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Essays by S.N. Goenka

 

The Art of Living: Vipassana Meditation

by S.N. Goenka

  The following is based on a public talk given by S.N. Goenka in July 1980 in Bern, Switzerland.

 

    Everyone seeks peace and harmony, because these are what we lack in our lives. From time to time we all experience agitation, irritation, disharmony, suffering; and when we suffer from agitation, we do not keep this misery limited to ourselves. We keep distributing it to others as well. The agitation permeates the atmosphere around the miserable person. Everyone else who comes into contact with him becomes irritated, agitated. Certainly this is not the proper way to live.

  One ought to live at peace within oneself, and at peace with others. After all, a human being is a social being. One has to live in society-to live and deal with others. How to live peacefully? How to remain harmonious within ourselves, and to maintain peace and harmony around us, so that others also can live peacefully and harmoniously?

  When one is agitated, then, to come out of it, one has to know the basic reason for the agitation, the cause of the suffering. If one investigates the problem, it soon becomes clear that whenever one starts generating any negativity or defilement in the mind, one is bound to become agitated. A negativity in the mind-a mental defilement or impurity- cannot coexist with peace and harmony.

  How does one start generating negativity? Again investigating, it becomes clear. I become very unhappy when I find someone behaving in a way which I don't like, when I find something happening which I don't like. Unwanted things happen, and I create tension within myself. Wanted things do not happen, some obstacles come in the way, and again I create tension within myself; I start tying knots within myself. Throughout one's life, unwanted things keep 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. Life becomes miserable.

  Now one way to solve the problem is to arrange things such that nothing unwanted happens in my life, and that everything keeps on happening exactly as I desire. I must develop such a power-or somebody else must have the power and must come to my aid whenever I request it-that everything I want keeps happening. But this is not possible. There is no one in the world whose desires are always fulfilled, in whose life everything happens according to his wishes, without anything unwished-for happening. Things keep occurring that are contrary to our desires and wishes. So, in spite of these things which I don't like, how not to react blindly? How not to create tension? How to 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 they found a solution. If something unwanted happens and one starts to react by generating anger, fear, or any negativity, then as soon as possible one should divert one's attention to something else. For example, get up, take a glass of water, start drinking-your anger will not multiply; you'll be coming out of your anger. Or start counting: one, two, three, four. Or start repeating a word, a phrase, or perhaps some mantra. It becomes easy if you use the name of a deity or a saintly person in whom you have devotion. The mind is diverted, and to some extent you'll be out of the negativity, out of anger.

  This solution was helpful; it worked. It still works. Practising this, the mind feels free from agitation. In actuality, however, this solution works only at the conscious level. By diverting one's attention one in fact pushes the negativity deep into the unconscious, and at this level one continues to generate and multiply the same defilement. At the surface level there is a layer of peace and harmony, but in the depths of the mind is a sleeping volcano of suppressed negativity, which keeps erupting in violent explosions from time to time.

  Other explorers of inner truth went still further in their search. By experiencing the reality of mind and matter within themselves, they recognized that diverting the attention is only running away from the problem. Escape is no solution; one must face the problem. Whenever a negativity arises in the mind, just observe it, face it. As soon as one starts observing any mental defilement, then it begins to lose all its strength. Slowly it withers away and is uprooted.

  A good solution, avoiding both extremes of suppression and of free license. Keeping the negativity in the unconscious will not eradicate it, and allowing it to manifest in physical or vocal action will only create more problems. If one just observes, then the defilement passes away: one has eradicated that negativity, is free from that defilement.

  This sounds wonderful, but is it really practical? When anger arises, it overpowers us so quickly that we don't even notice. Then, overpowered by anger, we commit certain actions which are harmful to us and to others. Later, when the anger has passed, we start crying and repenting, begging pardon from this or that person or god: "Oh, I made a mistake. Please excuse me!" Again the next time, in a similar situation, we react in the same way. All this repenting does not help at all.

  The difficulty is that I am not aware when a defilement starts. It begins deep at the unconscious level of the mind, and by the time it reaches the conscious level, it has gained so much strength that it overwhelms me. I cannot observe it.

  Then I must keep a private secretary with me, so that whenever anger starts, he says, "Look master! Anger is starting!" Since I don't know when this anger will start, I must have three private secretaries for three shifts, around the clock; or rather, four of them to give staggering holidays!

   Suppose I can afford that, and the anger starts to arise. At once my secretary tells me, "Oh, master, look! Anger has started." Then the first thing I do is slap and abuse him: "You fool! Do you think you are paid to teach me?" I am so overpowered by anger that no good advice will help.

  Suppose that wisdom prevails and I do not slap him. Instead I say, "Thank you very much. Now I must sit down and observe the anger." Is it possible? As soon as I close my eyes and try to observe the anger, immediately the object of anger comes into my mind, the person or incident because of which I became angry. Then I am not observing the anger. Rather, I am observing the external stimulus of the emotion. This will only multiply the anger. This is no solution. It is very difficult to observe any abstract negativity, abstract emotion, divorced from the external object which aroused it.

  However, one who reached the ultimate truth in full enlightenment found a real solution. He discovered that whenever any defilement arises in the mind, simultaneously, two things start happening at the physical level. One is that the breath loses its normal rhythm. I start breathing hard whenever a negativity comes into the mind. This is one reality which everyone can experience, though it be very gross and apparent. At the same time, at a subtler level, some kind of biochemical reaction starts within the body-some sensation. Every defilement will generate one sensation or the other inside, in one or another part of the body.

  This is 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 the respiration and the sensations, both of which are directly related to the mental defilements.

  The respiration and the sensations will help me in two ways. First, they will be my private secretaries. As soon as a defilement starts in the mind, my breath will lose its normality. It will start shouting: "Look, something has gone wrong!" I cannot slap the breath; I have to accept the warning. Similarly, the sensations tell me: "Something has gone wrong." I must accept this. Then, having been warned, I start observing the respiration, the sensations, and I find very quickly that the defilement passes away.

  This mental-physical phenomenon is like a coin with two sides. On the one side is whatever thoughts or emotions arise in the mind. On the other side are the respiration and sensation in the body. Any thought or emotion (whether conscious or unconscious), any mental defilement manifests in the breath and sensation of that moment. Thus by observing the respiration or sensation, I am indirectly observing the mental defilement. Instead of running away from the problem, I am facing the reality as it is. Then I will find that the defilement loses its strength; it can no longer overpower me as it did in the past. If I persist, the defilement eventually disappears altogether and I remain peaceful and happy.

  In this way, the technique of self- observation shows us reality in its two aspects, outside and inside. Previously, one always looked with open eyes, missing the inner truth. I always looked outside for the cause of my unhappiness. I always blamed and tried to change the reality outside. Being ignorant of the inner reality, I never understood that the cause of suffering lies within, in my own blind reactions.

  It is difficult to observe an abstract negativity when it arises. But now, by training, I can see the other side of the coin: I can be aware of the breathing and also of what is happening inside me. Whatever it is, the breath or any sensation, I learn to just observe it, without losing the balance of the mind. I stop multiplying my miseries. Instead, I allow the defilement to manifest and pass away.

  The more one practises this technique, the more one will find how quickly he or she can come out of the negativity. Gradually the mind becomes freed of defilements; it becomes pure. A pure mind is always full of love, detached 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, then the entire pattern of one's life starts changing. It is no longer possible for one to do anything vocally or physically which will disturb the peace and happiness of others. Instead, the balanced mind not only becomes peaceful in itself, it helps others to become peaceful also. The atmosphere surrounding such a person will become permeated with peace and harmony, and this will start affecting others too.

This is what the Buddha taught, an art of living. He never established or taught any religion, any "ism." He never instructed followers to practise any rites or rituals, any blind or empty formalities. Instead, he taught to just observe nature as it is, by observing the reality inside. Out of ignorance, one keeps reacting in a way which is harmful to oneself and to others. Then when wisdom arises-the wisdom of observing the reality as it is-one comes out of this blind reaction. When one ceases to react blindly, then one is capable of real action, action proceeding from a balanced, equanimous mind, a mind which sees and understands the truth. Such action can only be positive, creative, helpful to oneself and to others.

  What is necessary, then, is to "know thyself"-advice which every wise person has given. One must know oneself not just at the intellectual level, at the level of ideas and theories. Nor does this mean to know oneself at the devotional or emotional level, simply accepting blindly what one has heard or read. Such knowledge is not enough.

  Rather, one must know reality at the actual level. One must experience directly the reality of this mental-physical phenomenon. This alone is what will help us to come out of defilements, out of sufferings.

   This direct experience of reality within one's own self, this technique of self- observation, is what is called Vipassana meditation. In the language of India in the time of the Buddha, passanā meant to look, to see with open eyes, in the ordinary way. But vipassanā is to observe things as they really are, not just as they seem to be. Apparent truth has to be penetrated, until one reaches the ultimate truth of the entire mental and physical structure. When one experiences this truth, then one learns to stop reacting blindly, to stop creating defilements. Naturally the old defilements are gradually eradicated. One comes out of all miseries, and experiences happiness.

  There are three steps to the training which is given in a Vipassana course. First, one must abstain from any action, physical or vocal, which disturbs the peace and harmony of others. One cannot work to liberate oneself from defilements in the mind while at the same time continuing to perform deeds of body and speech which only multiply those defilements. 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 speak lies, and not to use intoxicants. By abstaining from such actions, one allows the mind to quiet down.

  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 one's attention on the respiration for as long as possible. This is not a breathing exercise; one does not regulate the breath. Instead one observes the 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 violent 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 of living a moral life and controlling the mind are very necessary and beneficial in themselves. But they will lead to self-repression unless one takes the third step: purifying the mind of defilements, by developing insight into one's own nature. This, really, is Vipassana: experiencing one's own reality, through the systematic and dispassionate observation of the ever-changing mind-matter phenomenon manifesting itself as sensations within oneself. This is the culmination of the teaching of the Buddha: self-purification through self-observation.

  This can be practised by one and all. The disease is not sectarian, therefore the remedy cannot be sectarian: it must be universal. Everyone faces the problem of suffering. When one suffers from anger, it is not Buddhist anger, Hindu anger, Christian anger. Anger is anger. Due to anger, when one becomes agitated, it is not a Christian agitation, or Hindu, or Buddhist agitation. 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 of the mind. No one will object to developing insight into one's own reality, by which it is possible to free the mind of negativites. It is a universal path. It is not a cult. It is not a dogma. It is not blind faith.

Observing the reality as it is, by observing truth inside-this is knowing oneself at the actual, experiential level. And as one practises, one starts coming out of the misery of defilements. From the gross, external apparent truth, one penetrates to the ultimate truth of mind and matter. Then one transcends that and experiences a truth which 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 all of you experience this ultimate truth. May all people everywhere come out of their defilements, their misery. May they enjoy real happiness, real peace, real harmony.

 

 

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Buddha's Path Is to Experience Reality

by S.N. Goenka

  The following has been condensed from a public talk given by S.N. Goenka in Bangkok, Thailand in September, 1989.

 

Most Venerable   Bhikkhu Sagha, friends, devotees of Lord Buddha:

  You have all assembled here to understand what Vipassana is and how it helps us in our day-to-day lives; how it helps us to come out of our misery, the misery of life and death. Everyone wants to come out of misery, to live a life of peace and harmony. We simply do not know how to do this. It was Siddhattha Gotama's enlightenment that made him realize the truth: where misery lies, how it starts, and how it can be eradicated.

  There were many techniques of meditation prevailing in those days, as there are today. The Bodhisatta Gotama tried them all, but he was not satisfied because he found that he was not fully liberated from misery. Then he started to do his own research. Through his personal experience he discovered this technique of Vipassana, which eradicated misery from his life and made him a fully enlightened person.

  There are many techniques that give temporary relief. When you become miserable you divert your attention to something else. Then you feel that you have come out of your misery, but you are not totally relieved.

  If something undesirable has happened in life, you become agitated. You cannot bear this misery and want to run away from it. You may go to a cinema or a theatre, or you may indulge in other sensual entertainments. You may go out drinking, and so on. All this is running away from misery. Escape is no solution to the problem-indeed the misery is multiplying.

  In Buddha's enlightenment he realized that one must face reality. Instead of running away from the problem, one must face it. He found that all the types of meditation existing in his day consisted of merely diverting the mind from the prevailing misery to another object. He found that practising this, actually only a small part of the mind gets diverted. Deep inside one keeps reacting, one keeps generating sakhāras (reactions) of craving, aversion or delusion, and one keeps suffering at a deep level of the mind. The object of meditation should not be an imaginary object, it should be reality-reality as it is. One has to work with whatever reality has manifested itself now, whatever one experiences within the framework of one's own body.

  In the practice of Vipassana one has to explore the reality within oneself-the material structure and the mental structure, the combination of which one keeps calling "I, me, mine." One generates a tremendous amount of attachment to this material and mental structure, and as a result becomes miserable. To practise Buddha's path we must observe the truth of mind and matter. Their basic characteristics should be directly experienced by the meditator. This results in wisdom.

Wisdom can be of three types: wisdom gained by listening to others, that which is gained by intellectual analysis, and wisdom developed from direct, personal experience. Before Buddha, and even at the time of Buddha, there were teachers who were teaching morality, were teaching concentration, and who were also talking about wisdom. But this wisdom was only received or intellectualized wisdom. It was not wisdom gained by personal experience. Buddha found that one may play any number of intellectual or devotional games, but unless he experiences the truth himself, and develops wisdom from his personal experience, he will not be liberated. Vipassana is personally experienced wisdom. One may listen to discourses or read scriptures. Or one may use the intellect and try to understand: "Yes, Buddha's teaching is wonderful! This wisdom is wonderful!" But that is not direct experience of wisdom.

  The entire field of mind and matter-the six senses and their respective objects- have the basic characteristics of anicca (impermanence), dukkha (suffering) and anattā (egolessness). Buddha wanted us to experience this reality within ourselves. To explore the truth within the framework of the body, he designated two fields. One is the material structure: the corporeal structure, the physical structure. The other is the mental structure with four factors: consciousness; perception; the part of the mind that feels sensation; and the part of the mind that reacts. So to explore both fields he gave us kāyānupassanā (observation of the body) and cittānupassanā (observation of the mind).

  How can you observe the body with direct experience unless you can feel it? There must be something happening in the body which you feel, which you realize. Then you can say, "Yes, I have practised kāyānupassanā." One must feel the sensations on the body: this is vedanānupassanā (observation of body sensations).

  The same is true for cittānupassanā. Unless something arises in the mind, you cannot directly experience it. Whatever arises in the mind is dhamma (mental content). Therefore dhammānupassanā (observation of the contents of the mind) is necessary for cittānupassanā.

  This is how the Buddha divided these practices.   Kāyānupassanā and vedanānupassanā pertain to the physical structure. Cittānupassanā and dhammānupassanā pertain to the mental structure. See from your personal experience how this mind and matter are related to each other. To believe that one understands mind and matter, without having directly experienced it, is delusion. It is only direct experience that will make us understand the reality about mind and matter. This is where Vipassana starts helping us.

  In brief, understand how we practise Vipassana. We start with Ānāpāna, awareness of respiration-natural respiration. We don't make it a breathing exercise or regulate the breath as they do in prāāyāma. We observe respiration at the entrance of the nostrils. If a meditator works continuously in a congenial atmosphere without any disturbance, within two or three days some subtle reality on this part of the body will start manifesting itself: some sensations-natural, normal bodily sensations. Maybe heat or cold, throbbing or pulsing or some other sensations. When one reaches the fourth or fifth day of practice, he or she will find that there are sensations throughout the body, from head to feet. One feels those sensations, and is asked not to react to them. Just observe; observe objectively, without identifying yourself with the sensations.

  When you work as Buddha wanted you to work, by the time you reach the seventh day or the eighth day, you will move towards subtler and subtler reality. The Dhamma (natural law) will start helping you. You observe this structure that initially appears to be so solid, the entire physical structure at the level of sensation. Observing, observing you will reach the stage when you experience that the entire physical structure is nothing but subatomic particles: throughout the body, nothing but kalāpas (subatomic particles). And even these tiniest subatomic particles are not solid. They are mere vibration, just wavelets. The Buddha's words become clear by experience:

Sabbo pajjalito loko, sabbo loko pakampito.

The entire universe is nothing but combustion and vibration.

 

As you experience it yourself, your kāyānupassanā, your vedanānupassanā, will take you to the stage where you experience that the entire material world is nothing but vibration. Then it becomes very easy for you to practise cittānupassanā and dhammānupassanā.

  Buddha's teaching is to move from the gross, apparent truth to the subtlest, ultimate truth, from oārika to sukhuma. The apparent truth always creates illusion and confusion in the mind. By dividing and dissecting apparent reality, you will come to the ultimate reality. As you experience the reality of matter to be vibration, you also start experiencing the reality of the mind: viññāa (consciousness), saññā (perception), vedanā (sensation) and sakhāra (reaction). If you experience them properly with Vipassana, it will become clear how they work.

  Suppose you have reached the stage where you are experiencing that the entire physical structure is just vibration. If a sound has come in contact with the ears you will notice that this sound is nothing but vibration. The first part of the mind, consciousness, has done its job: ear consciousness has recognized that something has happened at the ear sense door. Like a gong which, having been struck at one point, begins vibrating throughout its structure, so a contact with any of the senses begins a vibration which spreads throughout the body. At first this is merely a neutral vibration, neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

  The perception recognizes and evaluates the sound, "It is a word-what word? Praise! Oh, wonderful, very good!" The resulting sensation, the vibration, will become very pleasant. In the same way, if the words are words of abuse the vibration will become very unpleasant. The vibration changes according to the evaluation given by the perception part of the mind. Next the third part of the mind starts feeling the sensation: pleasant or unpleasant.

  Then the fourth part of the mind will start working. This is reaction; its job is to react. If a pleasant sensation arises, it will react with craving. If an unpleasant sensation arises, it will react with aversion. Pleasant sensation: "I like it. Very good! I want more, I want more!" Similarly, unpleasant sensation: "I dislike it. I don't want it." Generating craving and aversion is the part played by the fourth factor of the mind- reaction.

  Understand that this process is going on constantly at one sense door or another. Every moment something or the other is happening at one of the sense doors. Every moment the respective consciousness cognizes; the perception recognizes; the feeling part of the mind feels; and the reacting part of the mind reacts, with either craving or aversion. This happens continuously in one's life.

At the apparent, surface level, it seems that I am reacting with either craving or aversion to the external stimulus. Actually this is not so. Buddha found that we are reacting to our sensations. This discovery was the enlightenment of Buddha. He said:

Saāyatanā-paccaya phasso

phassa-paccaya vedanā

vedanā-paccaya tahā.

With the base of the six senses, contact arises with the base of contact, sensation arises with the base of sensation, craving arises.

 

  It became so clear to him: the six sense organs come in contact with objects outside. Because of the contact, a sensation starts in the body that, most of the time, is either pleasant or unpleasant. Then after a pleasant or unpleasant sensation arises, craving or aversion start- not before that. This realization was possible because Buddha went deep inside and experienced it himself. He went to the root of the problem and discovered how to eradicate the cause of suffering at the root level.

  Working at the intellectual level of the mind, we try to suppress craving and aversion, but deep inside, craving and aversion continue. We are constantly rolling in craving or aversion. We are not coming out of misery through suppression.

  Buddha discovered the way: whenever you experience any sensation, due to any reason, you simply observe it:

Samudaya dhammānupassī kāyasmi viharati

vaya dhammānupassī kāyasmi viharati

samudaya-vaya-dhammānupassī kāyasmi viharati.

He dwells observing the phenomenon of arising in the body.

He dwells observing the phenomenon of passing away in the body.

He dwells observing the phenomenon of simultaneous arising and passing away in the body.

 

  Every sensation arises and passes away. Nothing is eternal. When you practise Vipassana you start experiencing this. However unpleasant a sensation may be- look, it arises only to pass away. However pleasant a sensation may be, it is just a vibration-arising and passing. Pleasant, unpleasant or neutral, the characteristic of impermanence remains the same. You are now experiencing the reality of anicca. You are not believing it because Buddha said so, or some scripture or tradition says so, or even because your intellect says so. You accept the truth of anicca because you directly experience it. This is how your received wisdom and intellectual understanding turn into personally experienced wisdom.

  Only this experience of anicca will change the habit pattern of the mind. Feeling sensation in the body and understanding that everything is impermanent, you don't react with craving or aversion; you are equanimous. Practising this continually changes the habit of reacting at the deepest level. When you don't generate any new conditioning of craving and aversion, old conditioning comes on the surface and passes away. By observing reality as it is, you become free from all your conditioning of craving and aversion.

  Western psychologists refer to the "conscious mind." Buddha called this part of the mind the paritta citta (a very small part of the mind). There is a big barrier between the paritta citta and the rest of the mind at deeper levels. The conscious mind does not

know what is happening in the unconscious or half-conscious. Vipassana breaks this barrier, taking you from the surface level of the mind to the deepest level of the mind. The practice exposes the anusaya kilesa (latent mental defilements) that are lying at the deepest level of the mind.

  The so-called "unconscious" mind is not unconscious. It is always conscious of body sensations, and it keeps reacting to them. If they are unpleasant, it reacts with aversion. If they are pleasant, it reacts with craving. This is the habit pattern, the behaviour pattern, of the so-called unconscious at the depth of the mind.

  Here is an example to explain how the so- called unconscious mind is reacting with craving and aversion. You are in deep sleep. A mosquito bites you and there is an unpleasant sensation. Your conscious mind does not know what has happened. The unconscious knows immediately that there is an unpleasant sensation, and it reacts with aversion. It drives away or kills the mosquito. But still there is an unpleasant sensation, so you scratch, though your conscious mind is in deep sleep. When you wake up, if somebody asks you how many mosquito bites you got during the night, you won't know. Your conscious mind was unaware but the unconscious knew, and it reacted.

  Another example: Sitting for about half an hour, some pressure starts somewhere and the unconscious mind reacts: "There is a pressure. I don't like it!" You change your position. The unconscious mind is always in contact with the body sensations. You make a little movement, and then after some time you move again. Just watch somebody sitting for fifteen to twenty minutes. You will find that this person is fidgeting, shifting a little here, a little there. Of course, consciously he does not know what he is doing. This is because he is not aware of the sensations. He does not know that he is reacting with aversion to these sensations. This barrier is ignorance.

  Vipassana breaks this ignorance. Then one starts understanding how sensations arise and how they give rise to craving or aversion. When there is a pleasant sensation, there is craving. When there is an unpleasant sensation, there is aversion, and whenever there is craving or aversion, there is misery.

  If one does not break this behaviour pattern, there will be continual craving or aversion. At the surface level you may say that you are practising what Buddha taught, but in fact, you are not practising what Buddha taught! You are practising what the other teachers at the time of Buddha taught. Buddha taught how to go to the deepest level where suffering arises. Suffering arises because of one's reaction of craving or aversion. The source of craving and aversion must be found, and one must change one's behaviour pattern at that level.

  Buddha taught us to observe suffering and the arising of suffering. Without observing these two we can never know the cessation of misery. Suffering arises with the sensations. If we react to sensations, then suffering arises. If we do not react we do not suffer from them. However unpleasant a sensation may be, if you don't react with aversion, you can smile with equanimity. You understand that this is all anicca, impermanence. The whole habit pattern of the mind changes at the deepest level.

  Through the practice of Vipassana, people start to come out of all kinds of impurities of the mind-anger, passion, fear, ego, and so on. Within a few months or a few years the change in people becomes very evident. This is the benefit of Vipassana, here and now. In this very life you will get the benefit.

  This is the land of Dhamma, a land of the teaching of Buddha, a land where you have such a large Sangha. Make use of the teaching of Buddha at the deepest level. Don't just remain at the surface level of the teaching of Buddha. Go to the deepest level where your craving arises:

 

Vedanā paccaya tahā;

vedanā-nirodhā tahā-nirodho;

tahā-nirodhā dukkha-nirodho.

Sensations give rise to craving.

If sensations cease, craving ceases. When craving ceases, suffering ceases.

 

When one experiences the truth of nibbāna-a stage beyond the entire sensorium-all the six sense organs stop working. There can't be any contact with objects outside, so sensation ceases. At this stage there is freedom from all suffering.

