‚É–ž‚¿‚Ä‚¢‚éꇂÍA‚±‚ÌK•Ÿ‚𑼎҂Ƌ¤—L‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ªŽ©‘R‚Å“K؂ł·B

u‚ ‚È‚½‚ªK•Ÿ‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB”Ï”Y‚ÌŒ´ˆö‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB‚·‚ׂĂ̑¶Ý‚ª•½˜a‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚Év‚Æ‚¢‚¤Œ¾—t‚ÍA‚±‚ê‚ç‚ÌK•Ÿ‚𑼎҂Ƌ¤—L‚·‚邽‚߂ɂ͑å•ςȗ͂ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

 

 

 

 

Acknowledgments

Most of the articles contained in this anthology bear the name of Mr. S.N. Goenka (SNG). The editors would like to express their gratitude to Goenkaji and the Vipassana Research Institute (VRI), Igatpuri, India, for the use of this material.

 

Articles from the Vipassana Newsletter include: gMy Motherfs Death in Dhammah by SNG, gAs It Was / As It Ish by Graham Gambie, gTara Jadhav: An Exemplary Deathh by SNG, gKamma—The Real Inheritanceh by SNG, gRatilal Mehta: A Life and Death in Dhammah by SNG, gParvathamma Adaviappa: Equanimity in the Face of Terminal Illnessh by Mr. S. Adaviappa, gWork Out Your Own Salvationh by SNG, and gSeventy Years Are Overh by SNG.

 

Other material from VRI includes: gWhat Vipassana Ish, gThe Art of Living: Vipassana Meditationh, gThe Practice of Mettā Bhāvanā in Vipassana Meditationh and the Glossary, as well as different quotations and scriptural translations by SNG and Sayagyi U Ba Khin. All Hindi dohas (couplets) are from Come People of the World by SNG. Questions To Goenkaji, Parts I, II, and III came from various sources, including the Vipassana Newsletter and private interviews.

 

gGrahamfs Deathh by Anne Doneman previously appeared in Realizing Change by Ian Hetherington, Vipassana Research Publications.

 

gWhat Happens at Deathh by SNG first appeared in the Sayagyi U Ba Khin Journal, V, VRI.

 

gPaicca Samuppāda—The Law of Dependent Originationh is from The Discourse Summaries, D, Day 5, V, VRI.

 

Quotations from the Venerable Webu Sayadaw are from The Way to Ultimate Calm, translated by Roger Bischoff, Buddhist Publication Society 2001.

 

Material for Living in the Present Moment and Facing Death Head-on originated in private interviews with Susan Babbitt, and with Terrell and Diane Jones. Part of Living in the Present Moment was also published as Join the Cosmic Dance, The Hellbox Press.

 

The Rodney Bernier interview, "Smiling All the Way to Death," was provided by Evie Chauncey.

 

"The Flood of Tears" translated by C.A.F. Rhys Davids was taken from The Book of Kindred Sayings Part II, Pali Text Society.

 

"The Undying Gratitude" letter by John Wolford was supplied by Johnfs mother, Laurie Campbell. Thanks also to Laurie and to Gabriela Ionita for granting permission to print their personal letters to Goenkaji.

 

"Ambapālīfs Verses"—translated by Amadeo Solé-Leris, from Great Disciples of the Buddha: Their Lives, Their Works, Their Legacy, by Nyanaponika Thera and Helmuth Hecker. Copyright 2003 by Buddhist Publication Society. Reprinted with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc., on behalf of Wisdom Publications, www.wisdompubs.org.

 

Dhammapada verses 41, 128, 165, 288, and 289 are Harischandra Kaviratnafs translation, courtesy of the Theosophical University Press, Pasadena, California.

 

Pahama-ākāsa Sutta appeared in the Vipassana Journal, VRI.

 

Aguttara Nikāya II, 10, Translated by Ven. S. Dhammika, is in Gemstones of the Good Dhamma, Buddhist Publication Society.

 

The sources of other Tipiaka verses quoted are, unfortunately, unknown. The editors sincerely apologize to the rightful translators for using their work without citations.

 

Front cover designed by Irek Sroka, and back cover designed by Julie Schaeffer.

 

Photo credits: Graham Gambie courtesy of Anne Donemon, Rodney Bernier taken by Patrick McKay, and Ratilal Metha courtesy of Himanshu Mehta.

 

Line editing done by Luke Matthews, Ben Baroncini, Michael Solomon, Peter Greene, William Hart, Frank Tedesco, Julie Schaeffer, and others.

 

Photo editing done by Eric M. Madigan.

 

Finally, thanks to my husband Bill for his wisdom and unfailing patience while assisting with the preparation of this anthology in all its stages.

 

ŽÓŽ«

‚±‚̃Aƒ“ƒ\ƒƒW[‚ÉŽû‚ß‚ç‚ꂽ‚Ù‚Æ‚ñ‚ǂ̋LŽ–‚ÍAS.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJŽiSNGj‚Ì–¼‘O‚ðŠ¥‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B•ÒWŽÒ‚½‚¿‚ÍA‚±‚Ì‘fÞ‚ÌŽg—p‚ɑ΂µ‚ăSƒGƒ“ƒJƒW‚ƃ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiŒ¤‹†ŠiVRIjAƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃CƒKƒgƒvƒŠ‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚̈ӂð•\–¾‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

uƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiEƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[v‚©‚ç‚Ì‹LŽ–‚É‚ÍASNG‚É‚æ‚éuŽ„‚Ì•ê‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}‚ł̎€vAGraham Gambie‚É‚æ‚éu‚»‚ꂪ‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚悤‚É/‚»‚ꂪ¡‚Å‚ ‚邿‚¤‚ÉvASNG‚É‚æ‚éuƒ^ƒ‰EƒWƒƒƒhƒ”F–͔͓I‚ÈŽ€vASNG‚É‚æ‚éuƒJƒ“ƒ}—^‚Ì‘Š‘±vASNG‚É‚æ‚éuƒ‰ƒeƒBƒ‰ƒ‹Eƒ[ƒ^Fƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ł̶‚ÆŽ€vAMr. S. Adaviappa‚É‚æ‚éuƒpƒ‹ƒoƒTƒ“ƒ}EƒAƒ_ƒrƒAƒbƒpFI––•a‹C‚ɑ΂·‚镽“™‚ȑԓxvASNG‚É‚æ‚éuŽ©•ª‚Ì‹~‚¢‚ð“­‚«‚È‚³‚¢vA‚¨‚æ‚ÑSNG‚É‚æ‚éu޵\”N‚ª‰ß‚¬‚½v‚ªŠÜ‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚·B

 

VRI‚©‚ç‚Ì‘¼‚Ì‘fÞ‚É‚ÍAuƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚Ƃ͉½‚©vAu¶‚«‚éŒ|pFƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiáÒ‘zvAuƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiáÒ‘z‚É‚¨‚¯‚郃bƒ^Eƒo[ƒ”ƒ@ƒi[‚ÌŽÀ‘Hv‚¨‚æ‚Ñ—pŒêW‚ªŠÜ‚Ü‚êASNG‚¨‚æ‚ÑSayagyi U Ba Khin‚É‚æ‚éˆÙ‚È‚éˆø—p‚⹓T‚Ì–|–ó‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·B‚·‚ׂẴqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚̃hƒni‘΋åj‚ÍSNG‚ÌuCome People of the Worldv‚©‚ç‚Ì‚à‚̂ł·BGoenkaji‚Ö‚ÌŽ¿–âAIAIIAIII•”‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiEƒjƒ…[ƒXƒŒƒ^[‚ÆŒÂlƒCƒ“ƒ^ƒrƒ…[‚ðŠÜ‚Þ‚³‚Ü‚´‚Ü‚Èî•ñŒ¹‚©‚çŽæ‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Anne Doneman‚É‚æ‚éuGrahamfs Deathv‚͈ȑOAIan Hetherington‚ÌuRealizing Changev‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BVipassana Research PublicationsB

 

SNG‚É‚æ‚éuWhat Happens at Deathv‚ÍAʼn‚ÉSayagyi U Ba Khin JournalAVAVRI‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

uPaicca Samuppāda—The Law of Dependent Originationv‚ÍAThe Discourse SummariesADADay 5AVAVRI‚©‚ç‚Ì‚à‚̂ł·B

 

Venerable Webu Sayadaw‚̈ø—p‚ÍARoger Bischoff‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä–|–󂳂ꂽuThe Way to Ultimate Calmv‚©‚ç‚Ì‚à‚̂ł·BBuddhist Publication Society 2001B

 

uLiving in the Present Momentv‚ÆuFacing Death Head-onv‚Ì‚½‚߂̑fÞ‚ÍASusan BabbittATerrell‚¨‚æ‚ÑDiane Jones‚Ƃ̌ÂlƒCƒ“ƒ^ƒrƒ…[‚©‚ç”h¶‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½Bˆê•”‚͂܂½AuLiving in the Present Momentv‚ªThe Hellbox Press‚ÌuJoin the Cosmic Dancev‚Æ‚µ‚Äo”Å‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Rodney Bernier‚É‚æ‚éƒCƒ“ƒ^ƒrƒ…[uSmiling All the Way to Deathv‚ÍAEvie Chauncey‚©‚ç’ñ‹Ÿ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

C.A.F. Rhys Davids‚É‚æ‚éuThe Flood of Tearsv‚Ì–|–ó‚ÍAPali Text Society‚ÌuThe Book of Kindred Sayings Part IIv‚©‚çŽæ‚ç‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

John Wolford‚É‚æ‚éuThe Undying Gratitudev‚̎莆‚ÍAJohn‚Ì•êe‚Å‚ ‚éLaurie Campbell‚©‚ç’ñ‹Ÿ‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚Ü‚½AGabriela Ionita‚ÆLaurie‚ÉA”Þ‚ç‚ÌGoenkaji‚Ö‚ÌŒÂl“I‚Ȏ莆‚ðˆóü‹–‰Â‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚±‚ƂɊ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

Amadeo Solé-Leris‚É‚æ‚é–|–óuAmbapālīfs Versesv‚ÍAuGreat Disciples of the Buddha: Their Lives, Their Works, Their Legacyv‚©‚ç‚Å‚·BNyanaponika Thera‚¨‚æ‚ÑHelmuth Hecker‚É‚æ‚éBBuddhist Publication Society 2003‚Ì’˜ìŒ BWisdom Publications‚̑㗂ÅThe Permissions Company, Inc.‚Ì‹–‰Â‚É‚æ‚èĈóü‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½Bwww.wisdompubs.orgB

 

Dhammapada‚̑΋å41A128A165A288A‚¨‚æ‚Ñ289‚ÍAHarischandra Kaviratna‚É‚æ‚é–|–ó‚ÅATheosophical University PressACalifornia Pasadena‚Ì’ñ‹Ÿ‚Å‚·B

 

Pahama-ākāsa Sutta‚ÍAVRI‚ÌVipassana Journal‚ÉŒfÚ‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