  First you must reach the stage where you can feel sensations. Only then can you change the habit pattern of your mind. Work on this technique, this process, at the very deepest level. If you work on the surface level of the mind you are only changing the conscious part of the mind, your intellect. You are not going to the root cause, the most unconscious level of the mind; you are not removing the anusaya kilesa-deep-rooted defilements of craving and aversion. They are like sleeping volcanoes that may erupt at any time. You continue to roll from birth to death; you are not coming out of misery.

  Make use of this wonderful technique and come out of your misery, come out of the bondages and enjoy real peace, real harmony, real happiness.

May all of you enjoy real peace, real harmony, real happiness.

 

 

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‚»‚µ‚ÄAS‚Ì‘æŽl‚Ì•”•ª‚ª“­‚«Žn‚߂܂·B‚±‚ꂪ”½‰ž‚ÅA‹@”\‚Í“ü—͂ɔ½‰ž‚µ‚Äo—Í‚·‚邱‚Ƃł·BS’n‚æ‚¢Š´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚ê‚ÎAЉ–]‚Å”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚·B•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚ê‚ÎAŒ™ˆ«‚Å”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚·BS’n‚æ‚¢Š´Šo‚ɑ΂µ‚Ä‚ÍuD‚«‚¾B‚ƂĂà—Ç‚¢I‚à‚Á‚Æ—~‚µ‚¢Iv‚ƂȂèA•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚É‚ÍuŒ™‚¢‚¾B—~‚µ‚­‚È‚¢Iv‚ƂȂè‚Ü‚·BЉ–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚ð¶‚Ýo‚·‚Ì‚ÍA‚±‚ÌS‚Ì‘æŽl‚Ì—v‘f‚Å‚ ‚锽‰ž‚Ì–ðŠ„‚Å‚·B

‚±‚̃vƒƒZƒX‚ª‚ ‚ç‚ä‚銴Šo‚Å₦‚¸‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µ‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢B–ˆuAŠ´Šo‚̈ê‚‚ł±‚̂悤‚È‚±‚Æ‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B–ˆuA‚»‚ꂼ‚ê‚̈ӎ¯‚ÍŒŸ’m‚µA’mŠo‚Í•]‰¿‚µAŠ´Šo‚ÍŠ´‚¶A”½‰ž‚ÍŠ‰–]‚©Œ™ˆ«‚©‚̂ǂ¿‚ç‚©‚ðo—Í‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚±‚̃vƒƒZƒX‚ªl¶‚Ì’†‚Å₦‚¸‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚µ‚½‚ª‚Á‚ÄA•\–Ê“I‚É‚ÍuŽ„v‚ª”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚ÉŒ©‚¦‚Ü‚·B

 

ŽÀۂɂ͊O•”ŽhŒƒ‚ɑ΂·‚銉–]‚©Œ™ˆ«‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBƒuƒbƒ_‚ÍAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ªŠ´Šo‚É”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃ𔭌©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚Ì”­Œ©‚±‚»‚ªƒuƒbƒ_‚ÌŒå‚è‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍŒ¾‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

Saāyatanā-paccaya phasso

phassa-paccaya vedanā

vedanā-paccaya tahā.

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‚±‚ê‚ç‚̃vƒƒZƒX‚ª”ñí‚É–¾Šm‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚·B˜ZŠ´ŠíН‚ÍŠO•”‚Ì‘ÎÛ‚ÆÚG‚µ‚Ü‚·BÚG‚É‚æ‚Á‚ÄA‘Ì“à‚ÉŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚Ù‚Æ‚ñ‚Ç‚Ìê‡A‚»‚ê‚͉õ‚©•s‰õ‚Å‚·B‚»‚µ‚ÄA‰õ‚Ü‚½‚Í•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª¶‚¶‚½ŒãAЉ–]‚Ü‚½‚ÍŒ™ˆ«‚ªŽn‚Ü‚è‚Ü‚·B‚»‚ê‚æ‚è‘O‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚±‚ÌŽÀŠ´‚ÍAƒuƒbƒ_‚ª“à–ʂ̉œ[‚­‚É“ü‚èž‚ÝAŽ©‚ç‚»‚ê‚ð‘ÌŒ±‚µ‚½‚©‚炱‚»‰Â”\‚ɂȂÁ‚½‚à‚̂ł·B‚±‚¤‚µ‚Ä–â‘è‚̪Œ¹‚É”—‚èA‹ê‚µ‚݂̌´ˆö‚ðª–{‚©‚çªâ‚·‚é•û–@‚ð”­Œ©‚µ‚½‚̂ł·B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚ÍŠ‰–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚ðS‚Ì’m“I‚ȃŒƒxƒ‹‚É“­‚«‚©‚¯‚Ä—}‚¦‚悤‚Æ‚µ‚Ü‚·‚ªAS‚̉œ’ê‚ł͊‰–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚Í‘±‚«‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚½‚¿‚Íí‚ÉŠ‰–]‚⌙ˆ«‚ɉՂ܂ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B—}ˆ³‚É‚æ‚Á‚ċꂵ‚Ý‚©‚甲‚¯o‚·‚±‚Ƃ͂ł«‚Ü‚¹‚ñB

‚µ‚©‚µAƒuƒbƒ_‚Í“¹‚ð”­Œ©‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚Ç‚ñ‚È——R‚Å‚ ‚ꊴŠo‚ðŒoŒ±‚·‚鎞‚ÉA‚½‚¾‚»‚ê‚ç‚ðŠÏŽ@‚·‚é‚̂ł·B

Samudaya dhammānupassī kāyasmi viharati

vaya dhammānupassī kāyasmi viharati

samudaya-vaya-dhammānupassī kāyasmi viharati.

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g‘Ì‚ÉÁ–Å‚·‚錻ۂðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚È‚ª‚ç•é‚炵‚Ü‚·B

g‘̂ɶ‚¶‚邯“¯Žž‚ÉÁ–Å‚·‚錻ۂðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚È‚ª‚ç•é‚炵‚Ü‚·B

 

‚·‚ׂĂ̊´Šo‚Ͷ‚¶AÁ–Å‚µ‚Ü‚·B‰i‰“‚Ì‚à‚̂Ȃǂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ðCs‚·‚邯A‚±‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ðŒoŒ±‚µŽn‚߂܂·B‚Ç‚ñ‚Ȃɕs‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚Ͷ‚¶‚Ä‚ÍÁ‚¦‹Ž‚è‚Ü‚·B‚Ç‚ñ‚Ȃɉõ‚¢Š´Šo‚Å‚ ‚Á‚Ä‚àA‚»‚ê‚ÍU“®‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ķ‚¶‚Ä‚ÍÁ‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚­‚à‚̂ł·B‰õ‚¢‚à‚̂ł ‚êA•s‰õ‚Å‚ ‚êA‚ ‚é‚¢‚Í’†—§‚Å‚ ‚êA–³í‚Ì«Ž¿‚ɕςí‚è‚Í‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB¡A–³í‚ÌŒ»ŽÀ‚ð‘ÌŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚̂ł·Bƒuƒbƒ_‚ª‚»‚¤Œ¾‚Á‚½‚©‚ç‚Å‚àAŒo“T‚â“`³‚É‚»‚¤‘‚¢‚Ä‚ ‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚àA‚ ‚é‚¢‚Í’m«‚ª‚»‚¤Ž¦‚·‚©‚ç‚Å‚àA‚»‚¤M‚¶‚é‚©‚ç‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB–³í‚Ì^—‚ðA’¼Ú‘ÌŒ±‚·‚邱‚Ƃɂæ‚Á‚Ä‚½‚¾Žó‚¯“ü‚ê‚Ü‚·B‚±‚¤‚µ‚ÄAŽó‚¯Œp‚¢‚¾’qŒd‚Æ’m“I‚È—‰ð‚ÍAŒÂl“I‚ɑ̌±‚µ‚½’qŒd‚ւƕςí‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·B

‚±‚Ì–³í‚̑̌±‚¾‚¯‚ªAS‚ÌKеƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚ð•Ï‚¦‚Ü‚·Bg‘̂Ŋ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶A‚·‚ׂĂ͖³í‚Å‚ ‚邯—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAЉ–]‚⌙ˆ«‚Å”½‰ž‚¹‚¸A•½Ã‚ð•ۂ‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ê‚ðŒp‘±“I‚ÉŽÀ‘H‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Å”½‰ž‚·‚éKе‚ª•Ï‚í‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·BЉ–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚Æ‚¢‚¤V‚½‚ÈðŒ•t‚¯‚ð¶‚Ýo‚³‚È‚­‚È‚é‚ÆAŒÃ‚¢ðŒ•t‚¯‚ª•\–ʂɌ»‚êAÁ‚¦‹Ž‚è‚Ü‚·BŒ»ŽÀ‚ð‚ ‚è‚̂܂܂Ɋώ@‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ÅAЉ–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚ ‚ç‚ä‚éðŒ•t‚¯‚©‚ç‰ð•ú‚³‚ê‚Ü‚·B

¼—m‚ÌS—ŠwŽÒ‚Í‚±‚ê‚ðuŒ°ÝˆÓޝv‚ƌĂт܂·Bƒuƒbƒ_‚Í‚±‚ÌS‚Ì•”•ª‚ðparitta cittaiS‚Ì‚²‚­ˆê•”j‚ƌĂт܂µ‚½Bparitta citta‚ÆA‚æ‚è[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚ÌS‚ÌŽc‚è‚Ì•”•ª‚Ƃ̊Ԃɂ͑傫‚Èá•Ç‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BŒ°ÝˆÓޝ‚ÍA–³ˆÓޝ‚┼ˆÓޝ‚Ì’†‚ʼn½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©‚ð’m‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñBƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚Í‚±‚Ìá•Ç‚ð‘Å‚¿”j‚èAS‚Ì•\–ʃŒƒxƒ‹‚©‚çS‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Ö‚Æ“±‚«‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ÌCs‚ÍAS‚ÌÅ‚à[‚¢ƒŒƒxƒ‹‚Éö‚Þanusaya kilesaiöÝ“I‚ÈS‚̉˜‚êj‚ð˜I’悳‚¹‚Ü‚·B

‚¢‚í‚ä‚éu–³ˆÓޝv‚ÌS‚ÍAŽÀۂɂ͖³ˆÓޝ‚ł͂Ȃ­Aí‚Ég‘ÌŠ´Šo‚ðˆÓޝ‚µA‚»‚ê‚É”½‰ž‚µ‘±‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚à‚µ‚»‚ꂪ•s‰õ‚È‚à‚̂ł ‚ê‚ÎAŒ™ˆ«Š´‚Å”½‰ž‚µA‚»‚ꂪ‰õ‚¢‚à‚̂ł ‚ê‚ÎAЉ–]‚Æ‚µ‚Ä”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚·B‚±‚ꂪS‚̉œ’ê‚É‚ ‚éu–³ˆÓޝv‚ÌKеA‚·‚Ȃ킿As“®ƒpƒ^[ƒ“‚Å‚·B

 

‚¢‚í‚ä‚é–³ˆÓޝ‚ªŠ‰–]‚ÆŒ™ˆ«‚Æ‚µ‚Ăǂ̂悤‚É”½‰ž‚·‚é‚©‚Ì—á‚ð‹“‚°‚Ă݂܂·B[‚¢–°‚è‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚鎞‚ɉá‚ÉŽh‚³‚êA•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ðŠ´‚¶‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·BŒ°ÝˆÓޝ‚͉½‚ª‹N‚±‚Á‚½‚Ì‚©•ª‚©‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA–³ˆÓޝ‚Í•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ª‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð‚·‚®‚ÉŽ@’m‚µAŒ™ˆ«‚Æ‚µ‚Ä”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚·B‰á‚ð’Ç‚¢•¥‚Á‚½‚èA’@‚¢‚½‚肵‚Ü‚·‚ªA‚»‚ê‚Å‚à•s‰õ‚ÈŠ´Šo‚ªŽc‚é‚Ì‚ÅAˆÓޝ‚Í[‚¢–°‚è‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚é‚É‚à‚©‚©‚í‚炸AŽh‚³‚ꂽ‰ÓŠ‚ð‘~‚¢‚Ä‚µ‚Ü‚¢‚Ü‚·B–Ú‚ªŠo‚߂Ă©‚çA’N‚©‚É–é’†‚ɉ½•C‚̉á‚ÉŽh‚³‚ꂽ‚©q‚Ë‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚à“š‚¦‚ç‚ê‚È‚¢‚Å‚µ‚傤BŒ°ÝˆÓޝ‚Í‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚ªA–³ˆÓޝ‚Í”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‚à‚¤ˆê‚‚̗á‚ð‹“‚°‚Ü‚µ‚傤B30•ª‚Ù‚ÇÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邯A‚Ç‚±‚©‚Ɉ³”—Š´‚ðŠ´‚¶Žn‚ßA–³ˆÓޝ‚ª”½‰ž‚µ‚Ü‚·Buˆ³”—Š´‚ª‚ ‚éBŒ™‚¾Iv‚ÆB‚ ‚È‚½‚ÍŽp¨‚ð•Ï‚¦‚Ü‚·B–³ˆÓޝ‚Íí‚ɑ̂̊´Šo‚ÆÚG‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B­‚µ‘̂𓮂©‚µA‚µ‚΂炭‚µ‚Ä‚©‚ç‚Ü‚½“®‚«‚Ü‚·B15•ª‚©‚ç20•ªÀ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚él‚ðŠÏŽ@‚µ‚Ă݂Ă­‚¾‚³‚¢B‚»‚Ìl‚Í‚»‚í‚»‚킵‚ÄA‘̂𭂵“®‚©‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ª‚í‚©‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B‚à‚¿‚ë‚ñAˆÓޝ“I‚ɂ͎©•ª‚ª‰½‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚©•ª‚©‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚È‚º‚È‚çA–{l‚Í‚»‚ÌŠ´Šo‚ÉŒ™ˆ«Š´‚ð•ø‚¢‚Ä”½‰ž‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Æ‹C‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚©‚ç‚Å‚·B‚±‚Ìá•Ç‚ª–³’m‚Å‚·B

 

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Vedanā paccaya ta;

vedanā-nirodhā tahā-nirodho;

tahā-nirodhā dukkha-nirodho.

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Vedanā and Sampajañña Seminar: Closing Address

by S.N. Goenka

 

  A seminar on the Importance of Vedanā and Sampajañña was held at Dhamma Giri in February 1990. Eminent Pali scholars from around the world participated.

 

Respected Bhikkhu Sagha and Dhamma friends:

  We have come to the happy conclusion of this Dhamma seminar-a unique seminar in the sense that you have practised Vipassana and you have started understanding its theory. Practice and theory: both are equally important.

  If someone practises, certainly he or she will reach the final goal. Someone who has not read even one word of the Tipiaka and yet practises, will reach the final goal. But (except in the case of a pacceka Buddha) to show the path there must be an Enlightened One, a Buddha. Only by walking on the entire path will the final goal be reached. And when an Enlightened One is not there to personally guide us, his words are there to show the path.

  There has been a gap of twenty-five centuries since the Buddha showed the path. Due to this gap someone walking on the path may feel skeptical as to whether one is walking correctly. Doubts may arise: "What am I doing? Is it correct? Did the Buddha really teach this?" To remove doubts, to get a clear picture of the path, pariyatti (theory) is very helpful. But if one remains only limited to pariyatti, I would say that this person is very unfortunate.

Pariyatti is to give us inspiration, to show us the path, but paipatti (practice) will take us to the final goal. Sometimes pariyatti can cause confusion due to incorrect translation or interpretation; or because the student who is reading it does not have the capacity to understand what is being said. These problems can be removed by paipatti. If one does not practise, one cannot understand pariyatti as one should: that is, as guidance and inspiration for liberation. To me paipatti is of utmost importance.

  I come from a very staunch, conservative Hindu Sanātani tradition. When I first went to my teacher Sayagyi U Ba Khin, he explained what the path was. I listened to his discourses, and I kept on meditating. I didn't find anything new. Sīla (morality) is given importance in my tradition-that was nothing new. Samādhi (concentration): yes, samādhi should be practised. Unless the mind is under control, concentrated, how can one get the benefit of Dhamma? I had been reading about paññā (wisdom) in the scriptures, in the tradition in which I was born. It is full of paññā, pragya (wisdom), sthitapragya (established in wisdom). I had been reading, "Get established in paññā." That was nothing new. And yet it was new, so new and so wonderful.

  Now a blind person could see. It was so wonderful. In the darkness a light came. I had been involved in only intellectual, devotional or emotional games. Nobody had told me, "This is how you can become sthitapragya. This is how you will become established in paññā." The entire tradition had no technique. This was quite clear to me, even after taking my first course. A thirsty person, lost in a desert wants water; he is so thirsty, so miserable. Someone comes to him and gives him a sermon, "Oh, you miserable person, you should drink water." But he doesn't give any water to drink! He doesn't show how to find water! Here I found someone who gave water.

  The need to be free from raga (craving), dosa (aversion) and moha (delusion) was not new to me, but the technique whereby I could become free from them was new. That was the biggest contribution Buddha made to suffering humanity. He gave a path, a technique. He continued to teach people for forty-five years, day and night. He would lie down for two or three hours a night, just to give rest to the body, remaining with sati (awareness) and sampajañña (understanding of impermanence). Twenty-four hours a day for forty-five years this person continued distributing Dhamma to suffering people, without expecting anything in return. He was filled with compassion. He did not teach in order to establish a particular sect, or philosophy; not at all. Otherwise he would not have been a Buddha. He taught just to give a path to people so that they could come out of their miseries.

  He gave sammā diṭṭhi (right view of reality), not a diṭṭhi (philosophical belief). And he said that it is only with jānato passato (knowledge, seeing correctly) that one can have sammā diṭṭhi. Otherwise, however correct something may be, however logical something may be, if there is not jānato passato then it is micchā diṭṭhi (wrong view). It is only sammā diṭṭhi which can liberate, and sammā diṭṭhi is the diṭṭhi which you personally experience yourself, within yourself. Only then it is sammā (correct); otherwise it cannot be right, cannot be correct.

  You have heard about something and you may contemplate or imagine it; but if you haven't experienced it, how can you really know what it is? Yathā-bhūta (as it is): your understanding has to develop with your personal experience. Otherwise it is not Yathā-bhūta. It is yathā-shruta-you have just heard about it. Or yathā-kalpita-you have imagined it. Or yathā-vañchita-you want it to happen in a certain way. This is not Yathā-bhūta. Yathā-bhūta must happen within you, with experience: "Oh, yes! This is Yathā-bhūta ñāa dassana (the wisdom of reality as it is understood by direct experience)." You are to experience the truth within you as it is, and the ñāa (wisdom) that arises because of that is the sammā ñāa, samyak gyāna (right wisdom). Otherwise again it is the ñāa from a book, a ñāa of others, but not your own ñāa. Agama (book knowledge) is good for inspiration. But when you start experiencing it yourself, then it is adhigama (attainment). You have then walked the Path, you have experienced it; and only that liberates, nothing else.

  That was the beauty of this enlightened person. At the time of Buddha, and before Buddha, samādhi was practised, but it was not sammā samādhi (right concentration). The teaching of paññā was also there , but it was all mere talk. Each particular sect or tradition, had its own beliefs. But it was only talk; nobody was actually practising wisdom. There were some practices wherein people were going to extremes, without understanding things properly, so they didn't benefit from these practices.

  Gotama was not the only Buddha. Countless Buddhas had come before him. We don't even know the names of all of them. Everyone who gains enlightenment and breaks the shackles of impurities is a Buddha, is an arahant (a liberated person). Whoever becomes a Buddha, or an arahant, cannot have any clinging. If he has any clinging there is something wrong; this person cannot be liberated. If he is motivated by the wish that, "I must have a large number of followers. After my death people must remember me, build temples and statues in honour of me, praise me saying, 'Buddha was great.' People should call themselves Buddhists..." No-this is not the volition of a Buddha. Compassion is the only volition: "Look, all around people are suffering. I rediscovered this noble path, and I practised it, and by practising it I became liberated. May more and more people come out of their misery." If this is the volition, then yes, this person is a Buddha. This is the difference in volition between one who is a Buddha and one who is not a Buddha.

  At the time of Gotama the Buddha, and even before, there were many who claimed that they had become a Buddha. This was a common name for all these mendicants. They called themselves "Buddha"; but what is a Buddha? If one is not totally liberated from all impurities, one is not a Buddha. And to tell whether one is really liberated from all impurities, the yardstick is that this person has now become compassionate, infinitely compassionate. He cannot have compassion only for the people who call themselves Buddhists. His compassion is infinite. Only then is he a Buddha.

  That is why he taught the truth to one and all. He was not interested in sectarianism. He told people: "Experience for yourself." Someone came to him and Buddha questioned him: "What do you believe? This nāma (mind), this rūpa (matter), is it anicca (impermanent) or not?"

"Yes sir, it is anicca!"

"Do you believe it is a source of sukha

(happiness), or dukkha (misery)?" "Oh sir, it is dukkha!"

  "Do you believe, this is 'I,' 'mine' or 'my soul'?"

  "No, no sir! How can mind and matter be 'I,' 'mine' or 'my soul'?"

Understand, the person who answered those questions was not a follower of Buddha. He had come from outside.

  Buddha asked the outsider, "Ki maññasi? (What do you believe?)" and he replied in that way.

  That means he believed in anicca, dukkha and anattā. The Buddha continued: "Passa jāna (experience for yourself to gain understanding)." Whatever you believe now, you must realize this truth with Vipassana at the experiential level. This alone will help you, nothing else. Merely believing there is a sun in the sky will not give you light or warmth-you must experience it.

  This was Buddha's contribution. It is such a wonderful contribution. "Yathā vādi, tathā kāri"-whatever he taught, he practised, and he taught only practice.

  The entire teaching of Buddha is Passa jāna, Passa jāna-experience for yourself and then you will understand. Don't believe just because a particular scripture, tradition or teacher says so. Experience the truth yourself, and when you find that, yes, it is beneficial- then accept it and live that life. Only that life will help you: this alone, nothing else.

  It is rare to find such a practical person. It is easy to give sermons, to say, "I am such a wise person." But to live your life free from all impurities is very difficult. A person who has practised and then teaches others to practise it, is indeed a unique person, a wonderful person. This was something which attracted me to Buddha. To be very frank, when I took my first course with my Sayagyi U Ba Khin, I had not even read the Dhammapada, which is very well-known. I started pariyatti only after my first course, and then it seemed as if Buddha were talking directly to me. Every word carried such a deep meaning. Because we can only understand by experience what Buddha really meant. That is why my teacher used to say that theory and practice should go together: paipatti and then pariyatti. The Path then becomes so clear.

  When one progresses on the Path, two rare qualities naturally start developing in the mind. One is pubbakāri-taking the initiative to do good for others, without expecting anything in return. If, before you do something, you think you should receive this or that benefit, then this is not pubbakāri. The first thing that must arise in the mind is, "I must help others," without thinking of what you will receive in return. This is a quality which someone walking on the Path of Dhamma has to keep on measuring himself by. Then kataññutā, katavedī- a feeling of gratitude. This is the second rare quality which should develop if someone is really practising Dhamma. With the feeling, "I have received this wonderful Dhamma which takes all the misery out of life," if gratitude does not arise, then certainly one is not developing in Dhamma.

  When I came to this country and started teaching, I kept saying that "I am teaching Dhamma, not Buddhism." This was not a question of strategy. Buddha never taught Buddhism; he taught Dhamma. He called those walking on the path dhammiko, dhammattho, dhamma-cāri, dhamma-vihāri. Can I improve on the teaching of Buddha? He did not teach in the name of Buddhism. He made people "dhammic." I felt I should teach Dhamma to people in the same way-sīla, samādhi and paññā-the practical applied Dhamma. If I had only given sermons, then the people of this country would have said, "No thank you. We already have this; we have our Gitā."

  The Gitā's concept of sthitapragya became very clear to me through the teaching I received from Sayagyi. Before then it had only been a word in the Gitā. Now I understood sthitapragya to be the quality of an arahant (fully liberated person), and now I was shown the way: hita pañño (to get established in wisdom). This is to be sampajāno. We must be aware of anicca from moment to moment, then we are getting established in paññā, or as the Gitā says, sthitapragya. But it must be practised, otherwise the words remain empty. Paññā is to understand the reality of the world of mind and matter and what lies beyond.

  This field of mind and matter, the field of the six sense doors is the field of anicca, constantly arising and passing. But we must experience it. Otherwise it is only a diṭṭhi (view) which has nothing to do with sammā diṭṭhi (right view). Only with experience is it paññā, and if it is continuous in every action-sitting, standing, walking, eating, drinking-then one becomes hita pañño- established in wisdom.

  This teaching of the Buddha made sthitapragya so clear to me: vedanā and sampajañña; this is dukkha, and this is the way out of dukkha. We must learn to observe dukkha objectively by developing sampajañña, and this will take us beyond the field of dukkha, beyond the field of vedanā.

  Many people come and say they are so grateful for the Dhamma, for the teaching that has come from the wonderful country of Burma. Initially people may hesitate. They may think, "This is Buddhism! This person is bringing nothing but Buddhism. He wants to convert us to another religion in an indirect way. He is a businessman, so he knows how to do it cunningly." But I smile at that. Yes, I was a businessman, no doubt. But understand- by converting you to a particular religion, what would I get? Tell me! If the President of the country said, "You must all call yourselves Buddhists," what would happen? Would people be liberated from their misery? No! But if only a small percentage of them start practising sīla, samādhi, and paññā, no matter what they call themselves, they will come out of their misery. This is more important-they should get pure Dhamma, free from all kinds of sectarianism. This was my conviction, and this has remained my conviction because I myself came to Dhamma in this way.

  If my teacher, Sayagyi U Ba Khin, had told me, "Come Goenka, I'll make a Buddhist out of you. I'll convert you to Buddhism," then I would not have learned Dhamma. Everyone has so much attachment to one's own tradition. And I come from a tradition where the ego is very strong: "We Hindus, our Veda is the source of all the wisdom of the world." To ask such a person to convert to another religion- impossible! Fortunately I found a wonderful teacher who was only interested in Dhamma. He said, "Come Goenka, I will teach you sīla, samādhi and paññā-a way out of your misery. Don't you agree that this moha, raga, this dosa, makes you very miserable?" "Yes sir, I do." Because I myself was a bundle of miseries, of anger, passion and ego. In spite of all the understanding of the Gitā, in spite of all the devotion, blind devotion, not a trace of my impurities had gone away.

  After I passed through this technique, I don't say that it made me a fully liberated person, but what a great change started happening! One has to be grateful. But if someone comes and tells me, "You teach sīla, samādhi and paññā, and this is wonderful, but please don't use the name of Buddha, because when you say Buddha, people will think, 'Oh, this is Buddhism. Look, he is converting us to Buddhism.'" I feel only pity for such a person, because even after a few courses he or she has not understood what Dhamma is. Kataññutā (gratitude) is a part of Dhamma; it is a yardstick to measure whether one is really progressing on the path of Dhamma or not.

  A wonderful person discovered this noble path by which he liberated himself. And then he distributed it compassionately, without any discrimination. He taught people to reach the stage where they could teach others-bahujana hitāya, bahujana sukhāya lokanukampāya (for the benefit of many, for the happiness of many, out of compassion for the world)-without expecting anything in return. His followers were not interested in starting a sect in the name of Buddha. Their only motivation was to help people to come out of their misery. One feels great gratitude towards those people.

  This wonderful technique was kept in its pristine purity from generation to generation through a chain of Teachers culminating in Sayagyi U Ba Khin-a brilliant star in the galaxy of stars, who gave me this wonderful Dhamma. How could I forget him? How could I not have gratitude towards Buddha? How could I not have gratitude toward this line of Teachers who kept it in its pristine purity? How can I not have gratitude towards my Sayagyi, U Ba Khin?

  And then the country of Myanmar which kept the technique in its pristine purity. Where not only paipatti, but the entire pariyatti was also kept in its pristine purity. A feeling of gratitude is bound to come. How carefully paipatti and pariyatti were maintained from one generation to another, without anything being added or subtracted. That is why we are getting them today. If pariyatti had not been kept available, then there might have been some doubt whether it was really Buddha's word or not. A feeling of gratitude is bound to come on the Path, even if one has taken only a few steps. Certainly one has to be grateful, very grateful.

  Those who come to practise pure Dhamma should understand they are not converting themselves to an organized religion, not at all. But they are certainly converting themselves to Dhamma, and Dhamma is purity of mind. Purity of mind must contain these qualities: love, compassion, selfless service and gratitude. These are the yardsticks which one can use to measure whether or not one is really purifying the mind. One may belong to any sect or tradition-whatever one has obtained from that tradition, one should remember: Whatever good qualities one has developed, one should remain grateful for.

  Remember the qualities of all good saintly people and try to adopt those qualities yourself. Then you will be a Dhamma person. Use this wonderful path to liberate yourself from all bondages. Don't just develop pride that you have got this wonderful path which others don't have. This pride will not help at all. You have to practise. Use pariyatti to support your practise. We are glad that the pariyatti in Tipiaka, Aṭṭhakathā, and the Tikā, were all maintained by the neighbouring country. India had lost it totally, and now it has returned. We must make good use of it.

  The Vipassana Research Institute is for research work, both for pariyatti and for paipatti. With the research work and the translations, we must understand that every language, however rich it may be, has its own limitations. Technical terms, such as those we have explored in this seminar, can only be understood by experience. The equivalent terms in some other language might create confusion in the minds of people. But when they practise and then listen to a word, try to understand a word, the meanings become so clear. So pariyatti and paipatti, theory and practice, should go together.

  Keep moving on the Path of Dhamma. Keep moving on the Path of liberation. Get enlightenment, your own enlightenment. Get wisdom, your own wisdom. Get the Dhamma which will arise in you, and which will manifest in your daily life.

  May all of you who have come to this Dhamma seminar reach the goal of final liberation; may all of you come out of your miseries. We receive inspiration from pariyatti, and all the fruit from paipatti. For those who have not yet tasted the nectar of Dhamma, may they get the opportunity to come in contact with pure Dhamma, the path of liberation. May they also taste the Dhamma's nectar of liberation.

  May all of you be happy. May all others be happy. May all of you be peaceful. May all others be peaceful. May all of you be liberated. May all others be liberated.

Bhavatu sabba maugala.

(May all beings be happy.)

 

A Hindu who learns Vipassana may continue to call himself a Hindu; a Muslim a Muslim, and so on for a Jain, a Christian, a Buddhist.

The important point is to become a good person, living a happy and harmonious life. Dhamma helps everyone to become a good human being.

-S.N. Goenka

 

 

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Bhavatu sabba maugala.

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-S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

Proper Veneration of the Buddha 

by S.N. Goenka

  For over seventeen years, the Patrika (Hindi language Vipassana newsletter) has been sent monthly to thousands of people in India. Each newsletter has featured an article-short or long- by Goenkaji. The following article has been extracted from different issues of the Patrika, and slightly adapted.

 

Incidents from the life of the Buddha

An announcement had been made that the Buddha would breathe his last when the full moon night of Vesākha4 came to an end. He was eighty years old. He lay underneath the twin sāla trees. Devotees were flocking in large numbers to pay their respects, carrying handfuls of flowers. Even the gods, out of their devotion, began to shower celestial flowers and celestial sandalwood powder. Divine musical instruments began to be played, and divine songs could also be heard. The Buddha said to Ānanda (who was attending him):

  "Ānanda! A Buddha is not honoured by such showering of flowers, or the sounds of musical instruments and celestial singing! The Buddha is honoured when some monk, or nun or lay meditator establishes himself or herself on the path of the bounteous Dhamma, and begins to live a life of truth and purity.

Ānanda, let the people take note of this!"

  On another occasion the Buddha had been asked whether a cetiya (stupa) could be built as a memorial during his lifetime. The Buddha answered that a cetiya could be built during the Buddha's lifetime, but that planting a bodhi tree was a more appropriate memorial for him; for, under its shade, seekers would feel inspired to meditate and work for nibbāna (freedom from suffering).


4 The full moon of May, the day the Buddha was born, enlightened and passed into parinibbāna (death of a fully enlightened being).

 

 

Ānanda once asked the Buddha, "What will be done with your dead body?" The Buddha explained: "Many devotees of the Buddha will prepare a mound (stupa) on the remnants of the body after it is consumed by fire. They will honour it with flowers, incense, garlands, and so on. By these acts they will purify their minds to an extent and, as a consequence, will be blessed with enjoyment for a long time. They will be reborn in a happy world."

  Even so, the Buddha's serious teaching was not merely to afford his followers a happy birth in the next life. His teaching was to take them beyond all lives, beyond the wheel of suffering and rebirth. He used to tell serious meditators, therefore, to keep themselves apart from honouring his body in the conventional way. They should, instead, engage themselves in the realization of the ultimate truth.

  Other instances illustrating the proper way to revere the Buddha involved his mother, Mahāpajāpati Gotami. Siddhattha Gotama's birth mother, Mahāmāyā, died on the seventh day after giving birth. Mahāmāyā's younger sister, Mahāpajāpati, brought him up. On the death of her older sister, Mahāpajāpati entrusted her own son to the care of a wet nurse, and fed Siddhattha at her own breast.

  In her old age, Mother Gotami was ordained by the Buddha and joined the order of bhikkhunis (nuns). Ardently practising Vipassana, she became an arahant (fully enlightened person).

  All those who received Dhamma from the Buddha were called his own "sons" and "daughters." Age and worldly relationships did not matter at all. This is why, at a very old age, Mother Gotami proclaimed: "O, Sugata! I am your mother. And you, O brave one, are my father!"

  Shortly before her demise, Mother Gotami became very joyful, knowing that this was to be her last demise. Filled with gratitude, she remembered the Buddha: "O father! You gave me birth in the true Dhamma. O son! I quenched your thirst for short periods by feeding you at my breast. But, father! You have quenched my thirst for life-after-life by making me taste the nectar of Dhamma. Son! I fed you at my breast for your physical growth. In return, O father, you gave me the nectar of Dhamma for the growth of my Dhamma-body. It may be easy for a woman to be called Queen or Mother Queen, but it is a rare thing to be called Buddha's mother."

  Thus Mother Gotami, overflowing with gratitude, properly venerated the Buddha. She also taught others how to pay proper respect. When some of the monks and nuns who had not yet experienced the stage of liberation came to know of her impending demise, they became highly perturbed and started wailing. Mother Gotami, Dhamma person that she was, then explained to them, "This is an auspicious time, a time for rejoicing! An opportunity to come out of the rounds of birth and death is an auspicious occasion. This cannot be an occasion for moistening of the eyes." Then she told them that if they had true reverence for her, the only way to express it would be to strive to get established in the noble Dhamma.

 

Preserving the Tradition of Proper Veneration

  The tradition of honouring the Buddha in the proper manner was preserved in Burma by a limited number of people. Students of Sayagyi U Ba Khin used to pay respect to the Dhamma by bowing down before him three times, in accordance with the local tradition. But Sayagyi taught serious meditators how to pay respect to the Teacher correctly. He taught them to observe the sensations of anicca (arising and passing away) at the top of the head when they bowed for the first time. The second time they were to experience dukkha (the truth of suffering), and the third time anattā (the truth of egolessness). Reverence expressed in this manner is the proper reverence; otherwise it is merely an empty ritual.

  The real benefit accrues to a meditator only if he or she honours the Buddha in the proper way.

 

Emulating the Wise

  If one wishes to honour one's favourite saint or deity, one should recollect his or her good qualities and, getting inspiration from these, try to emulate them in one's life. This alone constitutes true veneration.

  Similarly, anyone desiring to pay respects to the Buddha should recall his qualities. Inspired by these qualities, one should try to emulate them. Then one avoids becoming entangled in a sectarian net.

  When venerating the Buddha, one should express: "Salutation to the one who is bhagavā (an exalted being), arahant (liberated being), sammā sambuddha (self-enlightened being of surpassing magnitude)!" This recognition means that one honours the qualities of enlightenment, whether possessed by Gotama Buddha, Kassapa Buddha, or anyone else. One does not revere any particular person, but all people who attain enlightenment.

  This is why in the field of true Dhamma, proper respect is demonstrated by

 acknowledging, "The Buddhas of the past, the Buddhas of the future, the present Buddhas-I honour at all times."

  A being who becomes perfectly enlightened radiates infinite compassion for all suffering beings. An Enlightened One realizes that many people who are deeply entangled in sectarianism, rites, ritual and philosophical speculations may not grasp the true Dhamma (law of nature). But at least some-who are less engrossed in these-may get benefited by Dhamma. Such a person therefore distributes Dhamma with open hands, without any distinction of caste or creed. This is why he is called sattha (the teacher). He is the teacher of the rich and poor, the well-read and the illiterate, male and female, rulers and subjects, gods and men!

  Whenever one wishes to honour the Buddha, one should understand that true veneration occurs when one remembers the Enlightened One's qualities, and works to develop these qualities oneself.

 

Qualities of the Triple Gem

  Followers of the Buddha take refuge in the Triple Gem: the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha. How did the Buddha himself define these three?

  Gotama Buddha once defined a buddha as follows: "A buddha is one who, having discriminatory knowledge of the entire field of suffering, understands the arising and passing of all miseries, is completely free from mental defilements, is pristinely pure and will not be reborn."

  A Buddha is always known by the following qualities:

He is an exalted one (bhagavā) because, having vanquished all craving, aversion and delusion, he lives the life of a liberated person.

He is a conqueror of enemies (araha) because he has annihilated all his enemies, in the form of mental impurities.

Having become fully enlightened by his own rightful efforts (sammā sambuddho), he is a perfectly enlightened being.

He is perfect in both wisdom and conduct

(vijja-caraa-sampanno).

He has gone to the ultimate truth (sugato) because he has become pure in body, speech and mind.

He is the knower of worlds (loka-vidū) because he understands them through personal experience.

He is the unsurpassed charioteer of tameable men (anuttaro purisa-damma-sārathi)

He is teacher of gods and men (satthā deva-manussāna).

  Anyone who acquires these qualities will become a Buddha. And whoever is a Buddha will have these qualities.

  Buddha is not the name of a person, community, or sect. There are many other appellations of Buddha, expressing his qualities, such as:

Lord (bhagavā), conqueror (jina), valorous (mahāvira), omniscient (sabbaññū), truth-discoverer (Tathāgata), possessor of ten strengths (dasa-bala), one having exhausted all defilements (khiāsavo), highly compassionate (mahā-kāruiko), free from passion (vita-rāgo), free from aversion (vita- doso), free from delusion (vita-moho), free from craving (vita-taho), truth- perceiver (sacca-dassī), nibbāna- perceiver (nibbāna-dassī), Dhamma-bodied (Dhamma-kāyo), and many more.

  All these names signify qualities, characteristics-the nature of Buddha. They are, therefore, universal. There is nothing sectarian about these terms.

Such a person teaches Dhamma as follows: This is sīla, this is samādhi, this is paññā.

After sīla is perfected, samādhi proves highly beneficial.

After samādhi is perfected, paññā proves highly beneficial.

After paññā is perfected, the mind becomes free from all impurities.

  Dhamma taught by a Buddha has the following attributes:

It is well-explained (svākkhāto).

It can be experienced in this life (sandiṭṭhiko).

It gives immediate results (akāliko).

It invites people to "come and see" (ehipassiko).

Every successive step takes one towards the final goal of full liberation (opanayiko).

It is to be experienced by each person of average intelligence, for oneself (paccatta veditabbo viññūhīti).

  Dhamma is not sectarian. It is called by several other names:

Eternal dhamma (esa dhammo sanantano); noble eightfold path (ariyo aṭṭhaugiko maggo); true dhamma (saddhammo); pure dhamma (visuddhi- dhammo); dhamma leading to full liberation (vimutti-dhammo); noble dhamma (ariyo-dhammo); stainless dhamma (sukka dhammo); foremost dhamma (aggo dhammo); ancient dhamma (purāo dhammo).

  The Sangha characterized by the Buddha comprises those who, practising Dhamma according to his teachings, have become stream-enterer, once-returner, non-returner or fully enlightened ones. This is not an assembly of ordinary people.

  Like Buddha and Dhamma, Sangha is characterized by universal qualities such as:

Being worthy of invitation (āhuneyyo); worthy of hospitality (pāhueyyo); worthy of offerings (dakkhieyyo); worthy to be saluted with folded hands (añjali-karaiyo); field of merit par excellence (anuttara puññākkhetta); temperate, tranquil (danto, santo); free from passion, spotless (virajo, vimalo); composed, not diffused (nippapaññco).

  When we take refuge in the Triple Gem, when we honour Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha, let us remember their qualities, and work diligently to develop these very qualities ourselves.@

 

By living a life of purity, we properly honour the Buddha

True veneration of the Buddha occurs only when we practise the following:

Abstention from killing. Abstention from stealing.

Abstention from sexual misconduct.

Abstention from speaking lies, backbiting, slander, bitter and frivolous talk.

Abstention from the use of intoxicants.

Abstention from trafficking in weapons, liquor, poison, meat and animals.

Abstention from reflection on malevolence, passion and anger.

Mindfulness of natural, normal respiration.

Awareness of physical sensations arising as a result of mental defilements.

Realizing the impermanent nature of the mind-matter phenomena at the base of physical sensations.

Self-realization that all sensations, however pleasant, are impermanent in nature and, ultimately, turn into suffering.

Feeling disenchantment towards the free flow of pleasant, subtle vibrations throughout the body, realizing that relishing them is hideous, horrible and perpetuates the wheel of suffering.

Self-realization that the notion of "I," "mine," "my soul" in the mind-matter phenomena (which occur as a result of cause and effect) is fictitious.

Self-realization that the sense doors and their objects are impermanent, the cause of suffering and bereft of any substance.

Complete objectivity towards craving, aversion and delusion after realizing that the sense doors and their objects are impermanent, the cause of suffering and bereft of any substance.

Eradication of the old stock of sakhāras by remaining equanimous and preventing the formation of new sakhāras by observing the body sensations as anicca.

Leading a life of sati (awareness) and sampajañña (constant thorough understanding of impermanence) in

all situations, such as standing, sitting, walking, eating, bathing, sleeping, waking, etc.

Self-realization of the path and fruit of the stages of a stream-enterer, once-returner, non-returner, and fully enlightened

one after actual experience of the stage of stream-enterer, through unceasing practice of sati and sampajañña.

Leading a life of loving-kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy and holy detachment; and working ceaselessly for the good of all beings.

 

 

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What Happens at Death?

by S.N. Goenka

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 appears 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 with 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 moment starts the play of a new life. On the 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 in between, or as if the moment of death is the end of one chapter in the book of becoming, and another chapter of life begins the very next moment.

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

  This changing of "tracks" happens automatically. As the melting of ice into water and the cooling of water to form ice happens according to laws of nature, so 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 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 cuti-disappearance, death). The demise of the body takes place, and immediately the next life starts (a process which is called paisandhi-conception or taking up of the next birth). 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 someone is wise, he or she will use this life to the best advantage and prepare for a good death. The best death is the one that is the last, that is 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 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 we must understand what kamma (action) is.

  The healthy or unhealthy volition of our mind is kamma. Before performing any action at the mental, vocal, or physical level, whatever wholesome or unwholesome volition arises in the mind is the root of that action. The consciousness arises due to a contact at a sense door, then the saññā (perception and recognition) evaluates the experience, sensations (vedanā) arise, then a kammic reaction (sakhāra) takes place. These volitional reactions are of various kinds. How strong is the volition? How slow, deep, shallow, heavy or light? According to this the intensity of these reactions will vary. Some are like a line drawn on water, some like a line drawn on sand and some a line on rock. If the volition is wholesome, then the action will be the same and the fruits will be beneficial; and if the volition is unwholesome, then the action will be the same-it will give fruits of misery.

  Not all of these reactions result in a new birth. Some are so shallow that they do not give any substantial fruits. Some are a bit heavier but will be used up in this lifetime. They do not carry over into the next life. Others being still heavier continue with the flow of life into the next birth, but they themselves do not give new birth. Nevertheless they can continue to multiply during this life and the next. Many kammas however, are bhava-kammas, or bhava-sakhāras, those that give a new birth, a new life. Each one of these bhava-kammas (actions that give rise to the process of becoming) carries a magnetic force that is in tune with the vibrations of a particular plane of existence. The vibrations of a particular bhava-kamma will unite with the vibrations of the bhava-loka (world, plane) that has the same intensity, and the two will attract each other according to the universal laws pertaining to forces of kamma.

  As soon as one of these bhava-kammas is generated, this "railway train of becoming" gets attracted to one or the other of the thirty- one tracks at the station of death. Actually these thirty-one tracks are the thirty-one fields of existence. They are the eleven kama lokas (realms of sensuality: the four lower realms of existence, and the seven human and celestial realms); the sixteen rūpa-Brahmā lokas (where fine material body remains), and the four arūpa-Brahmā lokas (non-material realms, where only mind remains).

  At the last moment of this life, a specific bhava-sakhāra will arise. This sakhāra capable of giving a new birth will get connected with the vibrations of the related realm of existence. At the moment of death the whole field of thirty-one realms is open, so it depends on which sakhāra arises as to which track the train of existence runs on next. In the same way a train gets shunted onto a new track, the force of the bhava-kamma reaction provides the push to the flow of consciousness into the next existence. For example, the bhava-kamma of anger or malice, being of the nature of heat and agitation, will unite with some lower field of existence. Similarly, one with the nature of mettā (compassionate love), having peaceful and cool vibrations can only unite with some Brahmā-loka. This is the law of nature, and these laws are so perfectly "computerized" that there is never any flaw in the operation.

  At the moment of death, generally, some intense sakhāra will arise; it may be either of a wholesome nature or an unwholesome nature. For example, if one has murdered one's father or mother, or perhaps some saintly person, in this lifetime, then the memory of this episode will arise at the moment of death. Likewise if one has done some deep meditation practice, a similar state of mind will arise.

  When there is no such dense bhava- kamma to arise, then a comparatively less dense kamma will arise. Whatever memory is awakened will manifest as the kamma. For example, one may remember a wholesome kamma of giving food to a saintly person, or one may remember killing someone. Reflections on such past kammas as these may arise. Otherwise, objects related to the particular kamma may arise. One may see the plate full of food that was offered as dana, or the gun that was used to kill another. These are called the kamma-nimittas (signs).

  In another case, a sign or a symbol of the next life may appear. This is called gati- nimitta (departing sign). These nimmitas correspond to whichever bhava-loka the flow is being attracted towards, such as the scene of some celestial world, or perhaps of an animal world. The dying person will often experience one of these signs as a forewarning, just as the train's 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 the tracks leading to the lower realms of existence. He clearly understands the laws of nature, and practises to keep himself ready for death at all times. If he has reached an advanced age, there is all the more reason to remain aware every moment. What preparations are undertaken? One practises Vipassana, remaining equanimous to whatever sensations arise on the body and thereby breaking the habit pattern of reacting to the unpleasant sensations. Thus the mind, which is usually generating new unwholesome sakhāras, develops a new habit of remaining equanimous. Very often at the time of death, if there are no very heavy sakhāras to arise, habitual reactions occur; and as the new sakhāra is being made, an old one from the storehouse might get stirred up onto the surface, gaining in strength as it arises.

  At the approach of death, it is very likely that one will experience very unpleasant sensations. Old age, disease and death are dukkha (misery). They produce unpleasant sensations of a grosser type. If one is not skilful in observing these sensations with equanimity, then one will be likely to react with feelings of anger, irritation, maybe malice, which provides an opportunity for a bhava-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 bhava- sakhāras lying deep in the bhavaga (seat of birth-producing kamma) will not have an opportunity to arise. An ordinary person will usually remain apprehensive, even terror- stricken at the approach of death and thus will give occasion for a fearful bhava-sakhāra to surface. In the same way, grief, sorrow, depression, and other feelings may 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 his or her sensations with equanimity, weakens the sakhāra and thus does not allow it to 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 link up with a track on which it will be possible to practise Vipassana in the new life. In this way, one saves oneself from birth in a lower realm and attains one of the higher realms, which is very important because Vipassana cannot be practised in the lower realms.