Aguttara Nikāya II, 10AVen‚É‚æ‚é–|–óBS. Dhammika‚ÍAuGemstones of the Good DhammavABuddhist Publication Society‚ÉŽû‚ß‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

‘¼‚ÌTipiaka‚̈ø—p‚Ìo“T‚ÍŽc”O‚È‚ª‚ç•s–¾‚Å‚·B•ÒWŽÒ‚ͳ“–‚È–|–óŽÒ‚ɑ΂µ‚Ĉø—p‚È‚µ‚Å‚»‚Ìì•i‚ðŽg—p‚µ‚½‚±‚Æ‚ðS‚©‚炨˜l‚Ñ\‚µã‚°‚Ü‚·B

 

•\ކ‚̃fƒUƒCƒ“‚ÍIrek Sroka‚É‚æ‚é‚à‚Ì‚ÅA— •\ކ‚̃fƒUƒCƒ“‚ÍJulie Schaeffer‚É‚æ‚é‚à‚̂ł·B

 

ŽÊ^‚̃NƒŒƒWƒbƒgFGraham Gambie‚ÍAnne Donemon’ñ‹ŸARodney Bernier‚ÍPatrick McKay‚É‚æ‚éARatilal Metha‚ÍHimanshu Mehta’ñ‹ŸB

 

ƒ‰ƒCƒ“•ÒW‚ÍLuke MatthewsABen BaronciniAMichael SolomonAPeter GreeneAWilliam HartAFrank TedescoAJulie SchaefferA‚¨‚æ‚Ñ‚»‚Ì‘¼‚Ì•ûX‚É‚æ‚Á‚Äs‚í‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

ŽÊ^‚Ì•ÒW‚ÍEric M. Madigan‚É‚æ‚Á‚Äs‚í‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

ÅŒã‚ÉA‚±‚̃Aƒ“ƒ\ƒƒW[‚Ì€”õ‚É‚¨‚¢‚Ä‚·‚ׂĂ̒iŠK‚ł̒mŒb‚Æ”E‘Ï‚ðÉ‚µ‚܂ʕv‚Å‚ ‚éBill‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ü‚·B

 

 

 

Glossary

This list includes Pāi (and some Hindi and Burmese) terms that appear in the text.

 

ānāpāna – Respiration; inhalation-exhalation. Frequently used as a shortened version of ānāpāna-sati: Awareness of respiration.

anattā – Not self, egoless, without essence, without substance. One of the three basic characteristics of phenomena, along with anicca and dukkha.

anicca – Impermanent, ephemeral, changing. One of the three basic characteristics of phenomena, along with anattā and dukkha.

arahant – Liberated being; one who has completely destroyed all mental impurities.

bhāva – Becoming; the continuity of life and death.

bhāvanā – Mental development; meditation. The two divisions of bhāvanā are the development of tranquility (samatha-bhāvanā), concentration of mind (samādhi); and the development of insight (vipassanā-bhāvanā), wisdom (paññā). Development of samatha leads to states of mental absorption; development of vipassanā leads to liberation.

bhāvatu sabba magala – Traditional wish of goodwill—literally, gMay all beings be well, be happy.h

bhikkhu – Monk; meditator.

bhikkhunī – Nun; meditator.

brahma-loka – One of the 20 highest planes of existence.

Buddha – Enlightened person; one who discovers the way to liberation, practices it, and reaches the final goal by his efforts.

dāna – Generosity, charity; donation.

deva – Deity; a heavenly being. Also, devaputta—son of a deva.

dhamma – Phenomenon; object of mind; nature; natural law; law of liberation, i.e., teaching of an enlightened person. (Sanskrit, dharma.)

doha – (Hindi) Rhyming couplet.

dukkha – Suffering, unsatisfactoriness; one of the three basic characteristics of phenomena, along with anattā and anicca.

gāthā – Verse of poetry.

Gotama – Clan or family name of the historical Buddha. (Sanskrit, Gautama)

Goenkaji – Mr. S.N. Goenka. The suffix g-jih indicates affection and respect.

Jainism – Ancient, non-theistic, Indian religion stressing nonviolence, morality, wisdom, and the necessity of self-effort to achieve liberation.

kāma – Desire, sensual pleasure.

kamma – Action; specifically, a mental, verbal, or physical action producing an effect. (Sanskrit, karma.)

loka – Universe; world; plane of existence.

magala – Welfare, blessing, happiness.

maraānusati – Awareness of death.

Mataji – (Hindi) Mother. In this context, Mrs. Goenka.

mettā – Loving-kindness; selfless love, goodwill.

mettā bhāvanā – systematic cultivation of mettā through meditation.

nibbāna – Extinction; freedom from suffering, liberation; the ultimate reality; the unconditioned. (Sanskrit, nirvāa)

Pāli – Line; text. Texts recording the teaching of the Buddha, hence the language of these texts. Historical, linguistic, and archaeological evidence indicates that Pāli was spoken in northern India at or near the time of the Buddha.

paññā – Wisdom. Third of three training by which the Noble Eightfold Path is practiced. See ariya aṭṭhagika magga. There are three kinds of wisdom: suta-mayā paññā (received wisdom, i.e., wisdom gained from listening to others); cintā-mayā paññā (wisdom gained by intellectual analysis); and bhāvanā-mayā paññā (wisdom developed by direct, personal experience). Only bhāvanā-mayā paññā, cultivated by the practice of vipassanā-bhāvanā, can totally purify the mind.

pāramī / pāramitā – Perfection, virtue; wholesome mental qualities.