  A meditator who is on the point of death is fortunate to have close relatives or friends nearby who can help maintain a good Dhamma atmosphere, free from lamenting and gloom; people who can practise Vipassana and generate vibrations of mettā, which are most favourable for a peaceful death.

At times a non-meditator will attain a favourable rebirth at the time of death due to the the manifestation of wholesome bhava- sakhāras such as generosity, morality and other strong wholesome qualities. But the special achievement of an established Vipassana meditator is that he enables himself to attain an existence where he can continue to practise Vipassana. In this way, by slowly decreasing the stock of accumulated bhava- sakhāras stored in the bhavaga of his flow of consciousness, one shortens one's journey of becoming and reaches the goal sooner.

 

One comes into contact with the Dhamma in this life because of great merits one has performed in the past. Make this human life successful by practising Vipassana. Then whenever death comes, it will come with the experience of an equanimous mind, bringing with it well-being for the future.

  N.B.: The analogy of a running train changing tracks should not be mistaken for transmigration, as no entity goes from one life to the next. Nothing passes to the next life except the force of the accumulated kamma sakhāras.

 

 

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What Wonderful People

by S.N. Goenka

 

U Chan Htoon

  Before coming in contact with the Buddha, Sāriputta met Assaji, one of the first five disciples of the Buddha. It was from this saintly person that he first heard the benevolent words of pure Dhamma:

Ye Dhamma hetuppabhavā tesa hetu Tathāgato āha,

Tesa ca yo nirodho eva vādī mahāsamao.

Those phenomena which arise due to some cause, that cause has been explained by the Buddha.

And also its cessation.

Such is the teaching of the Great Monk (Ascetic).

  With these words arose the wisdom of anicca (impermanence) at the depth of Sāriputta's mind. He thereupon attained the stage of sotāpanna (stream-enterer).

  With this direction from Assaji, Sāriputta went to the Buddha to take refuge, and accomplished all that has to be accomplished in this life. Although he attained the status of Dhamma Senapati (Commander-in-Chief of Dhamma), Sāriputta always remembered Ven. Assajit with a feeling of deep gratitude. He paid respects to him mentally everyday.

  There can be no comparison with those great arahants (liberated beings) of the Buddha's day; yet I can never forget my feeling of gratitude towards U Chan Htoon, the ex-Judge of the Supreme Court of the Union of Burma. It was he who pointed me in the direction of the late Sayagyi U Ba Khin, from whom I received the wonderful path of liberation.

  I had known U Chan Htoon since the days when he was the Attorney General of Burma. In time, we became very close friends. He became Judge of the Supreme Court and General Secretary of the Buddha Sāsana Council, as well as President of the World Fellowship of Buddhists. It was while he was General Secretary of the Buddha Sāsana Council that the meritorious, historical Chaṭṭha Sagāyana (Sixth Synod) was held. In those days, I had the opportunity to render him some small services related to this work. I also had the wonderful opportunity of coming into contact with many very high, respected monks of the country.

  At that time, I was a victim of unbearable outbreaks of migraine. Every fortnight, severe migraine attacks would strike, and no medicine could help me. The doctors started giving me morphine injections. Then a fear arose that I might become a morphine addict. The best doctors in Burma had no cure, so I decided to visit some Western countries in search of a treatment to at least break my dependency on morphine.

  I went to Switzerland, Germany, England, America, and Japan for these treatments. U Chan Htoon had friends in the Burmese embassies of each of these countries- either the ambassador or the first secretary or the military attache. He gave me letters of introduction to these people. U Chan Htoon was really worried about my incurable disease. His friends gave me very good assistance. They arranged prompt appointments with the best doctors in each of the countries.

  After being treated for many months, I returned home with neither improvement nor relief. Freedom from the disease of migraine was far away. I could not even get rid of morphine, as no other painkiller tried on me would work. I was greatly disappointed and depressed.

  At that time, U Chan Htoon suggested that I meet U Ba Khin and take a ten-day Vipassana course with him. He was very confident that I would be benefited. He said, "The Lord Buddha gave a path to come out of all the miseries of countless lives. Why not give a trial to this path? Quite possibly you may get relieved from your physical misery."

  What followed is now history. It gave a new direction to my life. What a wonderful new turn to the life, what a pleasant turn, what a benevolent turn! The curse of migraine headaches turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

  The company of a good friend is always beneficial, and a good friend is one who inspires and helps one to take the path of true Dhamma. In this way, U Chan Htoon was my good friend, my true friend. I always remember him with a feeling of deep gratitude for having pointed out to me the path of true Dhamma. I always feel so pleased to share my merits of Dhamma-dūta (work of spreading Dhamma) with him.

 

The Bhikkhu Sagha of Myanmar

  The Buddha experienced the peace of nibbāna (the ultimate reality) within himself, and throughout his life he kept teaching people the technique to experience this peace themselves. He had totally purified his own mind, and was teaching people how to do that themselves. Naturally Buddha was a peace- loving person, a purity-loving person.

  He did not like noise, nor filth. This is why in the temples of Buddha and the viharas (monasteries) of the monks, so much importance is given to silence and cleanliness, even today.

  I grew up in Mandalay, the old capital of Burma. During my childhood and adolescence I visited many temples of Buddha, and a few viharas (monasteries), where I would feel greatly inspired. In some other temples, I encountered such a great din, such clutter. In contrast, the peace and cleanliness of the Buddhist temples was very attractive to me.

  In those days, in the early morning before sunrise, I would see lines of saffron-clad monks walking along the street for their morning alms round. Viewing this scene, great respect and devotion arose within me. All the bhikkhus (monks) walked in complete silence (tu bhāvo), with eyes downcast (okkhitta cakkhu), walking with measured steps (pāda alolupa). They appeared to me to be the perfect personification of peace.

  The devoted Burmese householders knew very well that this was the time for the bhikkhus to go out for alms. The housewives would rise very early to prepare food for them, and wait respectfully at the gates of their houses for their silent arrival. The monks would approach with downcast eyes, without speaking a single word. They would accept the alms from the householders, keeping their eyes downcast the entire time. Then they would move further. They did not utter a word to beg for their alms.

 

In comparison to this shining example, we observe so much crying and beseeching by the begging mendicants, and so much greediness and quarrelling among the priests. The priests display such unwholesome efforts, trying to forcefully procure dana (donation) by any method. At times they praise the householder's generosity to the skies; and if this method proves unsuccessful, they denounce the donor's miserliness. As if generosity can be aroused by such insults. What a great difference between the two scenes!

  The rules of the Vinaya (guidelines of conduct for the monks) were laid down by the Buddha 2,500 years ago, and are still being scrupulously followed in our time. A sensible person will naturally develop a feeling of respect towards these monks, witnessing the ideal peace, serenity and modesty in their behaviour. Their beneficent examples made a deep impression on my young mind which continues to be there, even today.

 

The Service of the Bhikkhu Sagha to Society

  The five fingers of our hands are never alike. In a flock of sheep, there are always a few black ones. But the Bhikkhu Sagha (order of monks) of Myanmar generally lives a life of morality. It is true that most of them do not practise the technique of Vipassana meditation. Nevertheless, a large number of them have a deep knowledge of the scriptures, and nearly everyone lives a moral life. There are about 200,000 monks in a population of four million in Myanmar, but this large number is not a burden to the country. The usefulness of the monks to the society is unquestionable.

  In every village there is a monastery in which one or more monks reside, living on alms given very respectfully by the local villagers. The monks not only give religious instruction to the villagers, but other mundane teachings as well, such as instruction in reading, writing and mathematics to the children of the village. This is the reason why virtually the entire population of Myanmar is literate, except for a few hill tribes where the teaching of Buddha did not penetrate. The credit for this goes to the monks who serve the villages so selflessly. This was one reason why a feeling of great respect arose within me towards the Sangha.

  In my teenage years I saw how these monks were also leaders in other social services. In those days, Gandhiji's movement in India was encouraging the use of locally-made products. This impulse swept the country like a tidal wave, and tens of thousands of people in villages across India began spinning their own khādi (home-spun cotton) and weaving their own fabrics, rather than using fabric imported from Britain. Burma was also influenced by this sentiment, and the social service-minded monks were the leaders of this movement.

  In those days the women of Burma wore blouses made from cotton organdy manufactured in Manchester, England. This was harmful in two ways. The policy of importing all of this cotton into the country had devastated the local weaving industry and helped to impoverish the country. In addition, the very fine imported cloth was transparent, and it was improper in this strict Buddhist culture for women to wear such revealing clothing. Unfortunately, this had become the fashion and little else was available, since there was no locally-made product to compete with it. The Burmese women stopped using organdy because the monks championed the cause of reviving homespun cotton. Seeing their combined spiritual and social service to the nation, tremendous devotion and respect towards the monks developed in me, even at a tender age.

 

Bhikkhu Uttama

  During my childhood, there was a famous Burmese monk named Bhikkhu Uttama. He had gone to live in India, where he played a very important role in the national freedom and social movements there. Burma and India were of course one country then, under British colonial rule. At one time Bhikkhu Uttama was the president of the All India Hindu Mahāsabhā (Congress). He was a source of inspiration and encouragement to the other monks in Burma who wanted to follow India's lead in movements like the production of khādi cloth.

  At that time I was in primary school, and this venerable monk visited Mandalay while touring Burma. A public observance was held at our school. Our teacher, Paṇḍita Kalyan Dutt Dube, was a Hindi poet as well as a teacher, and he composed a poem in praise of Bhikkhu Uttama for the occasion. This poem was taught to me and five or six students of the same age, and we sang the words of the song at the public gathering. I still remember the last few words:

  "As you are Uttama (Great), similarly make us uttama."

  Our teacher gave a short speech honouring Bhikkhu Uttama, describing his great services to the nation. This had a great impact on my young mind. This was yet another reason why I was attracted to the Burmese Bhikkhu Sagha at a young age.

 

Contact with Members of the Bhikkhu Sagha

  After Burma gained independence in 1948, I had many occasions to have contact with the Bhikkhu Sagha. For example, I was fortunate in meeting Ven. Ananda Kosalyayana and Bhikkhu Jagdish Kashyapa. They were two important Indian bhikkhus who initiated the work of helping people to understand the Buddha's teaching once again in India. They did the first translations into Hindi of Aguttara Nikāya and Sayutta Nikāya. Whenever they visited Burma, they would often stay at my Mogul Street residence. Even if they stayed elsewhere, they always gave me the opportunity to invite them to my home for meals. Through them I met some of the leading monks in Rangoon. Then in 1954-56 during the Chaṭṭha Sagāyana (Sixth Recitation of the Buddha's teachings), I came in contact with many more monks through my friend U Chan Htoon and other Burmese friends.

During the pre-war days, when I was living in Mandalay, I had seen the Buddhavāi- words of the Buddha which had been inscribed on marble slabs during the fifth Sagāyana under the auspices of King Min Don Min. But in those days I had no knowledge of the subject whatsoever, and therefore it did not make any impression on me. It was only during the sixth Sagāyana that I came to understand that the compilation of the words of the Buddha's teachings, and the commentaries and sub commentaries, were such a vast literature. This was a very pleasant surprise to me. A much greater surprise was to learn that this huge literature had been preserved in its pristine purity for ongoing centuries without any alteration-not only in Burma, but also in Sri Lanka, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. This realization generated a further feeling of immense gratitude and devotion in me towards the Bhikkhu Sagha. The Buddha's words are compiled in three divisions. This is why the scriptures of the Buddha are called Tipiaka (three baskets, or containers). They contain the Sutta-Piaka (the basket of discourses), the Vinaya-Piaka (the basket of the rules for the monks), and the Abhidhamma-Piaka (the basket of sublime theoretical teachings). One branch of the Sangha memorizes the entire literature of the Sutta-Piaka from generation to generation. This branch is called Suttadhara. Similarly, the other branches are called Vinayadhara and Abhidhammadhara.

  Through the ages there were a number of very intelligent individual bhikkhus who had memorized, and could recite, all the three Piakas. They were called Tipiakadhara. In postwar Burma there were three such Tipiakadharas. One of these monks was living in Mingun Monastery near my birthplace in Mandalay, on the other bank of the Irawaddy River. I remember going to Mingun on one occasion to pay respects to this venerable monk. I was astounded by the magnitude of his intellect. Currently he occupies the exalted position of Raṭṭhaguru (spiritual teacher of the nation).

  I was also greatly influenced by Ven. Mahāthera U Thithila, who had lived in England for many years. He is extremely competent in explaining the most intricate points of Dhamma in very simple English. When I first became interested in the Buddha's teaching, I had tried to read the Pāli texts in English translation; but I was not proficient in English, and the language of the Pāli Text Society translations was too difficult for me. The Burmese translations were also too technical for my understanding in that language. I knew so little about the theory of Dhamma, and there was very little material about Dhamma available in my own language-Hindi-at that time. This monk helped me to understand Dhamma in English in simple terms, and I am so grateful to him for that.

 

Venerable Mahāthera U Janakābhivansa and Mahāpaṇḍita Rahula Sankrityayana

  I also met the Ven. Mahāthera U Janakābhivansa who lived in a monastery ināmarapura near Mandalay. I was highly influenced not only by his great intellect, but also by his simplicity, humility and capacity for hard work. He has written scores of books on Dhamma in simple Burmese. The entire nation of Myanmar has great respect for him. What I saw was that he did not have even a trace of ego. I observed not one iota of intellectual pride. I found him to be the incarnation of simplicity, honesty and egolessness.

  He had the habit of writing all of his articles while standing at a tall desk, like a lectern. I saw him at this desk working in this way, writing in a big register book. He had a large cabinet full of reference books, but his memory and intellect were so powerful, it is said that he hardly used them.

  He reminded me of the famous Indian bhikkhu MahāPaṇḍita Rahula Sankrityayana, who later on voluntarily disrobed (i.e., resumed the life of a householder). He was a top literary figure in India and President of the All India Peasant Organization. He was a master linguist, a Sanskrit and Pāli scholar and the first to translate the Digha Nikāya (the Long Discourses of the Buddha) into Hindi. For me it was like ambrosia to be able to read Buddha's words in my own tongue.

 He was a voluminous writer on many subjects, producing over a hundred scholarly books. He did all of his writing lying down on the floor! He would write for hours in this manner, lying on his stomach. It is said that he wouldn't write well sitting up. He used to come to my house in Rangoon quite often, and I felt very close to him.

  After meeting Sayagyi and coming into contact with Vipassana, I was fortunate to meet quite a few leading bhikkhus of Burma, such as Masoyein Sayadaw of Mandalay, Chauthagyi Sayadaw of Rangoon and Kan U Sayadaw of Bahan. Their saintly behaviour influenced me greatly.

 

Venerable Mahasi Sayadaw

  In 1990, when I returned to my motherland, the Dhamma land of Myanmar after an interval of twenty-one years, it was a very pleasant surprise to discover that my son was living in a house which is close to Thathana Yeikta, the meditation centre of the late Ven. Mahasi Sayadaw. While I was staying there, early in the morning just before dawn, I would see a line of about one hundred fifty monks, coming out of the meditation centre and walking in front of my son's house. I was overwhelmed to behold such an inspiring sight once again. Each morning my daughter-in- law had prepared some food for the monks. As I put a portion in the begging bowl of each bhikkhu, my whole mind and body was filled with a feeling of great rapture.

  Each monk stopped for only ten or fifteen seconds in front of a house, just to give the devoted householder the opportunity to gain the merits of Saghadāna (giving donation to the order of monks) by placing some food in the begging bowls. Then they continued to walk in silence with eyes downcast.

  What more pleasing meritorious deed could there be than to give the first morning food to a diligent meditator who was moving with awareness in every step? Even now as I recall it, my entire being, mind and matter, starts vibrating with happiness. The sight of this line of exemplary recluses seems to contradict the words of Saint Kabir:

As there cannot be sacks of rubies, There cannot be flocks of swans; There cannot be packs of lions.

Similarly, there cannot be a group of saints walking together.

  Those who remain all the time extroverted, rolling in the pleasures of talking and intellectualizing, are not true saints. A saint is one who remains engaged in meditation all the time.

  It is indeed very rare to find a large number of recluses engaged in continuous meditation for long periods. Even if they exist, it is a rare event to see them. And even if one encounters them, it is a rare opportunity to offer them their first food of the day. All these rare opportunities were available to me, and therefore I became suffused with joy.

  In earlier days, I was very attracted to Ven. Mahasi Sayadaw himself. The Buddha Sāsana Council and its chairman, U Chan Htoon, used to invite people from different parts of the world to come to meditate at the Thathana Yeikta monastery where Ven. Mahasi Sayadaw was the master teacher. When Indians came and stayed there for extended periods, I would often go there to offer them Indian vegetarian food. U Chan Htoon would sometimes telephone, asking me to bring fruit and other dishes for the Indians. But before offering food to the meditators, I would take advantage of the opportunity to offer a portion to Mahasi Sayadaw. In this way I came to know him, and he would often take the time to speak with me about Dhamma and my practice. He knew very well that I was a close disciple of Sayagyi U Ba Khin, and at first I had a small fear that the venerable Sayadaw might suggest to me that I come and meditate with him. Some of my friends had insisted that I should do this, but I felt so satisfied with the practice I had learned from Sayagyi that I knew there was no point in going to another teacher. But, if Ven. Mahasi Sayadaw himself were to suggest it, I would have been put in a very embarrassing position.

 In our conversations we discussed how I was practising, and he always had very practical advice and encouragement for me. He said that what I was doing was correct and urged me to continue until I reached the final goal. He never once hinted that I should try his technique. This only increased my respect for this great bhikkhu.

  Usually he did not go to the houses of laymen to take food; instead, people brought food to his monastery. Once, very hesitantly, I requested him to please visit my house and take a meal there. With a smile he agreed to come. He came with three of his close disciples and we served them food. On this occasion he had a long discussion with me about what I was practising, and he expressed not one word against the way Sayagyi had taught me. In fact, he expressed a deep appreciation for this method of teaching. He never held a sectarian view of the practice of meditation, and my respect for him grew with continued contact.

 

Mahāthera Webu Sayadaw

  The greatest impact of the Bhikkhu Sagha, at the deepest level of my heart, occurred when I came into contact with Mahāthera Webu (Vipula) Sayadaw. Sayagyi had a very strong connection with this saintly monk. The Sayadaw visited his centre in Rangoon several times.

  Besides seeing him, listening to him and paying respect to him at the International Meditation Centre, I was fortunate to have visited his centre in upper Burma, with Sayagyi and some other of his students. As we reached his centre, the venerable Sayadaw had just finished his meal, and I was surprised to see him sitting beside a water tap at the side of a small lane, cleaning his begging bowl. He had hundreds of disciples around him who would happily have performed such services for him, but he did not allow others to do his chores. He always swept his own room, washed his own clothes, etc., with perfect humility.

  He took us to the room in his own residence where usually no outsiders were allowed to visit, and there he talked with us.

  The glow and the peace on his benevolent face, his heart-catching smile, and the calm and pleasant atmosphere around him would be a source of attraction to any person, not just a Vipassana meditator.

  My gratitude and respect for all the venerable Sagha was crowned with the respect I felt for this arahant, Ven. Webu Sayadaw.

 

 

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ƒ~ƒƒƒ“ƒ}[‚Ì”ä‹uSagha

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”ä‹uUttama

Žq‹Ÿ‚Ì A”ä‹uUttama‚Æ‚¢‚¤—L–¼‚ȃrƒ‹ƒ}‚Ì‘m—µ‚ª‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ̓Cƒ“ƒh‚É“n‚èA‚»‚±‚Å‘–¯‚ÌŽ©—R‚ƎЉï‰^“®‚É‚¨‚¢‚Ä”ñí‚Éd—v‚È–ðŠ„‚ð‰Ê‚½‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B“–ŽžAƒrƒ‹ƒ}‚ƃCƒ“ƒh‚̓CƒMƒŠƒX‚ÌA–¯’nŽx”z‰º‚É‚ ‚èA“–‘R‚È‚ª‚çˆê‚‚̑‚Å‚µ‚½B‚©‚‚Ĕä‹uUttama‚Í‘SƒCƒ“ƒhEƒqƒ“ƒhƒD[EMahāsabhāi‰ï‹cj‚Ì‹c’·‚𖱂߂Ă¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍkhādiiŽè–a‚¬‚Ì–Èj‚̶ŽY‚̂悤‚ȃCƒ“ƒh‚̉^“®‚ɕ키‚ׂ«‚¾‚Æ‚·‚éƒrƒ‹ƒ}‚Ì‘m—µ‚½‚¿‚ɂƂÁ‚ÄAƒCƒ“ƒXƒsƒŒ[ƒVƒ‡ƒ“‚Æ—ã‚Ü‚µ‚ÌŒ¹‚Å‚µ‚½B

“–ŽžŽ„‚ͬŠw¶‚ÅA‚±‚Ì‚‹M‚È‘m—µ‚̓rƒ‹ƒ}‚ð„‹Æ’†‚Ƀ}ƒ“ƒ_ƒŒ[‚ð–K‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½BŠwZ‚Å‹L”OsŽ–‚ªŠJ‚©‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÌPaṇḍita Kalyan Dutt Dube涂̓qƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚ÌŽl‚Å‚ ‚苳Žt‚Å‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Í‚±‚Ì‹@‰ï‚ÉA”ä‹uUttama‚ðÌ‚¦‚鎂ð‰r‚݂܂µ‚½B‚±‚ÌŽ‚ÍŽ„‚Æ“¯”N‘ã‚Ì5A6l‚̶“k‚½‚¿‚É‹³‚¦‚ç‚êAŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÍW‰ï‚Å‚»‚ÌŽ‚ð‰Ì‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B¡‚Å‚àÅŒã‚Ì”s‚ðŠo‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

u‚ ‚È‚½‚ªUttamaiˆÌ‘å‚È‚éŽÒj‚Å‚ ‚邿‚¤‚ÉAŽ„‚½‚¿‚àUttama‚ƂȂç‚ꂽ‚¢Bv

æ¶‚Í”ä‹uUttama‚ðÌ‚¦A”Þ‚Ì‘‰Æ‚ւ̈̑å‚ÈvŒ£‚ðŒê‚é’Z‚¢ƒXƒs[ƒ`‚ð‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚Í—c‚¢Ž„‚ÌS‚É[‚¢‰e‹¿‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ꂪAŽ„‚ª—c‚¢ ‚Ƀrƒ‹ƒ}‚ÌSagha‚ÉŽä‚©‚ꂽ‚à‚¤ˆê‚‚̗—R‚Å‚·B

 

 

”ä‹uSagha‚Ƃ̌ð—¬

1948”N‚Ƀrƒ‹ƒ}‚ª“Æ—§‚ð‰Ê‚½‚µ‚½ŒãAŽ„‚Í”ä‹u‚ÌSagha‚Æ‘½‚­‚̌𗬂ðŽ‚Â‹@‰ï‚ÉŒb‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B—Ⴆ‚ÎAAnanda KosalyayanaŽt‚Æ”ä‹uJagdish Kashyapa‚É‚¨‰ï‚¢‚Å‚«‚½‚±‚Æ‚ÍK‰^‚Å‚µ‚½B“ñl‚̓Cƒ“ƒh‚É‚¨‚¢‚ÄAĂуuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ð—‰ð‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤Žx‰‡‚·‚銈“®‚ðŽn‚ß‚½Ad—v‚ȃCƒ“ƒhl”ä‹u‚Å‚·B”Þ‚ç‚ÍwAguttara Nikāyax‚ÆwSayutta Nikāyax‚ðƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚ɉ‚߂Ė|–󂵂܂µ‚½B“ñl‚̓rƒ‹ƒ}‚ð–K‚ê‚邽‚Ñ‚ÉA‚µ‚΂µ‚ÎŽ„‚̃‚ƒOƒ‹’Ê‚è‚Ì“@‘î‚É‘ØÝ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚½‚Æ‚¦‘¼​​‚ÌꊂɑØÝ‚·‚éꇂłàAŽ„‚̉ƂÌHŽ–‚É—ˆ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚¾‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ç‚ð’Ê‚µ‚ÄAŽ„‚̓‰ƒ“ƒO[ƒ“‚Ì’˜–¼‚È‘m—µ‚½‚¿‚Æo‰ï‚¤‚±‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ÌŒãA1954”N‚©‚ç1956”N‚É‚©‚¯‚Äs‚í‚ꂽChaṭṭha Sagāyanai‘æ˜Z‰ñƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚̉r¥‰ïj‚ÌŠúŠÔ’†A—Fl‚ÌU Chan Htoon‚ð‚Í‚¶‚߂Ƃ·‚éƒrƒ‹ƒ}l‚Ì—Fl‚ð’Ê‚µ‚ÄA‚³‚ç‚É‘½‚­‚Ì‘m—µ‚ƌ𗬂·‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂè‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

í‘OAƒ}ƒ“ƒ_ƒŒ[‚ÉZ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½ AMin Don Min‰¤‚̔݌ì‚̉ºA‘æŒÜSagāyana‚ÌŠúŠÔ’†‚É‘å—΂̔‚ɂ܂ꂽBuddhavāiiƒuƒbƒ_‚ÌŒ¾—tj‚ð–Ú‚É‚µ‚½‚±‚Æ‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µA“–Žž‚ÌŽ„‚Í‚±‚ÌŽå‘è‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä‘S‚­’mޝ‚ª‚È‚­A‰½‚ÌŠ´–Á‚àŽó‚¯‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‘æ˜ZSagāyana‚ÌŠúŠÔ’†‚ɂȂÁ‚ĉ‚ß‚ÄAƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Æ‚»‚Ì’ŽßA•›’Žß‚ð‚܂Ƃ߂½W‘嬂̖c‘å‚È•¶Œ£‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð’m‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ÍŽ„‚ɂƂÁ‚Ä‘å•ÏŠð‚µ‚¢‹Á‚«‚Å‚µ‚½B‚³‚ç‚ɑ傫‚È‹Á‚«‚ÍA‚±‚Ì–c‘å‚È•¶Œ£‚ªAƒrƒ‹ƒ}‚¾‚¯‚łȂ­AƒXƒŠƒ‰ƒ“ƒJAƒ^ƒCAƒ‰ƒIƒXAƒJƒ“ƒ{ƒWƒA‚É‚¨‚¢‚Ä‚àA‰½¢‹I‚É‚à‚킽‚èAˆê؂̉ü•ςȂ­Aƒˆ‚Ȃ܂ܕۑ¶‚³‚ê‚Ä‚«‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤Ž–ŽÀ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚±‚Ì”Fޝ‚ªA”ä‹uSagha‚ɑ΂·‚鎄‚Ì’†‚É‚³‚ç‚ÉŒv‚è’m‚ê‚È‚¢Š´ŽÓ‚Æ‹AˆË‚Ì”O‚ª¶‚¶‚Ü‚µ‚½B

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ŒÃ—ˆAŽO•”ì‚·‚ׂĂðˆÃ‹L‚µA‰r¥‚Å‚«‚é”ñí‚É‘–¾‚È”ä‹u‚ª”‘½‚­‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ç‚ÍTipiakadhara‚ƌĂ΂ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BíŒã‚̃rƒ‹ƒ}‚É‚ÍA‚»‚̂悤‚ÈTipiakadhara‚ª3l‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ê‚ç‚Ì‘m—µ‚̈êl‚ÍAŽ„‚̶‚Ü‚êŒÌ‹½‚Å‚ ‚éƒ}ƒ“ƒ_ƒŒ[‚̋߂­‚ÌAIrawaddyì‚̑Ί݂ɂ ‚éMingun‘m‰@‚ÉZ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚Í‚ ‚鎞A‚±‚Ì‚‹M‚È‘m—µ‚ÉŒhˆÓ‚ð•\‚·‚½‚ß‚ÉMingun‘m‰@‚ð–K‚ꂽ‚±‚Æ‚ðŠo‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚͔ނ̒m«‚Ì‚‚³‚É‹Á’Q‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½BŒ»ÝA”Þ‚ÍRaṭṭhagurui‘‚̃ƒ“ƒ^ƒ‹“IŽw“±ŽÒj‚Æ‚¢‚¤’‚‚È’nˆÊ‚ÉA‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

Ž„‚͂܂½A’·”NƒCƒMƒŠƒX‚ÉZ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½Mahāthera U ThithilaŽt‚©‚ç‚à‘å‚«‚ȉe‹¿‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍAƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÌÅ‚à•¡ŽG‚È“_‚ð”ñí‚É•½ˆÕ‚ȉpŒê‚Åà–¾‚·‚邱‚Ƃɔñí‚É’·‚¯‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚ª‰‚߂ăuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚É‹»–¡‚ðŽ‚Á‚½ Aƒp[ƒŠŒê‚ÌŒo“T‚ð‰p–ó‚Å“Ç‚à‚¤‚Æ‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªA‰pŒê‚ªŠ¬”\‚ł͂Ȃ­Aƒp[ƒŠŒêƒeƒLƒXƒg‹¦‰ï‚Ì–|–ó‚͓‚·‚¬‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒrƒ‹ƒ}Œê‚Ì–|–ó‚àê–å“I‚·‚¬‚ÄAƒrƒ‹ƒ}Œê‚Å—‰ð‚·‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½Bƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì—˜_‚ɂ‚¢‚Ă͂قƂñ‚Ç’m‚炸A“–ŽžA•ꑌê‚Å‚ ‚éƒqƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚鎑—¿‚͂قƂñ‚Ç‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½‚ªAMahāthera U ThithilaŽt‚ÍAŽ„‚ªƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚𕽈ՂȉpŒê‚Å—‰ð‚Å‚«‚邿‚¤‚É•‚¯‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅA–{“–‚ÉŠ´ŽÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B

 

Mahāthera U Janakābhivansa Žt‚ÆMahāpaṇḍita Rahula SankrityayanaŽt

Ž„‚͂܂½Aƒ}ƒ“ƒ_ƒŒ[‹ßx‚Ìināmarapura‚É‚ ‚é‘m‰@‚ÉZ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½Mahāthera U JanakābhivansaŽt‚É‚à‚¨‰ï‚¢‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B”ނ̈̑å‚È’m«‚¾‚¯‚łȂ­A‚»‚ÌŠÈ‘f‚³AŒª‹•‚³A‚»‚µ‚ċΕׂ³‚É‚àŽ„‚Í[‚­‰e‹¿‚ðŽó‚¯‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍŠÈ‘f‚ȃrƒ‹ƒ}Œê‚Ń_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÉŠÖ‚·‚锑½‚­‚Ì’˜‘‚ðŽ·•M‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·Bƒ~ƒƒƒ“ƒ}[‘–¯‘S‘Ì‚ª”Þ‚ð[‚­‘¸Œh‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·BŽ„‚ªŒ©‚½‚Ì‚ÍA”ނɂ͎©‰ä‚Ì‚©‚¯‚ç‚à‚È‚©‚Á‚½‚Æ‚¢‚¤‚±‚Ƃł·B

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ƒTƒ„ƒW‚Æo‰ï‚¢Aƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘z‚ÉG‚ꂽŒãAŽ„‚̓}ƒ“ƒ_ƒŒ[‚ÌMasoyein SayadawAƒ„ƒ“ƒSƒ“‚ÌChauthagyi SayadawABahan‚ÌKan U Sayadaw‚È‚ÇAƒrƒ‹ƒ}‚Ì’˜–¼‚È”ä‹u‚½‚¿‚Éo‰ï‚¤K‰^‚ÉŒb‚Ü‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ç‚̹l‚̂悤‚ÈU‚é•‘‚¢‚ÍAŽ„‚ɑ傫‚ȉe‹¿‚ð—^‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

 

Mahasi SayadawŽt

1990”NA21”N‚Ô‚è‚Ƀ_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì’n‚Å‚ ‚é‘c‘ƒ~ƒƒƒ“ƒ}[‚É–ß‚Á‚½ŽžA‘§Žq‚ªŒÌMahasi SayadawŽt‚ÌáÒ‘zƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚Å‚ ‚éThathana Yeikta‚̋߂­‚̉ƂÉZ‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚½‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚èA‘å•ÏŠð‚µ‚¢‹Á‚«‚ðŠo‚¦‚Ü‚µ‚½B‘ØÝ’†‚Ì–é–¾‚¯‘O‚Ì‘’©‚É–ñ150l‚Ì‘m—µ‚½‚¿‚ªáÒ‘zƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚©‚ço‚Ä‚«‚ÄA‘§Žq‚̉Ƃ̑O‚ð•à‚¢‚Ä‚¢‚­‚Ì‚ð–Ú‚É‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚̂悤‚ÈŠ´“®“I‚ÈŒõŒi‚ðĂіڂɂµAŽ„‚͈³“|‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B–ˆ’©A‹`—‚Ì–º‚ª‘m—µ‚½‚¿‚Ì‚½‚ß‚ÉHŽ–‚ð—pˆÓ‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚͈êlˆêl‚Ì”ä‹u‚½‚¿‚̑”«‚É­‚µ‚¸‚•ª‚¯‚Ä·‚µ“ü‚êASg‚Æ‚à‚É[‚¢Šì‚тɖž‚½‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‘m—µ‚½‚¿‚͉Ƃ̑O‚Å10•b‚©15•b‚Ù‚Ç—§‚¿Ž~‚Ü‚èAŒhåi‚È݉Ƃª‘”«‚ÉH‚ו¨‚ð•ù‚°‚邱‚Æ‚ÅSaghadānai‘m—µ‚Ì‹³’c‚Ö‚Ì•zŽ{j‚ÌŒ÷“¿‚𓾂é‹@‰ï‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚©‚ç”Þ‚ç‚͖ڂ𕚂¹‚½‚Ü‚ÜA©‚É•à‚«‘±‚¯‚Ü‚·B

ˆê•àˆê•à‚Ɉӎ¯‚ðW’†‚µ‚Ä•à‚ދΕׂÈáÒ‘zŽÒ‚ÉA’©ˆê”Ô‚ÌHŽ–‚ð—^‚¦‚邱‚ƈÈã‚ÉAŠì‚΂µ‚¢Œ÷“¿‚ª‚ ‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©B¡‚Å‚àŽv‚¢o‚·‚ÆASg‚Æ‚à‚ÉK•Ÿ‚Ék‚¦Žn‚߂܂·B‚±‚̖͔͓I‚ȉB“ÙŽÒ‚½‚¿‚Ì—ñ‚ÍAuƒ‹ƒr[‚̈ê”t“ü‚Á‚½‘ÜA”’’¹‚ÌŒQ‚êAƒ‰ƒCƒIƒ“‚ÌŒQ‚ê‚Í‘¶Ý‚µ“¾‚È‚¢Bv‚Æ‚¢‚¤¹Kabir‚ÌŒ¾—t‚Æ–µ‚‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚邿‚¤‚Å‚·B“¯—l‚ÉA¹ŽÒ‚½‚¿‚ªˆê’c‚ƂȂÁ‚Ä‹¤‚É•à‚­‚±‚Æ‚à‚È‚¢‚̂łµ‚傤‚©B

í‚ÉŠOŒü“I‚ÅA‚¨‚µ‚á‚ׂè‚â’m“I‚ÈŽvl‚ÌŠì‚Ñ‚ÉZ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚él‚ÍA^‚̹ŽÒ‚ł͂ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB¹ŽÒ‚Æ‚ÍAí‚ÉáÒ‘z‚É—ã‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚él‚Ì‚±‚Ƃł·B

’·ŠúŠÔ‚ɂ킽‚èA‘½‚­‚̉B“ÙŽÒ‚ªŒp‘±“I‚ÉáÒ‘z‚É—ã‚ñ‚Å‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚é‚Ì‚ÍAŽÀ‚É‹H‚Å‚·B‚½‚Æ‚¦‚»‚̂悤‚Èl‚ª‚¢‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA”Þ‚ç‚ð–Ú‚É‚·‚邱‚Ƃ͋H‚Å‚·B‚»‚µ‚ÄA‚½‚Æ‚¦”Þ‚ç‚Éo‰ï‚Á‚½‚Æ‚µ‚Ä‚àA”Þ‚ç‚É‚»‚Ì“ú‚Ìʼn‚ÌHŽ–‚𷂵グ‚é‹@‰ï‚Í–Å‘½‚É‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñB‚±‚¤‚µ‚½‹H—L‚È‹@‰ï‚ªŽ„‚É—^‚¦‚ç‚ꂽ‚±‚Æ‚ÅAŽ„‚ÍŠì‚тɖž‚½‚³‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B

ˆÈ‘OAŽ„‚ÍMahasi SayadawŽt‚É‘å•ÏŽä‚©‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½Bƒuƒbƒ_EƒT[ƒTƒi•]‹c‰ï‚Æ‚»‚Ì‹c’·‚Å‚ ‚éU Chan Htoon‚ÍAMahasi SayadawŽt‚ª‘åŽt‚𖱂߂Ă¢‚½Thathana Yeikta‘m‰@‚ÉA¢ŠEŠe’n‚©‚çlX‚𵂢‚ÄáÒ‘z‚ð‚³‚¹‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BƒCƒ“ƒhl‚ª—ˆ‚Ä’·ŠúŠÔ‘ØÝ‚·‚鎞‚É‚ÍAŽ„‚͂悭‚»‚±‚Ös‚«AƒCƒ“ƒh‚̃xƒWƒ^ƒŠƒAƒ“—¿—‚ðU‚é•‘‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BU Chan HtoonŽt‚ÍŽžX“d˜b‚ð‚©‚¯‚Ä‚«‚ÄAƒCƒ“ƒhl‚Ì‚½‚߂ɉʕ¨‚â—¿—‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚­‚éˆË—Š‚ª‚ ‚è‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽ„‚Í‚»‚Ì‹@‰ï‚ð—˜—p‚µ‚ÄáÒ‘zŽÒ‚½‚¿‚ÉH‚ו¨‚ðo‚·‘O‚ÉAMahasi SayadawŽt‚É·‚µ“ü‚ê‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚¤‚µ‚ÄŽ„‚ÍŽt‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ð’m‚邿‚¤‚ɂȂèAŽt‚Í‚µ‚΂µ‚ÎŽžŠÔ‚ðŠ„‚¢‚ÄŽ„‚ƃ_ƒ“ƒ}‚⎄‚ÌCs‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½BŽt‚ÍŽ„‚ªƒTƒ„ƒWEƒEEƒoEƒLƒ“‚Ìe‚µ‚¢’íŽq‚Å‚ ‚邱‚Æ‚ð‚æ‚­‚²‘¶’m‚Å‚µ‚½‚Ì‚ÅAʼn‚ÍA‘¸‚«ƒTƒ„ƒh[Žt‚ªˆê‚ÉáÒ‘z‚ð‚·‚é‚æ‚¤‚ÉŠ©‚߂Ă­‚é‚̂ł͂Ȃ¢‚©‚Æ­‚µ•sˆÀ‚Å‚µ‚½B—Fl‚Ì’†‚ɂ͂»‚¤‚·‚邿‚¤‚ɂƊ©‚ß‚él‚à‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½‚ªAŽ„‚̓Tƒ„ƒW‚©‚çŠw‚ñ‚¾Cs‚É‚Æ‚Ä‚à–ž‘«‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚½‚Ì‚ÅA‘¼‚ÌŽt‚̂Ƃ±‚ë‚És‚­•K—v‚͂Ȃ¢‚Æl‚¦‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚µ‚©‚µA‚à‚µMahasi SayadawŽtŒä–{l‚ª‚»‚¤Š©‚ß‚ç‚ꂽ‚çAŽ„‚Í”ñí‚É¢˜f‚·‚é—§ê‚É—§‚½‚³‚ꂽ‚Å‚µ‚傤B

Ž„‚½‚¿‚͉ï˜b‚Ì’†‚ÅAŽ„‚ª‚ǂ̂悤‚ÉCs‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚é‚©‚ɂ‚¢‚Ęb‚µ‡‚¢AŽt‚Í‚¢‚Â‚àŽ„‚É”ñí‚ÉŽÀÛ“I‚È•Œ¾‚Æ—ã‚Ü‚µ‚ð—^‚¦‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍŽ„‚ª‚â‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚邱‚Ƃͳ‚µ‚­AÅI–Ú•W‚É“ž’B‚·‚é‚܂ő±‚¯‚邿‚¤‚ÉA‚ÆŒ¾‚Á‚Ä—ã‚Ü‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Ì‹Z–@‚ðŽŽ‚·‚悤‚ÉŽ„‚ɂق̂߂©‚·‚±‚Ƃ͈ê“x‚à‚ ‚è‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚±‚Ì‚±‚Æ‚ªA‚±‚̈̑å‚È”ä‹u‚Ö‚ÌŽ„‚Ì‘¸Œh‚ð‚Ü‚·‚Ü‚·[‚߂܂µ‚½B

”Þ‚Í•’iA݉ƂÌlX‚̉ƂÅHŽ–‚ð‚·‚é‚±‚Ƃ͂Ȃ­AlX‚ª”Þ‚ÌŽ›‰@‚ÉHŽ–‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚ ‚鎞AŽ„‚Í‚½‚߂炢‚ª‚¿‚ÉAŽ„‚̉Ƃɗˆ‚ÄHŽ–‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚Ù‚µ‚¢‚Æ—Š‚Ý‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Í”÷΂ñ‚Å“¯ˆÓ‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ê‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Íe‚µ‚¢’íŽqŽOl‚ð˜A‚ê‚Ä—ˆ‚ÄAŽ„‚½‚¿‚͔ނç‚ÉHŽ–‚ðU‚é•‘‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B‚±‚ÌŽžA”Þ‚ÍŽ„‚ÌCs‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä’·‚¢‹c˜_‚ðŒð‚킵AƒTƒ„ƒW‚Ì‹³‚¦•û‚É”½‘΂̌¾—t‚ðˆêŒ¾‚à”­‚µ‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B‚»‚ê‚Ç‚±‚ë‚©AMahasi SayadawŽt‚Í‚±‚Ì‹³‚¦•û‚É[‚¢Š´ŽÓ‚Ì”O‚ðŽ¦‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÍáÒ‘z‚ÌCs‚ɂ‚¢‚Ä@”h“I‚ÈŒ©‰ð‚ðŒˆ‚µ‚ÄŽ‚½‚¸AŒð—¬‚𑱂¯‚é‚ɂ‚ê‚ÄAŽ„‚Ì‘¸Œh‚Í[‚Ü‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

Mahāthera  Webu Sayadaw

”ä‹uSagha‚ªŽ„‚ÌS‚̉œ’ê‚ÉÅ‚à[‚­‰e‹¿‚ð—^‚¦‚½‚Ì‚ÍAMahāthera Webu (Vipula) Sayadaw‚Æo‰ï‚Á‚½Žž‚Å‚µ‚½BƒTƒ„ƒW‚Í‚±‚̹‚È‚é‘m—µ‚Æ”ñí‚É[‚¢Œq‚ª‚è‚ðŽ‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½BSayadaw‚̓„ƒ“ƒSƒ“‚É‚ ‚éƒTƒ„ƒW‚̃Zƒ“ƒ^[‚ð‰½“x‚à–K‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

‘ÛáÒ‘zƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚ʼnA˜b‚ð•·‚«AŒhˆÓ‚ð•\‚µ‚½‚¾‚¯‚łȂ­AŽ„‚ÍK‰^‚É‚àAƒTƒ„ƒW‚Æ‘¼‚Ì’íŽq‚½‚¿‚Æ‹¤‚ÉAƒrƒ‹ƒ}–k•”‚É‚ ‚éSayadaw‚̃Zƒ“ƒ^[‚ð–K‚ê‚邱‚Æ‚ª‚Å‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½BƒZƒ“ƒ^[‚É’…‚­‚ÆA‚‹M‚ÈSayadaw‚Í‚¿‚傤‚ÇHŽ–‚ðI‚¦‚½‚΂©‚è‚ÅA¬˜H˜e‚Ì…“¹‚ÌŽÖŒû‚Ì‚»‚΂ÉÀ‚èA‘—p‚ÌŽ©•ª‚Ì”«‚ðô‚Á‚Ä‚¢‚é‚Ì‚ðŒ©‚Ä‹Á‚«‚Ü‚µ‚½B”Þ‚ÌŽü‚è‚ɂ͉½•Sl‚à‚Ì’íŽq‚ª‚¢‚ÄAŠì‚ñ‚Å‚»‚̂悤‚È•òŽd‚ð‚µ‚Ä‚­‚ꂽ‚Å‚µ‚傤‚ªA”Þ‚ÍŽ©•ª‚ÌŽG—p‚ð‘¼l‚É‚³‚¹‚Ü‚¹‚ñ‚Å‚µ‚½B”Þ‚Íí‚ÉŽ©•ª‚Ì•”‰®‚ð‘|‚«AŽ©•ª‚̈ߕž‚ðô‘ó‚·‚é‚È‚ÇAŠ®àø‚ÈŒª‹•‚³‚ʼn߂²‚µ‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

•’i‚Í•”ŠOŽÒ‚Ì—§‚¿“ü‚肪‹–‚³‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚È‚¢‚²Ž©g‚̈ꎺ‚ÉŽ„‚½‚¿‚ðˆÄ“à‚µA‚»‚±‚ÅŽ„‚½‚¿‚ÆŒê‚Á‚Ä‚­‚¾‚³‚¢‚Ü‚µ‚½B

”Þ‚ÌŽœ”ß[‚¢Šç‚Éh‚é‹P‚«‚ƈÀ‚炬AS‚ð’͂ނ悤‚ÈΊçA‚»‚µ‚Ä”Þ‚ðŽæ‚èŠª‚­‰¸‚â‚©‚ÅS’n‚æ‚¢•µˆÍ‹C‚ÍAƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[áÒ‘zŽÒ‚¾‚¯‚łȂ­A‚ ‚ç‚ä‚élX‚ð–£—¹‚·‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤B

‘¸‚¢‚·‚ׂĂÌSagha‚Ö‚ÌŽ„‚ÌŠ´ŽÓ‚Æ‘¸Œh‚ÍA‚±‚̈¢—…Š¿‚Å‚ ‚é Webu SayadawŽt‚Ö‚ÌŒhˆÓ‚É‚æ‚Á‚Ä’¸“_‚É’B‚µ‚Ü‚µ‚½B

 

 

 

Dhamma Is for One and All

by S.N. Goenka

 

Sayagyi's Decision

On behalf of the Buddha Sāsana Council, its General Secretary, U Chan Htoon, used to invite quite a few people from different countries to come to Burma to practise Vipassana. At times, some of us would get the opportunity to gain merits by giving dāna (donation) to cover the travel expenses of such Dhamma-seeking visitors.

  At his suggestion, I also became a dayaka (donor) for some of these Dhamma aspirants. One amongst them was a person by the name of Sri Brahmachari Munindra Prosad Barua. He was the superintendent of the Bodh Gaya Temple in India. Having fulfilled his mission of taking a course of Vipassana, he expressed his desire to stay longer in the country in order to master in detail both pariyatti and paipatti (theory and practice).

  He was a very suitable person for this task. He had studied the whole Tipiika with commentaries and sub@commentaries, staying with various teachers of Dhamma. He made a special study of the Abhidhamma, the deeper explanation of which was available only in Burma. For meditation, he practised the technique taught by the Venerable Mahasi Sayadaw at Thathana Yeikta, Rangoon. He learned many more techniques of meditation, staying with various bhikkhus (monks) and lay teachers at different centres, including the Ledi Yeikta, founded by Ledi Sayadaw and the Hanthawadi Center, established by Sayagyi Thet, the teacher of U Ba Khin.

  He had heard much praise about the meditation teaching of Sayagyi U Ba Khin, from me and many others, so naturally he was very eager to learn this technique also before returning home. However, Sayagyi strictly refused to accept him on a course. U Lun Baw, who was then the Deputy Prime Minister of the caretaker government and a very close and dear disciple of Sayagyi, pleaded with him to accept Munindraji as a student. But still Sayagyi would not agree. As Munindraji was in a way my Dhamma guest, I also strongly requested Sayagyi to change his decision; but again he refused. His only explanation was this: "This person has already taken Vipassana from the learned bhikkhus and other teachers. Why does he need to take a course with me? Let him get ripened in whatever he has learned."