paticca-samuppáda – Dependent origination, conditioned arising, causal genesis. The process, born of ignorance, by which beings generate suffering.

rūpa - Matter; visual object.

sadhu - "Well done; well said." Traditional expression of approval or agreement, usually spoken three times.

samādhi - Concentration, control of one's mind. Second of the three trainings by which the Noble Eightfold Path is practiced. See ariya atthangika magga. When cultivated as an end in itself, leads to the attainment of the states of mental absorption (jhana), but not to total liberation of mind.

samsara - Cycle of rebirth; conditioned world; realm of suffering.

sańkhāra - Volitional activity; mental formation or mental conditioning; mental reaction. One of the four mental aggregates or processes, along with viññana sañña, and vedana (Sanskrit, samskära.)

saññā – Perception, recognition. One of the four mental aggregates or processes, along with viññāa, vedanā, and sakhāra. Saññā is conditioned by onefs past sakhāras and therefore conveys a distorted image of reality. In the practice of Vipassana, saññā changes to paññā, the understanding of reality as it is: anicca-saññā, dukkha-saññā, anattā-saññā, asubha-saññā—perception of impermanence, of suffering, of no-self, of the illusory nature of beauty.

sāsana – Dispensation of a Buddha; a period of time in which the teaching of a Buddha is available.

sati – Awareness. Ānāpāna-sati – awareness of respiration.

satipaṭṭhāna – Establishing awareness, in four aspects: kāyānupassanā – of the body, vedanānupassanā – of sensations within the body, cittānupassanā – of mind, dhammānupassanā – of mental contents. All four are included in the observation of vedanā since sensations are directly related to both body and mind.

sayadaw – (Burmese) Literally, groyal teacher.h Abbot or senior monk of a monastery.

sayagyi – (Burmese) Lit. gbig teacher.h An honorific or respectful title.

sīla – Morality, abstention from physical and vocal actions that harm oneself or others. First of the three trainings by which the Noble Eightfold Path is practiced. See ariya aṭṭhagika magga.

sutta – Discourse attributed to the Buddha or one of his leading disciples. (Sanskrit, sutra.)

Tipiaka – Literally, gthree baskets.h (Sanskrit, tripiaka) The three collections of the teachings of the Buddha: vinaya-piaka – monastic discipline, sutta-piaka – discourses, abhidhamma-piaka – systematic philosophical exegesis of the Dhamma.

U – (Burmese) Mister.

vedanā – Sensation; bodily feeling. One of the four mental aggregates or processes, along with viññāa, saññā, and sakhāra. According to the doctrine of Dependent Origination, tahā (craving), arises dependent on vedanā (sensation). See paicca-samuppāda. Having both mental and physical aspects, vedanā is a convenient object for the investigation of body and mind. By learning to observe vedanā objectively, one can avoid new reactions of craving or aversion, and experience directly within oneself the reality of anicca (impermanence). This experience is essential for the development of upekkhā (equanimity), leading to the liberation of the mind.

viññāa – Consciousness, cognition. One of the four mental aggregates or processes, along with saññā, vedanā, and sakhāra.

vipassanā – Literally, gseeing in a special way.h Introspection. Insight that purifies the mind; specifically, insight into the impermanent, unsatisfactory, and substanceless nature of mind and body. Also, vipassanā-bhāvanā – the systematic development of insight through observation of sensations within the body.

 

 

 

 

—pŒêW

‚±‚ÌƒŠƒXƒg‚É‚ÍAƒeƒLƒXƒg‚ÉŒ»‚ê‚éƒp[ƒŠŒêiˆê•”‚̃qƒ“ƒfƒB[ŒêAƒrƒ‹ƒ}Œêj‚Ì—pŒê‚ªŠÜ‚Ü‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

ānāpānaŒÄ‹zG‹z‹C-ŒÄ‹CB‚æ‚­ ānāpāna-sati ‚Ì—ª‚Æ‚µ‚ÄŽg—p‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·FŒÄ‹z‚̈ӎ¯B

anattā”ñ‰äAŽÀŽ¿‚̂Ȃ¢Ž©ŒÈB@Œ»Û‚ÌŽO‚‚̊î–{“I‚È“Á«‚̈ê‚‚ÅAanicca ‚¨‚æ‚Ñ dukkha ‚ƂƂà‚ÉB

anicca–³íAˆêŽž“I•ω»B@@@Œ»Û‚ÌŽO‚‚̊î–{“I‚È“Á«‚̈ê‚‚ÅAanattā ‚¨‚æ‚Ñ dukkha ‚ƂƂà‚ÉB

arahant‰ð’E‚µ‚½‘¶ÝGƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì‚·‚ׂĂ̕sƒ•¨‚ðŠ®‘S‚É”j‰ó‚µ‚½ŽÒB

bhāva@¶¬G¶‚ÆŽ€‚ÌŒp‘±B@˜g‚ÉŽû‚Ü‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚éƒGƒlƒ‹ƒM[‘ÌB“]¶‚ÌŠî”Õ‚Ì‚P‚ÂB

bhāvanāƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚̈ç¬GáÒ‘zBbhāvanā ‚Ì“ñ•”–åBÃŽâ‚̈ç¬isamatha-bhāvanāj‚̓ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚ð—n‰ð‚Ìó‘Ô‚É“±‚­AS‚ÌW’†isamādhijG‚¨‚æ‚Ñ“´Ž@‚̈ç¬ivipassanā-bhāvanāj‚͉ð•ú‚É“±‚­B’qŒdipaññājB