  I could understand the reason behind this decision which was not merely for Munindraji but for everyone who had taken a course of meditation under any bhikkhu. It had happened that one Bhikkhu Mahinda had come to Burma from India under a similar invitation from the Buddha Sāsana Council a few months earlier and was practising meditation at one of the meditation centres in Rangoon. Whenever an Indian vegetarian meditator happened to come for such courses, I was informed by U Chan Htoon and asked to help with providing Indian vegetarian food some of the time. In this connection, I had the opportunity to meet Bhikkhu Mahinda a few times while he was at the meditation centre.

   One day I got a call from U Chan Htoon asking me to come meet with Bhikkhu Mahinda immediately. When I went to see him, I found his mental condition very unbalanced. He was behaving in a very bizarre manner. I was told by the management that he had even tried to commit suicide. As soon as he saw me, he told me of his agony and his strong desire to disrobe, begging me to get him the clothes of a layman. I was perplexed as to what to do, so I went to the main teacher of the centre and asked his permission to take the bhikkhu to my residence for a few days. He was accommodated at the guest house of our Mogul Street residence. Partly because of the change in environment and partly because of the service he received here, we found that in a few days his mental state returned to normal and he became healthy once again. Gradually, he started talking about meditation.

  One day during these discussions, he came to know that I also practised Vipassana and that my teacher was Sayagyi U Ba Khin. The moment he heard Sayagyi's name, a glint came into his eyes as if this were a very pleasant surprise for him, and he started pressing me to take him to my teacher. I went with him to my teacher's meditation centre. When he met Sayagyi, Bhikkhu Mahinda was overwhelmed with joy. I, too, was very pleasantly surprised to learn they had known each other intimately in the past. Bhikkhu Mahinda was a former resident of Burma, and in his householder's life was a civil engineer by the name of Bahadur. He had been an important officer in the Burma Railways at the same time that Sayagyi had been Accounts Officer of Burma Railways, and this is how they knew each other.

  As an engineer, Bahadur had been involved in some work at the Gotaik Bridge near Naungkio, in the Shan states. One day, people discovered that he was missing. When a search was made, it was found that he had disappeared into the dense jungle in the deep valley below. His family members and companions undertook an extensive search of the area, but all they found was his pair of sandals sitting by the bank of a rapidly flowing mountain stream. Therefore people thought that he had either committed suicide or had fallen into the river and drowned accidentally . Actually, he had gone from there down to the plains where he entered a vihara and ordained as a bhikkhu. He later went to India. Now he had returned to Burma as Bhikkhu Mahinda, having come to learn Vipassana.

  Sayagyi wanted to help his old friend. The next Vipassana course was to start some time later. However, with strong pressure from Bhikkhu Mahinda, he agreed to conduct a special course for him alone. Bhikkhu Mahinda worked with great devotion and enthusiasm and was highly benefited by the practice. When he came back to my house after the course, he decided to visit various parts of Burma to meet many of his old friends before returning to India.

  Wherever he went on his tour of Burma, his old friends gathered and requested him to give a public talk on meditation. Out of overenthusiasm, he began praising the technique of Vipassana taught by Sayagyi U Ba Khin. This much Sayagyi could accept, but soon he began to denounce the meditation taught by his previous teacher. In his overenthusiasm, he did not realize that Sayagyi would not approve of such comparisons. A message was sent to him to abstain from such talk, but he would not comply.

All this created quite a controversy which Sayagyi did not like in the least. He used to say that a son of Buddha never gets involved in controversies. Whatever technique Sayagyi had acquired from his teacher, he was simply distributing the same to others, very humbly. These kinds of quarrels and arguments comparing techniques were totally against his nature. Therefore he made a strong decision that in the future, if anyone came to him having already taken a course of meditation with another teacher - especially a monk teacher- then he would not entertain such a person at the centre and would not allow him to take a course under him. This was only to prevent any recurrence of such unfortunate incidents. This was the reason that he was not willing to teach Vipassana to Munindraji.

  When I came to India I was already in contact with my friend, Munindraji, and when I gave courses in Bodh Gaya quite a few persons, who were friends or disciples of Munindraji, participated and benefited. Because of this, he himself was also very enthusiastic to sit a course. It was a great embarrassment for me. How could I take someone in my course who was rejected by my teacher, however friendly that person might be? I immediately wrote to my teacher and was very pleased to get his permission. He explained that there was no such controversy in India. I was given permission to teach anyone and everyone who came to me. This is how the restriction on Munindraji was removed and he was able to participate in the course.

  During the first course he attended, he was greatly benefited and wrote a very glowing report to Sayagyi, full of gratitude and Dhamma sentiments. Later, he attended two more courses and gained more benefits.

  This incident gave me the liberty to teach Vipassana to anyone who asks for it, even those who might have taken a course with other teachers. Of course, I am very particular to see that such students are serious and not just running from one teacher to another for the sake of curiosity. I would certainly not want to encourage such behavior. After trying a few techniques, one should stick to the particular technique most suitable and work on it seriously. This has been my advice and encouragement to all my students.

 

Freely Given to All

  After I began teaching in India, another problem arose. After conducting a few more courses in Bombay, a Sri Lankan bhikkhu who was residing in Bombay expressed his desire to join a camp. I was an ordinary householder. How could I teach someone who had renounced the householder's life? To resolve this situation, I contacted Sayagyi by phone. He immediately gave permission. He explained that because there was no one else in India who could teach this pure technique of Vipassana, where else could these bhikkhus learn it? He instructed me to give the Dhamma to anyone who requests it. With this liberty, I could serve the large number of bhikkhus who requested Dhamma from me, not only from India but also from Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Tibet, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, Korea and Japan. In one of the courses at Nagpur, all the participants were bhikkhus and sāmaeras (novices). Courses in Sri Lanka and Nepal attracted local bhikkhus there to come and take advantage of this technique.

  Similarly, recluses from various other sects got the opportunity to learn Vipassana. Quite a large number of Jain, Christian and Hindu monks and nuns were benefited by joining such courses. One course was organized specifically for Jesuit priests and Catholic nuns. It was held in the Christian monastery at Khandala where the church was used as the meditation hall.

  Special courses were held in Delhi and Ladanu in Jain Upāsraya (monasteries) in which a large number of Jain monks, nuns and sāmaeris participated. At the request and with the cooperation of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, a special course was held for Tibetan lamas in Dharamsala.

  In this way, the floodgate of Vipassana was opened for the benefit of people of every religious sect and way of life. Someone had warned me that if this technique was freely given to the leaders of various sects, there was the danger that some of these leaders would try to make use of it to strengthen their hold over their followers, by disguising it as part of their own sectarian teaching. This fear was well-founded, as later on this proved to be true in a few cases. However, I had no hesitation because for me the flow of the Ganges of Dhamma was for one and all. I have given this wonderful jewel of Dhamma to help people come out of their own misery. If they misuse it and continue to roll in misery, what can be done? On the other hand, I found that quite a few of the sectarian leaders were very sincere and have kept it in its pristine purity for their own good and for the good of others. Therefore, I never have any regrets about Sayagyi's decision encouraging me to give the Dhamma to one and all and I shall continue to do so, without any discrimination whatsoever.

 

Westerners Request the Dhamma

  I faced one more difficulty several months after I started teaching in India. A few Western students had come to join the Vipassana camps. At that time my evening discourses and all the daily instructions were in Hindi. My knowledge of English was very limited, so I could not speak much. I would explain the theory and practice to this handful of Western students in a few simple words, so that they could work properly. Very soon the news of Vipassana began spreading, and the numbers of Westerners began increasing. The students worked very seriously, and as a result they were quite successful.

  It was barely a year since I had come to India from Burma when a small group of Western students-about fifteen-invited me to give a course in English at Dalhousie. How could I give a course in English? It was impossible for me to give the evening Dhamma discourses in this language.

  My education in English had been quite limited. I had completed only my high school matriculation, through which I had gained enough knowledge of English to conduct my business. I was not able to give even a short extemporaneous talk in English. Whenever I had to give a long talk in English-say, as president of the Rangoon Chamber of Commerce and Industry, or any such organization where English was used-I would dictate my ideas to my secretary. He would draft out my speech in good English, and I would simply read it aloud. I had never given a speech in English without reading it. My English vocabulary was very limited. My knowledge of technical words pertaining to Dhamma was even weaker. Therefore, I expressed my hesitation to conduct the course. I actually refused to give it.

   These foreigners then wrote a letter to my revered Sayagyi in Rangoon and complained that I had declined their request. They described their difficulty: they could not go to Burma because only a three-day visa was granted at the time, and there was no one else available to teach Vipassana outside of Burma. Therefore, they were being deprived of receiving this wonderful technique.

Sayagyi immediately telephoned me and advised me to go to Dalhousie and give the course. I explained to him my difficulty with the language. But he replied very firmly that I should go to give the course without hesitation, and that Dhamma would help. I respectfully followed his instructions, and the course started.

  The first evening I could speak for only fifteen minutes. This turned into one half hour the next evening, and then it started flowing. All my hesitation and doubt about my capabilities in speaking English vanished. Conversing with the Western students, my vocabulary started increasing, and very soon full courses in English became a regular occurrence. Later on the courses turned into bilingual courses where I gave instructions in both Hindi and English, one after the other. The discourses were given in one language in the morning, and the other language in the evening.

  This is how, through the kind benevolence of Sayagyi, the way opened for the teaching of Vipassana in English throughout the world.

 

For progressing in Vipassana meditation, a student must keep knowing anicca as continuously as possible. The Buddha's advice to monks is that they should try to maintain the awareness of anicca, dukkha or anattā in all postures ... Continuous awareness of anicca, and so of dukkha and anattā, is the secret of success.

The last words of the Buddha just before he breathed his last and passed away into Mahā Parinibbāna were: "Decay (or anicca) is inherent in all component things. Work out your own salvation with diligence."

This is in fact the essence of all his teachings during the forty- five years of his ministry. If you will keep up the awareness of the anicca that is inherent in all component things, you are sure to reach the goal in the course of time.

-Sayagyi U Ba Khin

 

 

 

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Anecdotes of S.N. Goenka

 

I Want Divine Light

I nearly ran away from my first Vipassana course.

  The early days of the course were devoted to developing concentration. I found the first instructions of my teacher easy to understand and follow: I was simply to focus my attention at the area of the nostrils, to be aware of the breath or anything else happening there. I could do this well enough. But we are always curious about others, so I was tempted to ask some of the other people participating in the course about their experiences in meditation. One of them told me, "As I sit with eyes closed in my cell, I see a light."

  "A light? That is wonderful!" In India the witnessing of "divine light" is widely considered to be the highest goal of meditation. I was deeply impressed and equally disappointed that I myself had not seen any light.

  Another meditator said to me, "I hear a sound as I meditate, something like the sound of the sea." "That must be divine sound!" I had read of this and knew that it was experienced by many saints. Inevitably I asked myself what I was doing wrong that I had not had such experiences. True, I could keep my mind fixed on the breath and could feel distinctly the area of the nostrils. But what good was that? I wanted to experience divine light, divine sound.

  I became dejected and convinced that I could not succeed in the course. After all, it is written that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Yet here was I, a wealthy industrialist, looking for a way into heaven! No wonder the other meditators were more successful, I thought. They were quiet people without the twisted mind of a businessman. They were not involved in the rat race of making money, as I was.

  By the evening of that day I had made up my mind to abandon the course and go back home. Every day at 5 p.m. a car came from my house with fresh laundry and other necessities. I knew that the Teacher would not agree to my leaving, so I decided to slip away that evening in my car.

  I went to my room and began to pack my bags. Fortunately, however, a friend came to check on me, a Burmese lady who had practised Vipassana for some time. Naturally she was surprised that I had decided to leave. I explained that despite all my efforts of two days I had not been able to experience divine light or sound.

  "But were you asked by the Teacher to experience them?"

  "No, his instructions were just to observe the breath at the entrance of the nostrils."

"And have you been able to do that?" "Yes, but..."

   "Then why should you be upset? Forget about these other things. Try for just one more day, and give importance only to what you actually feel within the area of the nostrils."

  Abashed and heartened by her words, I returned to my meditation cell. This time I was determined to follow the instructions of the Teacher and ignore everything else. Soon my mind became concentrated, and as I sat in the darkness of my cell a bright, star-like light appeared before me. "Oh no!" I thought.

 

"I am not interested in that. My job is just to observe the breath." I ignored it and after a little while it passed away. A few minutes later I started to hear sounds. I said to myself, "These are beyond the focus of my attention. I should not follow them in any way." I kept on resolutely observing breath, and in their turn the sounds eventually disappeared. I worked exactly according to the advice of my friend and the instructions of my teacher. And how grateful I am that I did! Visions and sounds, "divine" or otherwise, will come and go, but by the end of the course I had discovered the happiness of a mind that keeps its balance with all experiences, a mind at peace.

 

How to Walk, How to Eat

  In a one-month course with Sayagyi U Ba Khin in Burma, I experienced a very deep stage of bhaga in which my entire body seemed to have dissolved into a mass of vibrations constantly arising and passing away. Even if by chance I happened to look at someone, I saw only the outline of that person and within it a kind of blinking or oscillation.

  One day during this course my teacher said to me, "Come, Goenka, I shall teach you how to walk." Now what was this? I was not a baby crawling on all fours; I was a man of mature years! Sayagyi explained, "Walk as you do normally, neither quickly nor slowly. As you walk be aware of each movement of your body, and also be aware of what is happening within you." I had been practising that in ten-day courses, but it was different now. I tried it and found that while walking I could experience the flow of vibrations, the subtle reality within. At a superficial level I was aware of my walking, and at a deeper level I was aware of the unceasing process of change within myself-just a mass of atoms moving about, rather than a solid body.

  "Now come," said Sayagyi, "I shall teach you how to eat." By this time I had understood that, though I was not an infant to be spoon- fed, there was something I needed to learn. We went to the dining room and a tray of food was placed before me, each item neatly arranged in a separate dish. "Make small pieces of all the food, and put it in a bowl," Sayagyi said. "Now, mix it all together-solid or liquid, sweet or sour, combine it all." This is the way that monks are supposed to eat. I did as he said and mixed all the food together in the bowl. "Now, remain in deep bhaga." said Sayagyi, "Keep your eyes closed and continue. Take a morsel of food with your fingers, and feel sensations." I did this, and as I touched the food I felt strong vibrations in my fingertips. "Move your hand to your mouth feeling sensations..." I did so, feeling strong vibrations. "Place the food in your mouth and feel sensations." I did so, feeling vibrations on my lips, my tongue and gums. "Chew the food and swallow it feeling sensations." I did so, feeling vibrations throughout my mouth and throat. The taste of the food became immaterial. Instead I experienced it only as vibrations entering the vibrations of my body.

  Having finished the meal in this special Vipassana way, I was asked to take rest. I went and lay down on the bed. For quite some time I kept feeling distinct movement and vibration in the stomach and intestines.

  After that course, all my food preferences disappeared. I had been very fond of some of the more spicy Indian preparations. Now I eat whatever is placed before me, but if there is a choice my hand goes automatically to the simpler dish. I had indeed learned how to eat: not to satisfy cravings but to provide the nourishment this body needs to carry on its task.

Thanks to Sayagyi, thanks to Dhamma.

 

Conversion to Dhamma

  A friend of mine, a Muslim merchant in Rangoon, had suffered for years from insomnia. Nothing could help him. His existence was an unrelieved misery. When he heard how Vipassana had changed my life for the better, he came to me and asked to know about the technique. I explained it carefully to him and he became eager to join a course. First, however, he wanted to visit the meditation centre and meet my teacher.

  One evening I brought this man with me to the centre and introduced him to Sayagyi. The calmness of the place and the kindly presence of the Teacher made a strong impact on him. He declared that he wished to join the next course. We said our goodbyes to Sayagyi, and before returning home I offered to show my friend around the centre. As we were making our tour, I noticed that he suddenly lost all enthusiasm and interest. I was surprised by his sudden change in attitude and asked him what was wrong.

  With hesitation he told me. As we were walking he had happened to glance through an open doorway and had seen inside a shrine, with a statue of the Buddha and someone kneeling before it. "In my religion all graven images are forbidden," my friend said, "and we must not bow to anyone but God. If I come to a course, I see that I shall have to bow down to this idol and to your teacher. It is impossible for me to come."

  Instead of arguing with him I said, "Let us go and tell the problem to Sayagyi." My friend reluctantly came and repeated what he had told me.

  "Well," said Sayagyi, "this being a Buddhist country, we have a statue here for traditional Buddhists simply to give them inspiration to meditate. No one will ask or expect you to bow to it, still less to me. If you find it offensive I can curtain off the statue while you are here so that you need not even see it. Don't allow this to stop you from learning Vipassana."

  The man accepted Sayagyi's advice, though not without misgivings. When the next course started he joined it. Before ten days were over, the Dhamma had worked a deep change in him. He was now freed of the tensions that had made him unhappy for years. Naturally he was filled with gratitude. He came and insisted on bowing to my teacher, understanding now that he was not showing respect for any person but for the teaching of truth.

  After his course this friend of mine did not start calling himself a Buddhist. He remained a devout Muslim, and at the same time he lived a life of Dhamma, practising morality, concentration and wisdom. Nor was my teacher disappointed that this man had not adopted a new label for himself. Sayagyi was not interested in converting people from one religion to another, since that has nothing to do with the Dhamma. The only conversion he wished to see was from suffering to happiness, from ignorance to wisdom, from bondage to liberation. In this sense certainly my friend had undergone a conversion, and Sayagyi was pleased that he had understood and benefited from the Dhamma.

 

Repaying Burma's Debt to India

  My parents left Burma around 1965 and came to settle in India. In about 1968, my mother developed a nervous ailment. I knew that if she took Vipassana, she would be free of her ailment, but there was no one in India to teach her. Accordingly, I applied to the authorities in Burma to permit me to go abroad in order to serve my old ailing mother. I was pleasantly surprised when this request was granted, and I was extremely grateful to the government for having issued me the necessary passport.

  When my teacher came to know that I was free to travel to India, he was very pleased, since he anticipated that along with my mother, others among my relatives and friends in India could learn Vipassana, and in this way the wheel of Dhamma would start rotating again in that land. In preparation he gave me detailed instructions about how to conduct courses and how to teach Vipassana-Dhamma.

  Sayagyi was so greatly enthused, because he saw my going to teach Vipassana in India as the means by which the Dhamma debt of Burma would be repaid. Burma was deeply indebted to India because it was from this land that it had received the treasure of the Buddha's teaching.

  When the time came for my departure, Sayagyi gave me a warm send-off, with all his strong mettā. "You are not the one going," he told me as we parted, "I am going-Dhamma is going. We must pay back the debt of Burma to India." Greatly moved, I embarked on this Dhamma pilgrimmage. In July of 1969, I gave the first course in Bombay, and that is how the wheel of Dhamma started rotating. As Sayagyi began receiving my reports of successfully completed courses, he was filled with happiness at seeing his dream of many years being realized at last.

 

The Gem Returns to India

  Following the nationalization of trade and industry in Burma, many Indian residents there were left with no means of livelihood, and therefore had to return to their native land. On leaving Burma they were forbidden to take any valuables with them. Nevertheless, to avoid the loss of their entire life savings, many departing Indians would try to smuggle out valuables, particularly in the form of gems-rubies or other stones for which Burma is famous. In order to suppress such smuggling, Burmese customs inspectors were naturally more vigilant with departing Indians.

  As I was preparing to embark for India at Rangoon Airport, I passed through the emigration check and came to the customs counter. The official there was very friendly, and jokingly asked whether I was carrying any valuables with me. "Yes," I replied, "I am carrying a gem." The official became nervous. Though friendly to me, he was an honest man who would not neglect his duty. Therefore he searched all my belongings carefully without finding what he was looking for. I watched him with amusement. Finally I happily explained to the worried man, "My friend, the gem that I am taking from here will be used to pay back a debt of Burma to India. It originally came from India, and is sorely needed there today. By my taking it from here, Burma will not become any poorer. I am taking the jewel of the Dhamma." The official laughed and said, "Please go ahead- take this gem with you! I am very happy that you will use it to repay this debt." And this is what I did, bringing Dhamma back to India in fulfilment of the wishes of my teacher. According to the news I had from my friends in Burma, the official always felt very happy whenever he heard about the success of my work here.

 

My Life Changed Course

  I have often told the story of how a severe physical disease-migraine headaches- provided the impetus for me to go to Sayagyi U Ba Khin and to undertake a ten-day course of Vipassana meditation. While I was suffering from them, these headaches seemed so undesirable, unbeneficial. But after learning Dhamma from Sayagyi, I realized that the migraine had been a blessing in disguise. Certainly, the disease was now cured; but this benefit was only a very minor, trivial aspect of the help my teacher gave me. Immeasurably more valuable is the jewel of Dhamma received from him which has changed my life-a treasure which grows the more it is used.

  Mindful of this great debt to my teacher, I often reflect on the past and consider what my life might have been had I not received this Dhamma. My successful career as a businessman and industrialist had been interrupted by the programme undertaken by the government of Burma to nationalize trade and industry. Nevertheless, I could have drawn on my years of experience and worldwide contacts to establish myself as a businessman in India. Given the huge consumer market in this country, and the government policy favourable to private enterprise, I might well have been successful in amassing wealth as great as what I had before or even greater. This is the path that many of my friends and relatives have followed who left Burma when I did. But had I given all my attention and energy to amassing money, far from helping myself by doing so, I would have been generating stronger ego, with all the resultant tensions. My life would have become much more miserable than it had been.

   In Burma I had worked successfully in the field of voluntary social service; and I might have continued in this field after coming to India where the opportunity for service to the poor is so vast. I might have worked managing public institutions such as schools, hospitals, orphanages, adult education centres, and so on. But there would still have been the danger that such voluntary service might build nothing but ego and mental tensions-always expecting others to appreciate one's service, and feeling depressed if appreciation is absent. Life would still have been full of misery.

  I had also worked in Burma as a leader of the Indian community in social, educational, commercial, industrial and other undertakings; and perhaps I could have manoeuvered to achieve a position of leadership in India also-had I not doubted whether such a position, with all the attendant madness, was worthwhile. Having passed through the process of truth realization as taught by Gotama the Buddha and passed on to me with such compassion by my Dhamma father, I had understood that all competition for leadership, for special position or status, is nothing but a rat race bringing endless misery.

  If someone had merely advised me not to waste my time in such ways, I might have understood this at a superficial, intellectual level; but the impact of this understanding would not have been so great. However, with the practice of Vipassana, I was able to realize at the actual level, deep within myself, the dangers of all such worldly endeavours. It is only when one achieves such a direct realization that he starts working earnestly and strenuously to emerge from the miseries of a life of competition, of seeking after wealth, status, position, power.

  When I recall the past before I came in contact with Sayagyi, it seems to me that it all was a previous existence, and that having received Dhamma from him, I entered a new life, far superior to the old one. The Dhamma words come to mind:

Ya kiñci vitta idha hura Saggesu ya ratana paṇīta Na no sama atthi Tathāgatena Idampi Buddhe ratana paṇīta Idampi Dhamme ratana paṇīta Idampi Saghe ratana paṇīta

Whatever treasure there may be in this world or the next, Whatever jewels may be found even in celestial fields, None of these can compare with the jewel in the Tathāgata- the jewel in the Tathāgata is far higher. This is the jewel in the Teacher. This is the jewel in the Teaching. This is the jewel in the followers of the Teaching.

 

  All the wealth I had amassed, whether there in Burma or here in India, could give me merely earthly pleasures. All the merits I had gained by giving service before I learned Dhamma might have given me a new life in celestial planes, where I might have enjoyed still greater pleasures. But all these pleasures, earthly or celestial, would be ephemeral, bound to pass away; and must lead to disappointment and misery when they go. They are nothing compared to the happiness I have gained in receiving the jewel of Dhamma from my teacher-a happiness which keeps growing every day of my life.

  Nor was the jewel given merely for ornament, without use. Sayagyi made it so clear that pure Dhamma is applied Dhamma. Intellectual appreciation of the teachings of the Buddha might have purified my mind at the surface level. But only the practice of Dhamma through Vipassana meditation penetrates to the depths of the mind and transforms it totally.

  I could never have attained real happiness, real peace without learning this technique from that great, saintly person, my Dhamma father Sayagyi U Ba Khin. He did not try to impress people with his mental powers, or to convince them intellectually of the superiority of the Buddha's teachings. He was, rather, a saint who lived the life of Dhamma, and whose every word carried the weight of his own experience. A man of such sterling character, practising pure Dhamma, full of love and compassion, devoting himself to serving others selflessly-this was my Dhamma father.