bhāvatu sabba magala“`““I‚ÈK•Ÿ‚Ö‚ÌŠè‚¢•¶Žš’Ê‚èAu‚·‚ׂĂ̑¶Ý‚ªK‚¹‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉvB

bhikkhu‘m—µGáÒ‘zŽÒB

bhikkhunī“ò‘mGáÒ‘zŽÒB

brahma-loka‘¶Ý‚Ì20‚ÌÅ‚‚̗̈æ‚̈ê‚ÂB

BuddhaŠoÁ‚µ‚½l•¨G‰ð•ú‚Ö‚Ì“¹‚ð”­Œ©‚µA‚»‚ê‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µAÅI“I‚È–Ú•W‚É“ž’B‚µ‚½ŽÒB

dānaŽœ‘PGŠñ•tB•zŽ{B

deva_G“V‚Ì‘¶ÝB‚Ü‚½Adevaputta – _‚Ì‘§ŽqB

dhammaŒ»ÛGS‚Ì‘ÎÛGŽ©‘RGŽ©‘R‚Ì–@‘¥G‰ð’E‚Ì–@‘¥A‚·‚Ȃ킿ŠoÁŽÒ‚Ì‹³‚¦BižŒê@dharmaBj

dohaiƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œêj ‰C•¶‚Ì‘ÎB

dukkha‹ê‚µ‚ÝA•s–ž‘«GŒ»Û‚ÌŽO‚‚̊î–{“I‚È“Á«‚̈ê‚‚ÅAanattā ‚¨‚æ‚Ñ anicca ‚ƂƂà‚ÉB

gāthāŽ‚ÌˆêßB

Gotama—ðŽjã‚̃uƒbƒ_‚ÌŽ‘°‚Ü‚½‚͉Ƒ°‚Ì–¼‘OB iƒTƒ“ƒXƒNƒŠƒbƒgŒêAGautamaj

Goenkaji – Mr. S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJBÚ”öŽ«u-jiv‚͈¤î‚Æ‘¸Œh‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ü‚·B

Jainism”ñ_˜_“I‚ÈAŒÃ‘ã‚ÌAƒCƒ“ƒh‚Ì@‹³‚ÅA”ñ–\—ÍA“¹“¿A’mŒbA‰ð’E‚ð‹­’²‚µA‰ð•ú‚ð’B¬‚·‚邽‚߂̎©ŒÈ“w—͂̕K—v«‚ð‹­’²‚·‚éB

kāma—~–]AН”\“I‚ȉõŠyB

kammas“®G“Á‚ÉAŒø‰Ê‚ð¶‚Þƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“IAŒ¾Œê“IA•¨—“I‚ÈŒ¾“®B iƒTƒ“ƒXƒNƒŠƒbƒgŒêAkarmaBj

loka@@@‰F’ˆG¢ŠEG‘¶Ý‚Ì•½–ÊB

magala@•Ÿ—˜Aj•ŸAK•ŸB

maraānusati@Ž€‚̈ӎ¯B

Matajiiƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œêj •êB‚±‚Ì•¶–¬‚Å‚ÍAƒ~ƒZƒXEƒSƒGƒ“ƒJB

mettāŽœ”ß[‚³G–³ž‚̈¤A‘PˆÓB

mettā bhāvanāáÒ‘z‚ð’Ê‚¶‚Ä mettā ‚ÌŒn““I‚È”|—{B

nibbānaÁ–ÅG‹ê‚©‚ç‚̉ð•úG‹†‹É‚ÌŒ»ŽÀG–³ðŒ‚Ì‚à‚ÌB iƒTƒ“ƒXƒNƒŠƒbƒgŒêAnirvāaj

PāliŒ¾ŒêGƒeƒLƒXƒgBƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ð‹L˜^‚µ‚½ƒeƒLƒXƒg‚ÌŒ¾ŒêB—ðŽj“IAŒ¾ŒêŠw“IAlŒÃŠw“I‚ÈØ‹’‚Å‚ÍAPāli ‚ªƒuƒbƒ_‚ÌŽž‘ã‚Ü‚½‚Í‚»‚̋߂­‚Å–kƒCƒ“ƒh‚Řb‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚½‚±‚Æ‚ðŽ¦‚·B

paññā’qŒdBNoble Eightfold Path ‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邽‚߂̎O‚‚̃gƒŒ[ƒjƒ“ƒO‚Ì‚¤‚¿‚ÌŽO”Ô–ÚB

suta-mayā paññā i‘¼‚Ìl‚©‚ç•·‚¢‚½’mŒbA‚‚܂葼l‚̘b‚ð•·‚¢‚Ä“¾‚½’mŒbjG

cintā-mayā paññā i’m“I•ªÍ‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä“¾‚½’mŒbjG

bhāvanā-mayā paññā i’¼Ú“I‚ÅŒÂl“I‚ÈŒoŒ±‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄŠJ”­‚³‚ꂽ’mŒbj

vipassanā-bhāvanā ‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ĉ笂³‚ꂽ bhāvanā-mayā paññā ‚Ì‚Ý‚ªAS‚ðŠ®‘S‚Éò‰»‚Å‚«‚éB

pāramī / pāramitāŠ®àøA”ü“¿G—Ç‚¢ƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚ÈŽ‘Ž¿B

paticca-samuppáda‰‹NàA—vˆö‚ÆðŒ‚É‚æ‚èAˆö‰Ê“I‚ȃGƒlƒ‹ƒM[“]Š·‚ð‚·‚éB–³’m‚©‚ç¶‚Ü‚ê‚éƒvƒƒZƒX‚Å‚ÍA¶•¨‚ª‹ê‚µ‚Ý‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·B

rūpa - •¨Ž¿GŽ‹Šo“I‚È‘ÎÛB

sadhu - u‚æ‚­‚â‚Á‚½G‚æ‚­Œ¾‚Á‚½Bv’Êí‚ÍŽO‰ñŒJ‚è•Ô‚³‚ê‚é³”F‚Ü‚½‚Í“¯ˆÓ‚Ì“`““I‚È•\Œ»B

samādhi - W’†AS‚̃Rƒ“ƒgƒ[ƒ‹BNoble Eightfold Path ‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邽‚߂̎O‚‚̃gƒŒ[ƒjƒ“ƒO‚Ì‚¤‚¿‚Ì“ñ”Ô–ÚBariya atthangika magga ‚ðŽQÆB‚»‚ꎩ‘Ì‚ª–Ú“I‚Æ‚µ‚Ĉ笂³‚ꂽê‡Aƒƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹‚Ì—n‰ð‚Ìó‘Ôijhanaj‚Ì’B¬‚É“±‚­‚ªAS‚ÌŠ®‘S‚ȉð•ú‚ɂ͓±‚©‚È‚¢B

samsara - “]¶‚̃TƒCƒNƒ‹GðŒ‚‚«‚Ì¢ŠEG‹ê‚µ‚݂̗̈æB

sańkhāra - ˆÓŽu‚ÌŠˆ“®GS‚ÌŒ`¬‚Ü‚½‚ÍS‚Ì’²®GS‚Ì”½‰ž‚̈ê‚ÂB‘¼‚ÌŽO‚‚ÌS‚ÌW‡‘Ìiviññana saññaAvedanaj‚ªˆê‚ɂȂÁ‚ÄŒ`¬‚·‚éƒvƒƒZƒXB

saññā’mŠoA”FޝB‘¼‚ÌŽO‚‚ÌS‚ÌW‡‘̂ɂæ‚éƒvƒƒZƒXA‚·‚Ȃ킿 viññāaAvedanāAsakhāra ‚ƈê‚ÉBSaññā ‚Í‰ß‹Ž‚Ì sakhāras ‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄðŒ‚¯‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¨‚èA‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄŒ»ŽÀ‚̘c‚ñ‚¾ƒCƒ[ƒW‚ð“`‚¦‚éB

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚ÌŽÀ‘H‚Åsaññā ‚Í paññā ‚É•Ï‰»‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAŒ»ŽÀ‚ð—‰ð‚·‚éBFanicca-saññāAdukkha-saññāAanattā-saññāAasubha-saññā— –³íA‹ê‚µ‚ÝA–³‰äA”ü‚ÌŒ¶‘z‚Ì’mŠoB

sāsanaƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚Ì•z‹³Gƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ª—˜—p‰Â”\‚ÈŠúŠÔB

satiˆÓޝB‹C‚«B Ānāpāna-sati – ŒÄ‹z‚̈ӎ¯B

satipaṭṭhānaŽl‚‚̑¤–ʂɂæ‚éˆÓޝ‚ÌŠm—§AFkāyānupassanā – g‘̂̑¤–ÊAvedanānupassanā – g‘Ì“à‚ÌŠ´ŠoAcittānupassanā – S‚Ì‘¤–ÊAdhammānupassanā – S‚Ì“à—eB

‚·‚ׂĂ̎l‚Â‚Í vedanā ‚ÌŠÏŽ@‚Ɋ܂܂ê‚éBŠ´Šo‚Íg‘Ì‚ÆS‚Ì—¼•û‚É’¼Ú“I‚ÉŠÖ˜A‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚éB

sayadawiƒrƒ‹ƒ}Œêj •¶Žš’Ê‚èAu‰¤‚Ìæ¶vBC“¹‰@‚Ì’·‚Ü‚½‚̓VƒjƒA‘mB

sayagyiiƒrƒ‹ƒ}Œêj •¶Žš’Ê‚èAu‘å‚«‚Èæ¶vB‘¸Œh‚Ü‚½‚Í‘¸Œh‚Ì̆B

sīla“¹“¿AŽ©•ªŽ©g‚Ü‚½‚Í‘¼ŽÒ‚ÉŠQ‚ð‹y‚Ú‚·•¨—“I‚¨‚æ‚ÑŒ¾Œê‚Ì‚©‚©‚í‚és“®‚ðT‚Þ‚±‚ÆB

Noble Eightfold Path ‚ðŽÀ‘H‚·‚邽‚߂̎O‚‚̃gƒŒ[ƒjƒ“ƒO‚Ì‚¤‚¿‚ÌʼnBariya aṭṭhagika magga ‚ðŽQÆB

suttaƒuƒbƒ_‚Ü‚½‚Í‚»‚ÌŽå—v‚È’íŽq‚Ì‚¢‚¸‚ê‚©‚É‹A‘®‚·‚é•¶B iƒTƒ“ƒXƒNƒŠƒbƒgŒêAsutraBj

Tipiaka•¶Žš’Ê‚èAuŽO‚‚̂©‚²vŽO‘ B iƒTƒ“ƒXƒNƒŠƒbƒgŒêAtripiakaj ƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ÌŽO‚‚̃RƒŒƒNƒVƒ‡ƒ“Fvinaya-piaka – ‘m‰@‚Ì‹K—¥Asutta-piaka – u‰‰Aabhidhamma-piaka – ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚̑̌n“I‚È“NŠw“I‚È’ŽßB