  On this anniversary of his passing, I recall all his extraordinary qualities, and I bow down in deep respect to his memory and to the Dhamma which he lived and which he gave to me as an invaluable gift. May I prove worthy of his teaching. I know I still have a long way to go until I reach the final goal; but I also know that the royal road he showed me will certainly lead me there. With this confidence I keep walking on the path; and out of my own experience of Dhamma, I keep encouraging all others to take this path, and to come out of their suffering.

   May all beings share this peace. May all beings share this happiness. May all beings share this Dhamma.

 

 

I do not wish to convert people from one organized religion to another; I have no interest in any of these organized religions. My interest is in Dhamma - the truth, the teachings of all Enlightened Ones. If at all there is any conversion, it should be from misery to happiness, from defilement to purity, from bondage to liberation, from ignorance to enlightenment.

-S.N. Goenka

 

 

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Homage to Baba

by S.N. Goenka

 

"One is always more attached to the interest one receives than to the capital one loans." This Hindi folk saying expresses the common belief that a grandfather always feels stronger attachment to a grandson than to his own son. And perhaps as a reaction, a grandson is likely to feel more attachment to his grandfather than to his father.

  From my own experience, this belief seems to me to be quite correct. Perhaps it explains why the most distinct memories I have of my childhood focus on my grandfather, Basesarlalji, even though I was only seven or eight years old when he died at the ripe age of seventy-three.

  Some of Baba's words etched themselves deeply on my young and impressionable heart, leaving a lasting stamp on the course of my life. He had a high regard and respect for the land of Burma and its people. To this day, some of his reminiscences of Burma live and remain fresh in my memory. Here is one incident that he often recounted.

  He used to travel from place to place selling textile goods, and for transport he would hire horses and mules. One part of the country that he visited in his rounds was the mountainous Shan Plateau of eastern Burma. There each locality organized a weekly market, and for the convenience of merchants like my grandfather, the market days were staggered in adjacent areas. This made it possible to sell at the market in one town, then travel two or three days to the next place and be in time for the market there. In this way Baba gradually made his rounds, selling at all the markets along the way, and returning at last to the family home in Mandalay.

While on his travels, he would make camp every night at a public resthouse. These resthouses, called zeyat in Burmese, are still in use today in some parts of the country. The accommodation is quite basic: a high, roofed platform, without any enclosing walls. The traveller keeps his belongings on the platform and rests there overnight, continuing on his way in the morning. There is no charge for staying at a zeyat. Each is built by local villagers as a service to travellers, and in the same spirit of service the villagers keep the zeyat neat and clean, and provide water nearby.

  In those days, Baba said, silver coins were the accepted currency in which all business transactions were conducted. He used to keep his silver in a money belt around his waist. When he went to bed at night, he would take off the belt and put it under his pillow. One morning he had planned to begin his journey before sunrise, but instead he overslept. When he awoke he hurriedly collected his belongings, loaded them on the pack animals, and started on his way. After five to six hours of travelling he suddenly realized that the money belt was not around his waist and that he must have left it behind in the zeyat. In a panic to recover it, he immediately asked the horsemen to turn back, but they flatly refused. "You'd better continue to the next market and then return," they insisted; "your money belt will be waiting for you when you come back."

  Despite his fears, Baba had no choice but to accept the advice of the horsemen. It was only after four or five days that he was able to return to the zeyat. As he rode towards it, his heart pounded at the thought that he had probably sustained a heavy loss: the money belt had been full of coins, and by forgetting it he had not only wiped out the profits of the trip but had cut deeply into his capital.

  An anxious moment awaited him when he reached the zeyat. But there was the money belt on the platform where he had left it. Baba counted the coins with growing amazement: not a single rupee was missing. No one had even touched the belt, neither the people of the village nor the hundreds of travellers who must have passed a night at the zeyat since the belt was forgotten there. It was no wonder that Baba always had such a high opinion of the honesty of the people of Burma.

  Another incident of which he often told us occurred in the marketplace of the city of Mandalay. There a woman had dropped a diamond earring, evidently without noticing it, and it lay on the footpath in front of the shops. Every day many people passed the earring which lay in full view, but no one took it. Each morning a woman came to sweep the street; when she reached the earring she would lift it, sweep the ground below, and then put it back in the place where it had fallen. This continued for seven days until a government officer took it into safekeeping, and it was announced by public crier throughout the city that whoever had lost a diamond earring should come and claim it. Such was the honesty of the people of Burma.

  Baba told us that within living memory it had been the custom never to lock the doors of houses in Burma. People would bolt their doors to keep out stray animals, but they felt no need of locks, no matter how rich they were. This custom had persisted until the overthrow of the Burmese monarch in 1885. Once control of the country passed into the hands of the British, many foreigners came to settle there and the entire social structure gradually was subverted. Thievery began, against which people tried to protect themselves by using locks, and the next step was that burglars would smash locks to enter and rob houses. When the social order is collapsing, a lock on the door will not provide security.

  I do not know whether Baba had settled in Mandalay while the Burmese King Mindon- min was still on the throne, but certainly he was living there during the reign of the last King of Burma, Thibaw, whom he used to call the phongyi-king, that is, monk-king. I never knew why Baba referred to the king in this way, whether it was because he had been a monk for some time or because he had been of a very religious temperament. British historians have drawn a very black image of this king, perhaps for political reasons. The man himself may well have been quite different.

  At least in the judgement of Baba, this was the case. He had witnessed the snatching of Thibaw's kingdom from him, and had seen the fallen monarch in a pitiable condition, led as a prisoner from the royal fort to the bank of the Irrawaddy, and on into exile. Baba would tell this story with real sorrow showing in his face and voice. He grieved for Burma's loss of independence, and felt that British rule was a calamity for both Burma and India.

  Baba had great respect for the last Burmese king. According to him, Thibaw and his government functionaries showed such friendliness and regard for Indian traders that those from Britain and other countries became very jealous. At that time goods being brought from southern Burma up the Irrawaddy had to pass a customs inspection on their arrival at the river port of Mandalay. The Burmese customs officers would treat Indian merchants very politely, simply asking what goods they were bringing without opening or searching their boxes. Whatever the merchants said to the officers was accepted on faith, and the customs duty was fixed accordingly. People from all other countries, however, had to undergo a thorough inspection.

  This preferential treatment of Indians aroused the animosity of other traders. As a result of their protests, the Burmese government officers began to open the boxes of Indian traders too. But they would look without disturbing the contents, so that actually they would see only what was on top of each box. Indian merchants received inspection in name only, and their word was still accepted without question by the customs officers.

This state of affairs continued for many years. Finally, however, a few Indian merchants started deceiving the Burmese officers and so shattered the confidence that had been placed in them. In a box full of valuable velvets these merchants would place a few pieces of cheap, unbleached cloth on top in order to fool the customs inspectors and to escape paying the full duty. Their trickery at last became known and because of the dishonesty of a few, the integrity of the entire Indian business community became suspect. One or two decaying fish will spoil the entire tank. One or two drops of vinegar will curdle a pot of milk. One or two rotten apples will spoil the whole barrel.

  Baba used to say that in ancient times in Burma, people used the term kula (kala) for Indian people as a mark of their respect for them. (Perhaps this usage was in accordance with that found in old Pāli literature, for example Mahā-kula Anāthpiika and Mahā-kula Visākhā.) But now, within a few years, the foolish actions of these greedy merchants caused the usage to change totally, and the word became a pejorative. When a businessman loses his honesty, he loses his reputation, and when he loses his reputation he has lost everything.

Baba felt that honesty must be the basis for doing business. It is only honesty that can bring prosperity and peace. Although he had retired long before I was born, his views on the proper way to conduct business continued to exert influence. He used to say that the customer is the prop and support, the provider of the businessman. He was aghast at the idea of being dishonest to one's supporter; that for him was biting the hand that offers food. Everyone in the family accepted his views and followed his principles in business; one of my uncles even took them to extremes.

  In many other ways Baba had a strong impact on my life. For example, he greatly enjoyed the daily newspaper, but his eyes had grown weak in his old age, and so he would ask me to read the paper to him every day. He used to follow closely political developments in Burma and also India. His interest influenced me so deeply that reading the daily newspaper has practically become an addiction for me.

  Baba had a great love of literature and a vast store of folk tales and poems in his memory. He told us countless stories, and his dohas (rhymed couplets) in his native Rajasthani made a deep impression on me. Fortunately my teacher in elementary school, Shri Kalyan Dutt Dube, shared Baba's love of poetry, being himself a poet. In order to introduce the Hindi language to me, he started by giving me not a children's reader but a book of dohas. This first book that I read in Hindi was called Rahimana Sudha, a collection of dohas of the medieval Muslim poet Rahim.

  Inspired by reading this work, I composed my first doha at the age of seven or eight and eagerly recited it to my Baba, expecting that he would be proud of me. To my surprise, he took such pleasure in this first effort of my pen that he laughed loud and long. It was only after many years that I understood what had provoked his mirth. I had noticed that in each doha of Rahimana Sudha the name of Rahim appeared (it being a popular convention for a poet to include his name in any poem that he composed). In my youthful simplicity I thought that the name of Rahim must appear in my doha as well, and so I included it. No wonder Baba had laughed! Perhaps it is just as well he never knew that this naive budding poet would one day compose a collection of dohas in memory of his grandfather, and that every one of these poems would include the name "Baba."

  About ten miles from Mandalay in the village of Tagundaing was a goshālā, a place where pious Hindus offered shelter and protection to cows. Every year on the auspicious day of Gopastami (the cow festival), a big fair was held at this cow shelter, to which Baba brought the children of the family. All day long we had free rein to satisfy our childish desires. In the evening would be a public meeting with many lectures and speeches, in which Baba took keen interest. One year Master Dube prepared a speech of seven or eight pages for me to read at this meeting. When Baba came to know of it he said, "Why read? You must speak from memory; that will be really impressive." Obediently I learned the speech by heart and declaimed it at the meeting without any notes. Baba was very pleased with my performance. Perhaps he was giving me training for the future.

  In our home, lunch was served between twelve and one and dinner from seven to eight, as is customary in Indian households. Baba, however, preferred to eat these meals earlier, as do the Burmese, and so he would regularly have lunch at ten in the morning and dinner at 5 p.m. Although this gave extra work to his daughters-in-law, they were happy to satisfy his wishes. This earlier meal schedule is followed in Vipassana courses, and it seems to me much better for the health. In fact I often feel uncomfortable if I eat too late at night.

  We never saw Baba praying, or reciting scriptures, or chanting, or fasting, or performing any rites or rituals. In the city was a Hindu Satyanarayan Temple, but he was never seen inside it. On the yearly festival day of the temple people would come in crowds and elaborate decorations were erected, but Baba ignored it all. Baba's daughter lived with us, being a young childless widow. This aunt, Chanda-bai, was always very affectionate to the children, but sometimes she would become irritated with Baba over a trifling matter and would take him to task, saying, "Oh Father, for you there is no reciting the name of God, no rosary, no beads, no pilgrimage, no fasting! You will certainly waste your whole life doing nothing!"

  Baba would smile at her words without replying. In fact this supposedly irreligious man would often take the children with him to visit the Arakan Pagoda, four or five miles from Mandalay, where the famous Mahāmuni statue of the Buddha is enshrined. There he would sit silently for some time. I have no idea whether he was meditating or simply sitting and doing nothing. Perhaps it was just the atmosphere of the place that appealed to him. In most places of worship it is impossible to find peace or even clean, orderly surroundings. They have been polluted by the commotion of the constant chanting and praying, the muck and rubbish left behind by countless rituals. But here at the feet of the Mahāmuni Buddha we found nothing but pure cleanliness, pure peace. This atmosphere of purity naturally affected all who came to the place; I remember that I would always feel very calm and peaceful there.

  Sometimes Baba would also take the children on an outing to Mandalay Fort, in order to show us the former palace of the kings of Burma. He carefully explained all the different structures of the palace to us: throne room, audience chamber, private apartments of the royal family, etc. After inspecting the entire palace he would invariably take us to an old bodhi tree which grew not far away within the grounds of the Fort, and there he would rest for some time. I remember distinctly that under this tree I felt the same peaceful atmosphere as at the Arakan Pagoda. In fact I became so attracted to this place that in the ten days' study holidays before my high school matriculation examinations, I spent the time under this tree. Each morning I took my bicycle, and equipped with books and lunch box, I headed to the Fort. Although it was a long journey from my house, I was undeterred. I would spend the entire day studying under the bodhi tree within the Fort, returning to my home only in the evening. The peace I found under this tree left a lasting impression on me.

  In this way Baba planted seeds of literary inclination and pure Dhamma in the receptive soil of my young mind, and in due season they sprouted, blossomed and bore fruit.

  I was born in the auspicious land of Burma because Baba had migrated there. I was born in a family of businessmen, and might well have earned great worldly wealth in any country where I happened to live. But in that land of Dhamma I had the unique opportunity to encounter a true saint who nevertheless lived within the world: Sayagyi U Ba Khin. This great teacher helped me to earn the priceless gem of the Dhamma, which has enriched my life immeasurably.

  None of this would have been possible had it not been for my grandfather. He has been a great benefactor in my life. Endless salutations to the sacred, living memory of Baba!

 

 

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I Am Grateful to So Many

by S.N. Goenka

 

  The following article was written by S.N. Goenka in 1979 to mark his completion of ten years as a teacher of Vipassana. By 1979, he had fulfilled his decision to spend the first ten years teaching only in India. In the twelve years since, many important developments have unfolded: regular trips by Goenkaji to teach Dhamma abroad, and the resulting establishment of centres and year-round Vipassana courses in countries outside of India; the appointment of assistant teachers; the establishment of the Vipassana Research Institute. Nevertheless, the article is timely today.

 

On 20 June 1969 my revered teacher, Sayagyi U Ba Khin, formally bestowed on me the heavy responsibility of vipassanā ācariya (teacher of Vipassana). Two days later I was to leave my motherland, Burma, to visit India. This was a joyous and blessed occasion. It would have been natural to feel regret at leaving the noble land of my birth, which was to me a heavenly abode. But regrets were dimmed by the shining prospect of coming to the homeland of the Dhamma, the land trodden by so many Buddhas, saints and sages, the holy land of my ancestors, the land now to become the kamma-bhumi, the scene of action of my future life.

  Sayagyi had a strong Dhamma wish that Burma repay its debt of gratitude to India. More than two millennia back, Burma had received the beneficent technique of Vipassana from the land of its origin. Now, he felt, it must be returned to India in all humility; only then would Burma's obligation be discharged.

Sayagyi had hoped to perform this important task himself, but various obstacles came in the way. Therefore he looked to me to undertake this duty. In fact, he had been waiting for the appropriate moment to arise.

  As I have often recounted, the opportunity came when my aged mother, who had gone earlier to India, fell sick. Although the Burmese government at that time did not usually permit their citizens to make trips abroad, they granted me a passport to visit India on compassionate grounds. The Indian government was equally helpful in issuing me the necessary visa. To both these governments I am deeply grateful.

  Sayagyi was very pleased that the way was now open for me to go to India, and he entrusted to me the task of fulfilling his long- cherished wish. Although knowing my own limitations, I accepted this great responsibility since I too had a debt to repay: that to my beloved teacher.

  That great saint full of pure love had taught me this wonderful technique and had helped me to break the shell of ignorance. By showing me how to develop self-realization, truth-realization within myself, he had given me a new birth. Not only that, with the tender devotion of a father he had nourished me for years in the technique, helping me to grow strong in Dhamma. To repay even a little of the great debt to my Dhamma father I was prepared to accept the heaviest responsibility, whatever my limitations might be.

  Truly it was a great responsibility. Although India today respects and takes pride in the Buddha, there is widespread opposition to his teaching, purely because of misconceptions about what he actually taught. For the misunderstandings and antagonism of more than two millennia, who can we blame? I myself was once involved in them. Out of attachment to certain philosophical beliefs, I myself had joined the opposing camp. But through Sayagyi's overflowing compassion, I was able to learn the practical aspect of Dhamma as taught by the Enlightened One, and as a result all my misconceptions melted and my resistance evaporated. This same practical aspect of the teaching of the Buddha has removed the misconceptions and opposition of many, and it continues to do so. The real nature of Dhamma is coming to light, beneficial to all and accessible to all, no matter what one's background. This pure and universal Dhamma is what the Buddha taught. He brought to light the actual practice of Sīla, Samādhi, and Paññā. Dhamma is not a matter of empty discussions or arguments, of mere beliefs or philosophies. Pure Dhamma is not a cause for establishing a sect. Dhamma is simply seeking one's own real welfare and the welfare of all others.

  It is this universal, universally beneficial nature of Dhamma that attracted me to it. This is what has attracted and continues to attract a large number of intelligent people in this country. Aho Buddha, aho Dhamma, aho Dhamma-sudhammatā! (Great is the Buddha, great is the Dhamma, great is the nature of Dhamma!) Great is the Buddha who teaches universal Dhamma. Great is the Dhamma which applies to one and all. Great is the nature of Dhamma because of which any ordinary person of average intelligence can practise it and benefit. I am grateful to this wonderful, universal Dhamma which transcends the narrow-mindedness of sectarianism. The strength of this pure and universal Dhamma has enabled Vipassana to become a medium for serving the general public, despite initial difficulties.

  Certainly there were difficulties at first. One was that out of a population of six hundred million, there were hardly one hundred people in India whom I knew well, and of these I could count on my fingers those who might be called my intimates. Closest were naturally the members of my family who were already residing in India, but I found them to be strongly committed to a different technique of meditation that is inimical to Vipassana. Given this situation, it seemed to me that I could not expect any cooperation from my family. Nevertheless they did in fact give their cooperation, which I can never forget and for which I am always grateful. I share with them the merits of my Dhamma work.

  During the last ten years thousands of people from India and abroad have come to learn Vipassana, all because of the power of the Dhamma. Many who came were apparently strangers to me, but soon they seemed to be old acquaintances whom I had known for a long time.

  Among those who came were many who have performed a meritorious deed in the past, because of which they could now receive the seed of pure Dhamma-a seed which will yield good fruit when the time ripens. I am thankful to all of them. They gave me the opportunity to serve them in Dhamma and to repay even a small measure of my debt of gratitude to my teacher. But there were also those who came to learn the technique and who naturally became a part of the Dhamma work. What great service has been given by these people! When I review the last ten

eventful years, a number of faces  come to mind of those who dedicated the m selves mentally, physically, and financially to arrange              and manage Vipassana camps.

  In those days there was no centre for the teaching of Vipassana. The organizers had to find the physical facilities for a camp: a resthouse (dharmashālā), or a school. They had to provide for the boarding and lodging of the participants. If someone fell ill during a course they had to make the arrangements for medical treatment and special regimens. For ten days the organizers had to set aside all their own affairs in order to look after the meditators, waiting on them hand and foot. And the job was not limited to ten days. Before the camp there was the work of preparation and corresponding with applicants. After the course as well, there was much to do and usually few to do it: returning and paying for rented equipment, arranging railway bookings for the participants, and so forth. Large or small, innumerable tasks awaited the organizers after a course. Despite the heavy burden, I found that they met their responsibilities smilingly, with the pure volition of serving the Dhamma.

  These people derived no material advantage from their work, nor did they expect any, not even name or fame. It was simply because they had benefited from this wonderful technique that they wished more and more people to benefit.

  When I recall the faces of these many dedicated servants of the Dhamma, I feel a thrill of rapture throughout my body. I ask myself whether the great work accomplished in only ten years would ever have been possible without their selfless service.

  Of these dedicated people were some who undertook to establish centres at Igatpuri, Hyderabad and Jaipur in respect for the glorious memory of Sayagyi U Ba Khin. Many more meditators gave their cooperation in constructing facilities at the centres, and they still give it without expecting anything in return. Their service is truly selfless and pure. Others have given large donations, but they did not assume that they were therefore entitled to name or fame, or to any special treatment at the centres. All of these people who have been aiding the Dhamma work do so without the thought that because of their help some special status is due to them, some position or power in the organization. I am deeply grateful to all these selfless servants of the Dhamma.

  Nor has this Dhamma service been confined to Indian meditators. Many young Western students of Vipassana have dedicated their lives to serving the Dhamma. Quite a few have been living the life of true recluses at Dhammagiri. Whenever needed, they willingly give dāna of physical work, toiling like ordinary labourers. Their devoted service gives joy and Dhamma inspiration to others.

  Outside India as well, there are many engaged in freely-given Dhamma service. In different countries there are contacts to spread information about Vipassana, and places where meditators can sit together once a week. Courses are also organized regularly. These many Indian and Western meditators all deserve my thanks, although I know that none of them works expecting even thanks from me.

  During the last ten years many Vipassana camps have been organized in the places of worship of different religious groups: Buddhists, Jains, Hindus, Muslims and Christians. These courses were made possible only through the magnanimity of the leaders of the various religious organizations. If they had had even a tinge of sectarian narrow- mindedness, they would not have allowed their places of worship to be used for teaching Vipassana meditation. Their broad- mindedness is all the more remarkable when it is considered that they agreed to suspend all rituals, prayers, and recitations in their places of worship for the period of the course, so as to avoid any conflict or interference with the teaching of Vipassana.

  When a camp was organized at Saint Mary's Church in Khandala, the main sanctuary was used as the meditation hall. For the period of the course not only daily prayers but even the Sunday masses and sermons were suspended. Two consecutive courses were arranged in a large mosque in Ningal, Kutch (Gujarat), and for the benefit of Vipassana meditators daily worship and even the Friday congregational prayers (namaj) were stopped. In Hindu temples, even the customary practice of ringing prayer bells was suspended. Such actions are evidence of the broad-mindedness and magnanimity of the guardians of these religious establishments. All these religious groups cooperated willingly to help course participants learn the universal technique of untying the knots of the mind.

  The meditation technique of Vipassana was maintained in Burma through millennia, but in its pure form it was preserved only by a small number of people who transmitted it from teacher to pupil in an unbroken chain. There are many monks there who do not know this technique which gives such quick results (akālika), concrete results that can be experienced here and now (sandiṭṭhika). Quite a few respected bhikkhus (monks) wanted to learn this wonderful technique from Sayagyi U Ba Khin but they hesitated to do so, since it is contrary to all tradition in Burma for a monk to learn Dhamma from a layman. For this reason Sayagyi was pressed hard to take robes so that there would be no obstacle for these monks to learn from him.

  Sayagyi, however, had his principles. He had to act according to his own understanding of Dhamma, even if this might restrict him in some ways. It was his ideal to live the life of a bhikkhu while remaining a layman. In this way, he felt he could enable more people to gain the benefits of Vipassana. Therefore, although many monks in Burma were convinced that here was a person who knew the technique by which one can reach the final goal of full liberation-the very goal in pursuit of which they had left worldly life-still they felt unable to break with tradition and to learn meditation from Sayagyi.

  Wonderful, however is the land of India! During the last ten years a large number of monks and recluses have come to learn Dhamma from an ordinary layman, not concerning themselves with the question of possible loss of prestige in doing so. Among those who have come were leading Buddhist bhikkhus who are research scholars and teachers of great renown; prominent Jain munis and nuns who are highly respected in their community; leading Christian priests and nuns; and well-known Hindu sannyasis. For these people of reputation and standing to learn from a layman, they had to set aside considerations of ego and prestige. This they did with resolute mind, and worked with zeal to learn the technique.

  The obstacles they faced were all the greater because for the period of the course they had to suspend their customary religious ceremonies; yet still they came. In fact a large number of Jain munis and nuns, whose discipline forbids them to use wheeled or mechanized transport, walked for hundreds of miles to join a camp. Great is their zeal to learn Dhamma, great is their zeal to become liberated, great are their efforts towards that goal, great is their renunciation! Certainly they must have performed highly meritorious deeds in the past, which have led them in the direction of Vipassana meditation. When I remember each one of them my mind fills with rapture and bows with sincere respect.

  I do not devalue what has been done for the spread of Vipassana in the last ten years, since to do so would be to devalue the selfless service given by so many people. But the fact remains that up to now only a first step has been taken in the work, and a small step. A long journey lies ahead. From a firm base in India, the light of Vipassana must spread everywhere around the world.