Uiƒrƒ‹ƒ}Œêj ƒ~ƒXƒ^[B

vedanāŠ´ŠoGg‘̂̊´ŠoBŽl‚‚̃ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚ÈW‡A‚·‚Ȃ킿”FޝƒvƒƒZƒX‚̈ê‚‚ÅAviññāaAsaññāAsakhāra‚Æ‹¤‚É‚ ‚éB‰‹Nà‚Ì‹³‹`‚É‚æ‚ê‚ÎAtaiЉ–]j‚ÍvedanāiŠ´Šoj‚Ɉˑ¶‚µ‚Ä”­¶‚·‚éBpaicca-samuppāda‰‹Nà‚ðŽQÆBvedanā‚͑̂ÆS‚Ì—¼•û‚É’¼ÚŠÖ˜A‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邽‚ßA‘Ì‚ÆS‚Ì’T‹‚֗̕˜‚È‘ÎÛBvedanā‚ð‹qŠÏ“I‚ÉŠÏŽ@‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ðŠw‚Ô‚±‚Æ‚ÅAV‚µ‚¢Š‰–]‚â”½Š´‚Ì”½‰ž‚ð”ð‚¯Aaniccai–³íj‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ðŽ©ŒÈ‚Ì’†‚Å’¼ÚŒoŒ±‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚éB‚±‚ÌŒoŒ±‚Íupekkhāiɸj‚̈笂ɕs‰ÂŒ‡‚Å‚ ‚èAS‚̉ð•ú‚É“±‚­B

viññāaˆÓޝA”FޝBŽl‚‚̃ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“I‚ÈW‡A‚·‚Ȃ킿ƒ}ƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃vƒƒZƒX‚̈ê‚‚ÅAsaññāAvedanāAsakhāra‚Æ‹¤‚É‚ ‚éB

vipassanā•¶Žš’Ê‚èu“Á•ʂȕû–@‚ÅŒ©‚évB“àŠÏBS‚ðò‰»‚·‚é“´Ž@G‹ï‘Ì“I‚É‚ÍAS‚Ƒ̖̂³íA•s–ž‘«AŽÀ‘̂̂Ȃ³‚ð“´Ž@‚·‚éB‚Ü‚½Avipassanā-bhāvanā – ‘Ì“à‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚éB

 

 

Pragyā jāge balavatī,

aga-aga  rama  jāya.

Au-au  cetana  ho  uhe,

cita nirmala ho jāya.

 

May wisdom arise, mighty in power,

and spread throughout your being,

enlivening every atom

and purifying the  mind.

 

’qŒd‚ª‹N‚±‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉA—Í‹­‚­A

‚»‚µ‚Ä‚ ‚È‚½‚Ì‘¶Ý‘S‘Ì‚ÉL‚ª‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉA

‚·‚ׂĂ̌´Žq‚ðŠˆ‹C‚¯A

‚»‚µ‚ÄS‚ðò‰»‚µ‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

 

Hindi doha,  S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

 

About Pariyatti

Pariyatti is dedicated to providing affordable access to authentic teachings of the Buddha about the Dhamma theory (pariyatti) and practice (paipatti) of Vipassana meditation. A non-profit charitable organization since 2002, Pariyatti is sustained by contributions from individuals who appreciate and want to share the incalculable value of the Dhamma teachings.

 

We invite you to visit www.pariyatti.org@to learn about our programs, services, and ways to support publishing and other undertakings.

 

 

ƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒB‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä

ƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒB‚̓”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiáÒ‘z‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}—˜_iƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒBj‚ÆŽÀ‘HiƒpƒeƒBƒpƒbƒeƒBj‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚éƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì–{•¨‚Ì‹³‚¦‚Ɏ蠂ȉ¿Ši‚ŃAƒNƒZƒX‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚És—Í‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B2002”NˆÈ—ˆA501(c)(3)‚Ì”ñ‰c—˜Žœ‘P’c‘̂Ƃµ‚ÄAƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒB‚ÍŒÂl‚©‚ç‚ÌŠñ•t‚ÉŽx‚¦‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚̓_ƒ“ƒ}‹³‚¦‚Ì•]‰¿‚ðŽó‚¯AL‚­‹¤—L‚µ‚½‚¢‚Æl‚¦‚élX‚©‚ç‚ÌŠñ•t‚Å‚·B

 

www.pariyatti.org‚Å“–’c‘̂̃vƒƒOƒ‰ƒ€AƒT[ƒrƒXA‚¨‚æ‚Ño”łȂǂ̃Tƒ|[ƒg•û–@‚ɂ‚¢‚ÄÚ‚µ‚­’m‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

 

 

Pariyatti Publishing Imprints

Vipassana Research Publications (focus on Vipassana as taught by S.N. Goenka in the tradition of Sayagyi U Ba Khin)

BPS Pariyatti Editions (selected titles from the Buddhist Publication Society, co-published by Pariyatti in the Americas)

Pariyatti Digital Editions (audio and video titles, including discourses)

Pariyatti Press (classic titles returned to print and inspirational writing by contemporary authors)

Pariyatti enriches the world by disseminating the words of the Buddha, providing sustenance for the seekerfs journey, and illuminating the meditatorfs path.

 

ƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒBo”ł̊§s•¨

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiŒ¤‹†o”Å•¨iS.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJނɂæ‚é“`““I‚ÈSayagyi U Ba Khin‚É‹³‚¦‚ç‚ê‚郔ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚ÉÅ“_‚𓖂ĂĂ¢‚Ü‚·j

BPSƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒB”Åi•§‹³o”Å‹¦‰ï‚Ì‘I‚蔲‚«‚̃^ƒCƒgƒ‹‚ÅAƒAƒƒŠƒJ‚Å‹¤“¯o”Åj

ƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒBEƒfƒWƒ^ƒ‹”ÅiƒI[ƒfƒBƒI‚âƒrƒfƒI‚̃^ƒCƒgƒ‹Au‹`‚ðŠÜ‚Þj

ƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒBEƒvƒŒƒXiƒNƒ‰ƒVƒbƒN‚ȃ^ƒCƒgƒ‹‚ªÄ”Å‚³‚êAŒ»‘ã‚Ì’˜ŽÒ‚É‚æ‚éŒ[”­“I‚È’˜ìj

ƒpƒŠƒ„ƒbƒeƒB‚ÍAƒuƒbƒ_‚ÌŒ¾—t‚ðL‚ßA‹“¹ŽÒ‚Ì—·‚ðŽx‚¦AáÒ‘zŽÒ‚Ì“¹‚ðƂ炷‚±‚ƂŢŠE‚ð–L‚©‚É‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

 

 

Vipassana Meditation Centers ipassana

Courses of Vipassana meditation in the tradition of Sayagyi U Ba Khin as taught by S. N. Goenka are held regularly in many countries around the world. countries around the world. 

 

 

Information, worldwide schedules Information, worldwide schedules Information, worldwide schedules and application and application forms 

are available from the Vipassana website: available from the Vipassana website: available from the Vipassana website: available from the Vipassana website: available from the Vipassana website:

 

www.dhamma.org

 

 

Sayagyi U Ba Khin‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä‹³‚¦‚ç‚ꂽƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒiáÒ‘z‚̃R[ƒX‚ÍA¢ŠE’†‚Ì‘½‚­‚Ì‘‚Å’èŠú“I‚ÉŠJ³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

î•ñ‚⢊E’†‚̃XƒPƒWƒ…[ƒ‹A\‚µž‚Ý—pކ‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi‚̃EƒFƒuƒTƒCƒg www.dhamma.org ‚©‚ç“üŽè‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B

 

 

 

 

 

This eBook is offered freely. If you wish,  you may donate and help us continue offering our services.  you may donate and help us continue offering our services.  you may donate and help us continue offering our services. 

May you be happy!

 

To make a donation, please visit: www.pariyatti.org

 

 

PARIYATTI

 

867  Larmon  Road  Onalaska,

Washington 98570 USA

360.978.4998 

www.pariyatti.org

 

 

 

 

Pariyatti is a nonprofit organization  dedicated  to  enriching 

the  world  by:

 

v  Disseminating the words of the Buddha

v  Providing sustenance  for the  seekerfs  journey

v  Illuminating the  meditatorfs  path

 

The Art of Dying The Art of Dying The Art of Dying The Art of Dying

 

 

by Vipassana Meditation Teacher               S.N. Goenka and  others

collected  and  edited  by  Virginia  Hamilton

 

Vipassana Research Publications  – Onalaska, WA, USA

an imprint of  Pariyatti Publishing 

867 Larmon Road, Onalaska, WA 98570 

www.pariyatti.org

 

 

© 2014 Ontario Vipassana Foundation

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or  reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written  reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written  reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written  reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written  reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written  reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written  reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written  reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written  permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief  quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

 

–³’f“]Ú‚ð‹Ö‚¶‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àŽg—p‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚¸A’˜ìŒ ‚Í—¯•Û‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B –{‘‚Ì‚¢‚©‚Ȃ镔•ª‚àA‚¢‚©‚È‚é•û–@‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA‘–ʂȂµ‚ÅŽg—p‚Ü‚½‚Í•¡»‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ‘–ʂȂµ‚ÅA‚¢‚©‚È‚é•û–@‚Å‚à•¡»‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‘–ʂȂµ‚ÅA‚¢‚©‚È‚é•û–@‚Å‚à•¡»‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ‘–ʂȂµ‚ÅA‚¢‚©‚È‚é•û–@‚Å‚à•¡»‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B ”á”»“I‚È‹LŽ–‚⃌ƒrƒ…[‚Ɋ܂܂ê‚é’Z‚¢ˆø—p‚Ìꇂ𜂫Ao”ŎЂ̑–ʂɂæ‚é‹–‰Â‚È‚µ‚ÉA‚¢‚©‚È‚é•û–@‚Å‚à‘–Ê‚È‚µ‚Å•¡»‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB ”á”»“I‚È‹LŽ–‚⃌ƒrƒ…[‚É‘g‚Ýž‚܂ꂽˆø—pB

 

ISBN:   978-1-928706-35-9 (Softcover)

978-1-928706-47-2 (PDF eBook)    

978-1-938754-60-9 (ePub)  

978-1-938754-61-6 (Mobi)  LCCN: 2014900220 

 

Manopubbagamā dhammā,

manoseṭṭhā manomayā;

Manasā ce paduṭṭhena,

bhāsati vā karoti vā;

Tato  na dukkhamanveti,

cakkava vahato pada.

Manopubbagamā dhammā,

manoseṭṭhā manomayā;

Manasā ce pasannena,

bhāsati vā karoti vā;

Tato  na sukhamanveti

chāyāva anapāyinī.

 

Mind precedes everything; mind matters most.

Whatever one experiences throughout life

is  nothing  but th t the  product o t of  onefs  own  mind.

If one speaks or  acts with an impure  mind,

suffering will follow,

even as the  wheel follows  the  hoof  of  the  ox.

c  If one speaks or acts with a pure mind,

happiness follows like an  inseparable shadow.

 

Dhammapada 1.1-2