  It is a lifetime job. It is a steep ascent of the mountain. Upon the way are many obstacles and hindrances, those within and those without: not only conflicting responsibilities to family and society but also the opposition of many elements opposed to the Dhamma. To overcome these difficulties requires great strength of Dhamma, perseverance, forbearance, zeal, and egolessness.

  At times when faced with great difficulties I find that I have stooped beneath their weight. Very soon, however, I have stood up, brushed the dust from my knees, and started walking with increased Dhamma strength. Whatever portion of the journey has been completed gives the inspiration and strength to walk on. And the greatest help upon the path is gratitude. This is the support for the journey ahead.

  Therefore gratitude keeps overflowing in my mind, first to the Enlightened One who rediscovered this lost technique and used it for his benefit, and who with free hand and compassionate heart distributed it for the benefit of one and all. I am grateful to the entire chain of teachers from Buddha, the Enlightened One, to Sayagyi U Ba Khin who maintained this wonderful technique in its original form, thereby permitting me to learn it in its purity. I am grateful to all the members of my family whose cooperation has been so helpful in the Dhamma-duta (spread of Dhamma) work. I am grateful to all my comrades and friends in the Dhamma, all who have given me their cooperation and assistance, whose companionship has given me sustenance on the path.

  If during the last ten years by my deeds of body, speech, or mind I have committed any wrong action knowingly or unknowingly, intentionally or unintentionally towards anyone, I ask pardon.

Again, my gratitude to one and all.

  May all beings be happy! May all beings be peaceful! May all beings be liberated!

 

 

Anna vastra, vāhana bhuvana svar a ratna dāna

saba dāno se ucā hai sreṣṭha Dharma dāna.

 

Dharama ratana jagata me aura ratana koya.

Dukkha dainya sāre mie, saba vidhi magala hoya.

 

Gifts may be of food, clothing, transport or shelter;

gifts may be of gold or gems; but greater than all of these is the noble gift of Dhamma.

 

In the world there is no jewel like the jewel of Dhamma.

It ends all suffering and wretchedness;

all its ways are happiness.

-Hindi dohas of S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

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  Sayagyi, however, had his principles. He had to act according to his own understanding of Dhamma, even if this might restrict him in some ways. It was his ideal to live the life of a bhikkhu while remaining a layman. In this way, he felt he could enable more people to gain the benefits of Vipassana. Therefore, although many monks in Burma were convinced that here was a person who knew the technique by which one can reach the final goal of full liberation-the very goal in pursuit of which they had left worldly life-still they felt unable to break with tradition and to learn meditation from Sayagyi.

  Wonderful, however is the land of India! During the last ten years a large number of monks and recluses have come to learn Dhamma from an ordinary layman, not concerning themselves with the question of possible loss of prestige in doing so. Among those who have come were leading Buddhist bhikkhus who are research scholars and teachers of great renown; prominent Jain munis and nuns who are highly respected in their community; leading Christian priests and nuns; and well-known Hindu sannyasis. For these people of reputation and standing to learn from a layman, they had to set aside considerations of ego and prestige. This they did with resolute mind, and worked with zeal to learn the technique.

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Anna vastra, vāhana bhuvana svar a ratna dāna

saba dāno se ucā hai sreṣṭha Dharma dāna.

 

Dharama ratana jagata me aura ratana koya.

Dukkha dainya sāre mie, saba vidhi magala hoya.

 

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Interviews

Photo Mr. and Mrs. S.N. Goenka

 

Master of Meditation:

An Interview with S.N. Goenka

by Stephan Bodian

 

  The following article was written by Stephan Bodian, editor of Yoga Journal (Berkeley, California). It appeared in the September/October 1989 issue of the magazine, and is reprinted here in its entirety.

 

Next to the Dalai Lama, S. N. Goenka may be the Asian Buddhist teacher

best known in the West. Several prominent American teachers have studied with him; he makes periodic visits to Europe, Australia, and the United States; and hundreds flock each year from all over the world to attend his ten- day and one-month meditation courses near Bombay.

  Yet Goenka, though he claims to teach what the Buddha taught, does not call himself a Buddhist. "The Dhamma is universal and non-sectarian," he insists. In a country torn by differences of caste and belief, this ecumenical message is like salve on an open wound. Hindu temples, Christian churches, Buddhist retreat centers, and a Muslim mosque have hosted his meditation courses, and hundreds of Christian priests, monks, and nuns have studied with him as a required part of their pastoral training.

  What Goenka imparts to his students is called Vipassana, often translated as insight meditation. Learned from the great Burmese master U Ba Khin, Goenka's version of this ancient technique emphasizes three aspects:  moral  behavior,  to  encourage the mind to settle; mastery of the mind through concentration on the breath; and Vipassana proper, purification of the mind through insight into one's physical and mental structure. Following in the Buddha's footsteps, Goenka claims that this is a direct path to eradicating the threefold source of all suffering: craving, aversion, and ignorance.

  Nothing about Goenka's upbringing would seem to have prepared him to be a teacher of Vipassana. Born to an Indian family that had settled in Burma two generations before, Goenka was taught the elaborate rites and rituals of conservative Hinduism. As a youth he was groomed to enter the family textile business, which he did while still in his teens, and by his mid-20s he had become an extremely successful businessman and a leader of the Indian community in Burma.

  But success brought with it "a lot of ego, a lot of tension," as he puts it, and he began to suffer from severe migraine headaches, for which no cure could be found except morphine. Afraid of becoming an addict, Goenka sought medical care in Europe, America, Japan, but to no avail. Then a friend suggested he take a ten-day Vipassana course with U Ba Khin, who, in addition to being a meditation master, held high government office as the Accountant-General of Burma.

  "I was hesitant initially," Goenka recalls, "partially because I could not believe this meditation could help when the best doctors could not, and partially because it was Buddhist, and I come from a very staunch Hindu family." But meeting U Ba Khin changed his mind.

  "He was such a saintly person. The atmosphere around him was so calm and serene, just meeting him for a few minutes persuaded me to give this technique a try." The results were dramatic, and thoroughly convinced Goenka of the value of Vipassana.

  "Of course, it gave me relief for my migraine. But the biggest relief was that the stress and strain and tension that I used to build up because of my ego-all that got released." Once a "short-tempered person," Goenka found that he now got along much better with his family and staff. Dogmas and rituals became "trivial" as he came to see that the Dhamma is not a religion but an "art of living, the art of living peacefully and harmoniously within oneself and of generating nothing but peace and harmony for others."

  For the next fourteen years, Goenka practised regularly with U Ba Khin-when he wasn't attending to the responsibilities of business and family. Then in 1969 he moved to India, where, with the encouragement of his teacher, he began teaching courses in Vipassana. Since 1976, Goenka has been based at the Vipassana International Academy in Igatpuri, near Bombay. Built entirely with the donations of grateful students, this center boasts a meditation hall that seats over 400, with individual meditation cells for over 250. Centres have also been established near three other Indian cities and in Nepal, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, England, France, and the U.S. In all, approximately one hundred assistant instructors authorized by Goenka teach this approach without charge or personal profit to all who request it.

  A teddy bear of a man in his mid-sixties, Goenka gives every impresson of being "the real thing"-one who has faithfully followed the path he espouses and has achieved the happiness and equanimity of which he speaks. During our interview, his voice never betrays the slightest agitation, exuberance, irritation or concern. Rather, it exudes the quiet, steady warmth and serenity one would expect of a master of one of the world's oldest forms of meditation.

 

  Yoga Journal: In a recent interview, you are quoted as saying, "To me, Hinduism and Buddhism are both madness."

  S.N. Goenka:  One thing is clear: for me, Dhamma is universal; it can never be sectarian. The life of morality [sīla] cannot be a monopoly of Hindus or Buddhists or Christians. All must live a moral life, doing nothing at the physical or vocal level to harm other beings.

  Nor can mastering the mind [samādhi] and keeping it pure and free from all negativities [paññā; pronounced "pahn-ya"] be a monopoly of any sect or religion. These three [sīla, samādhi, and paññā] are what constitute the Dhamma, the teachings of the Buddha. So the Dhamma is universal. When I teach this approach, I don't call it Buddhist, because "Buddhism" is a loaded word, like Hinduism, Jainism, Christianity. It refers to a sect, whereas what I am teaching is universal. For me, sects divide; Dhamma unites. When I used the word "madness," I was referring to the situation in India and Sri Lanka, where Hindus are killing Buddhists, and Buddhists are killing Hindus. Even beautiful Dhamma has turned into a sect and become poisonous and fanatical, and the essence of Dhamma has been lost. When one is teaching pure Dhamma, there can't be any madness.

  Could you say a little more about the Dhamma? What is this Dhamma you teach?

  The Dhamma is the law of nature which governs the entire universe, both animate and inanimate. If one understands the laws of nature and works in accord with them, one leads a good and proper life. Now, Dhamma wants us not to kill, not to steal, not to tell lies, not to engage in sexual misconduct, and not to get intoxicated [the five basic precepts for lay Buddhists]. At the surface level these are actually laws of society, rather than laws of nature, because they contribute to the peace and harmony of society.

  But when you start practising Vipassana, deep inside you understand that every time you break any of these precepts, even before you harm others, you have started harming yourself. You can't kill without generating a lot of anger or hatred in your mind. And as soon as you generate hatred or ill will, indeed any negativity, nature starts punishing you, and you become miserable. When you generate anger, you can't possibly experience peace and harmony. You feel so agitated, so miserable.

  Similarly, every precept that is broken creates agitation in the mind and makes one miserable. Maybe nature continues to punish us after death; I believe it does. But nature definitely punishes us here and now. This is the law. I place my hand in the fire, and it burns. If I want to keep myself free from burning, I had better keep myself away from fire. So sīla [morality or precepts] is practised not just to oblige the society, but for one's own sake, to keep oneself peaceful and harmonious.

When we generate negativity we become miserable. When we come out of negativity, we start experiencing peace, and we start helping others because we are being helped ourselves.

  When these negativities are removed and the mind becomes calm, quiet, and pure, the law of nature is such that a pure mind naturally becomes filled with love, compassion, goodwill. One does not have to cultivate these virtues deliberately; they develop quite naturally. And as soon as I develop love, compassion, and goodwill in my mind, nature starts rewarding me then and there. I feel so peaceful, so harmonious. The reward for a pure mind and the punishment for an impure mind are universal. It works the same for Buddhists, Hindus, Christians and Jews. Because I call myself a Buddhist, nature will not favor me. The Dhamma is universal.

 Another way in which Dhamma is universal is that, in the practice of samādhi, controlling or concentrating the mind, the object of concentration is the breath. No verbalization, no recitation of a name or mantra, no visualization of a god or goddess. Just natural breath that comes in and goes out. Now, this too can be practised without any difficulty by a Hindu, a Muslim, a Christian, or a Jain. Breath is breath. It's a natural reality that is present in every being.

  In the practice of paññā [wisdom] mind and matter work, how they interact. When we generate negativity, an unpleasant sensation arises in the body and we become miserable. When we come out of that negativity, we start experiencing peace, and we start helping others because we are being helped ourselves. All this can be done easily by a person of any sect, because no dogma or philosophy or symbolism is involved, just the law of nature. You are just observing nature, which is the same for everyone. So, in my own experience of all three aspects, sīla, samādhi, and paññā, I have found that Dhamma is universal.

 

  Much of what you have been describing sounds like the law of karma, the law of cause and effect. If this law is indeed universal, I wonder why all the different religions don't teach it.

  Not only other religions, but Buddhism as well. Over the centuries the teachings of Buddha have also been corrupted, and the various Buddhist sects have started giving importance to rites, rituals, sectarian beliefs, dogmas, and all kinds of different philosophies. But the essence of Dhamma is always universal. If the essence of Dhamma is lost, then every teaching degenerates into sectarian belief. We can't blame any one religion only. Every religion has degenerated into an empty shell; the essence of Dhamma has been lost everywhere.

  But if we understand what the essence of Dhamma is, then there is no difference between one religion and another. Large numbers of people come to my Vipassana courses from different religions, and they find it so beneficial. At the end of one course, a Christian priest told me that I am teaching Christianity in the name of Buddha. At the end of another, a Jain monk said, "This is the essence of our teaching, which we have lost. This is what we are looking for." Hindus, Jews, Muslims, they all say the same thing, because nobody can find any defect in pure Dhamma. It is always acceptable by one and all.

 

  Could you say a little about the Four Noble Truths?

  Again, these are so universal. Nobody can deny the First Noble Truth, the reality of suffering. Association with undesirables [undesirable objects, people, situations] and disassociation from desirables bring suffering. So the First Noble Truth, the truth of suffering of misery, is universal. The Second Noble Truth, the cause of misery, looks different from the inside and from the outside. It seems that I am miserable because something happened outside that I didn't want to happen, or something didn't happen according to my wishes. But deep inside, everyone can realize that the misery I am suffering is caused by my reaction of craving or aversion. I like something, and I generate craving. I dislike something, and I generate aversion. This Second Noble Truth is common to all.

  So, too, the way to come out of misery is common to all, because you have to eradicate the root of your misery, where craving and aversion start. At a gross level, a good way to do that is to practise sīla-that is, don't perform any action, physical or verbal, that will disturb or harm other beings, because simultaneously it will harm you. Then work with samādhi; control your mind. But mere control is not sufficient; you must go deep and purify your mind. Once it is purified, craving and aversion are gone, and you have reached the stage where there is no misery at all. It's all so scientific; people accept it so easily. Of course, if we keep fighting over dogma, difficulties arise. But I say, just practise and see: Are you suffering or not? Isn't this the cause of the suffering? And isn't it eradicated by practising in this way?

 

  You talk about Vipassana meditation. What are the techniques of Vipassana, as you teach it?

  The technique of Vipassana is to observe the truth of suffering within oneself, how one becomes agitated, irritated, miserable. One has to go deep within oneself to observe it objectively. Otherwise, the cause of misery always appears to be outside. Say, for example, that I'm angry, and I want to investigate this anger. Even if I close my eyes and try to understand it, the apparent external cause of the anger will keep coming to mind, and I will keep justifying my behavior. "So and so abused me, so and so insulted me, and that is why I am angry. It's no fault of mine." But the fact is, I am miserable.

  The technique of Vipassana teaches you just to observe. If you are miserable, just observe misery as misery. As you start observing, the cause of misery becomes clear. Because you reacted with negativity, with craving or aversion, you are now experiencing a very unpleasant sensation in the body. But as you keep observing the sensation, it loses its strength and passes away, and the negativity passes with it.

  We start with respiration because the mind doesn't become concentrated unless it has an object to focus on. For the first three days of the retreat, we observe the breath coming and going at the entrance of the nostrils. As the mind calms down a bit, we start experiencing the sensations around the nostrils and then expand to experience the sensations throughout the body. These sensations take us to the root of our minds. They take us to the root of the misery, to the root of the cause of misery, and they help us to eradicate that cause. This is what is taught in Vipassana.

 

  If I'm not mistaken, the technique of observing sensations throughout the body is called "sweeping."

  Yes, sweeping in the sense that, at a certain stage, all the solidity of the body dissolves. The apparent truth of the material body is solidity. We feel a solid body. But, as you keep observing it objectively, this solidity starts dissolving, and you start experiencing that the entire material structure is nothing but a mass of subatomic particles arising and passing away, arising and passing away. The entire body is just a mass of vibrations. At first, however, when you are still with the solidity, you can't sweep, can't get a flow of vibration throughout the body, because there are blockages here and there- pain, pressure, heaviness. Instead, you keep observing part by part, and little by little all that solidity dissolves, and you reach the stage of total dissolution, mere vibration. Then your attention can move easily from the head to the feet and back again without any obstruction. This is what I refer to as "sweeping."

 

  So sweeping occurs when you are totally clear.

  Totally-when there is no blockage anywhere. The Buddha says: "By this technique, a student learns how to feel the

entire body in one breath. Breathing in, you feel the entire body. Breathing out, you feel the entire body." This happens only when the body dissolves, when all solidity disappears. Then as you breathe out, you feel from head to feet; as you breathe in, you feel from feet to head. That is what we call sweeping-a stage where the body dissolves and intense mental contents dissolve as well. If there are strong emotions, you can't get this sweeping, because strong emotions result in a feeling of solidity in the body. When emotions are dissolved at the mental level, and the solidity of the body is dissolved at the material level, nothing remains but a mass of vibrationāmass of energy moving in the body.

 

  Ideally, one would be able to do this at all times, throughout the day.

Yes. Once one reaches this stage, one continues to work with sweeping. But certain conditionings or impurities of the past, called sakhāras, may exist at a very deep level of the mind. Through this sweeping, moving from head to feet and feet to head, these impurities get shaken and start coming to the surface. Say a certain sakhāra manifests itself as gross sensations in the body. You work on these gross sensations by just observing them, until they too dissolve and you again get a free flow.

  The goal of this technique is not to achieve the free flow of vibrations, which is after all just another transitory experience, but to accept with equanimity whatever manifests itself. In this way, you eradicate your mental conditioning layer by layer, and along with it your suffering.

 

  How is this practice different from other forms of Vipassana?

I don't want to give any opinions about others. But as I understand the teachings of the Buddha in the Satipaṭṭhana Sutta and elsewhere, the starting point can be different for different people, but at a certain stage everyone must follow the same path towards nibbāna.

  At the start of practice, Buddha gave different objects of meditation to different people, according to their mental conditioning, temperament, understanding, and capability. For example, those who have great attachment to the body and to the passions of the body, Buddha would have contemplate a corpse, so they would come to understand that their body is also like that-made up of flesh and bones and blood and pus and mucus and so forth. Someone who is so attached to the body doesn't want to accept that the body is dirty, after all. What, then, would there be to develop anattāchment toward?

  One can start this way, but eventually one must reach the stage where one experiences anicca, impermanence, how things arise and pass away. This arising and passing away should not be accepted at the intellectual or devotional level only; Buddha wanted us to experience it for ourselves. And it can be experienced only with sensation in the body. At the level of sensation, one finds, "Look, it has arisen, and look, it has passed away." Sensation arises, passes away; arises, passes away. When it is solidified, intensified, it arises and seems to stay for a while; but sooner or later it passes away.

  When all solidity dissolves, it turns into subtle vibration, and every vibration becomes a wavelet that arises and passes away. So one experiences both solid sensation and subtle sensation arising and passing, arising and passing. Unless one experiences this directly, one hasn't understood the Buddha properly. Even before the Buddha, there were those who taught that the whole universe is impermanent, arising and passing. But Buddha discovered a technique by which one can experience it. And when we experience it, attachment, craving, and aversion go away, and the mind becomes purified. At a later stage, arising and passing occur so rapidly that one can't separate the one from the other. Then, after further purification of the mind, one reaches the stage of nibbāna. Whether one starts with contemplating a corpse, the material parts of the body, respiration, or some other object, the rest of the path must be the same.

 

  So this is why you stress mindfulness of sensation, as opposed to mindfulness of mental states.

  Exactly. According to Buddha, whatever arises in the mind manifests itself as a sensation in the body. People don't give enough importance to this teaching. If you just observe mental states, that will help you to perfect your faculty of observation. But that is not the totality of the truth. You are observing only your own thoughts. But what is happening to the body at that time? Mind and matter-both have to be observed.

  When a thought arises, simultaneously there is a sensation in the body. And the sensation is actually the root of the problem. We don't react to thoughts. It may appear that, when I have a very pleasant thought in my mind, I start craving, and when I have a very unpleasant thought in my mind, I start to develop aversion. In fact, however, according to the law of nature, what you call a pleasant thought is nothing but a pleasant sensation in the body. Displeasure is nothing but an unpleasant sensation in the body. If you miss the sensation, you are just working at the surface level. This may give you some benefit, but it won't take you to where you eradicate your impurities. The roots still remain.

  So when you are meditating, and you have a lot of mental turbulence...

Start observing the sensation in the body, and accept the fact that there is turbulence in the mind. That's all. Don't go into the details of the turbulence, and don't try to forcibly calm it down. Otherwise, you'll end up rolling around in your thoughts and not observing them objectively.

  As you observe your sensation, you will find that your mind automatically calms down. Negativity is not suppressed, nor do you express it at the physical or vocal level. It just gets eradicated. If you observe the sensations with equanimity, without reacting to them, then you are purifying your mind at the deepest level. Otherwise you purify your mind at the surface level only.

 

  Many of these ideas, which are classic Dharma, foreshadow the insights of modern mind-body theorists. For example, the German psychologist Wilhelm Reich believed that past conditioning is stored in the body and can be released by working at the physical level. And Carl Jung, the Swiss psychologist, believed that the unconscious exists in the body.

  Quite so. The so-called unconscious mind is constantly reacting to the body's sensations, while the conscious mind has no idea what is happening. There is a big barrier.

 

The conscious mind may not know what the unconscious is doing. This technique breaks the barrier between the conscious and the unconscious. Then one becomes aware of everything that is happening in the body. Little sensations here or there that the conscious mind would not otherwise have felt, it now feels. And this technique trains the mind not to react. At the root level, the unconscious mind has always reacted with craving and aversion, and this influences the conscious mind as well. The entire structure of the mind is influenced by the root.

Buddha teaches us that, if we rectify things at the root, the entire mind will become perfectly all right.

  Unless the sleeping impurities at the root of the mind are eradicated, one can't call oneself an enlightened person. To me, Buddha's contribution to meditation was this technique by which the unconscious impurities are eradicated. Otherwise, the unconscious mind will always be reacting to the body sensations.

 

  We've talked quite a bit about anicca, impermanence. What about the teaching of anattā, which is ordinarily understood as "no self" or "no abiding self"? Ordinarily we think that we need a self in order to function in the world. We have expressions like "self- esteem" and "self-confidence," and we believe that "ego strength" is a measure of a person's ability to cope with daily life. What does this "no self" teaching mean?

  For those who haven't experienced the stage of "no self," it's true that in the apparent world there must be an ego, and this ego must be stimulated. If I don't crave something, I won't get the stimulation I need to function. In my courses, whenever I say that craving and attachment are harmful, people say that if there were no attachment, no craving, what would be the fun of living? There would be no life. We'd all be like vegetables.

  Being a family man who has done business in the world, I can understand their concerns. But I also understand that when you work with this technique and reach the stage where the ego dissolves, the capacity to work increases many-fold. When you lead a very ego-centered life, your whole attitude is to do as much as possible for yourself. But this attitude makes you so tense that you feel miserable. When, as a result of doing Vipassana, the ego dissolves, then by nature the mind is full of love, compassion, and goodwill. You feel like working,

not only for your own benefit, but for the benefit of all. When the narrow-minded ego stimulation goes away, you feel so much more relaxed, and so much more capable of working. This is my own experience, and the experience of so many who have walked on this path.

  This technique does not make you inactive. A responsible person in society is full of action. What goes away is the habit of blind reaction. When you work with reaction, you generate misery. When you work without reaction, you generate positive feeling.

 

  How do you recommend that people use this technique in their daily lives?

  The first thing is to strengthen and perfect sīla, morality. The five precepts we teach- no killing, no stealing, no sexual misconduct, no lying, not becoming intoxicated-are the base. Once one starts slipping in any of these, samādhi becomes weak, and paññā becomes shallow. You can't work at the level of your sensations; you just end up playing intellectual games at the surface of the mind. But if sīla is strong, you can start going to the depths of the mind. And then, when you've gone to the depths and eradicated even some of the impurities, sīla and samādhi are both strengthened. All three help each other.

  The next thing is this: while you're working, give all your attention to your work. This is your meditation at that time. But when you're free, even for five minutes, be aware of your sensations with open eyes. Whenever you have nothing else to do, observe your sensations. This will give you strength while you are going about your tasks. This is how people can use this technique in their daily life.

 

  What about enlightenment. Where does enlightenment figure into all of this?

  To me, enlightenment is progressive. It is because of ignorance that we keep on reacting deep inside with craving and aversion. When we come to understand that we are craving in reaction to a pleasant sensation and feeling aversion in reaction to an unpleasant sensation, then we have become enlightened to that reality. As we proceed, this reality becomes clearer and clearer, which means that enlightenment is increasing. And as we explore this path of arising and passing, arising and passing, we experience something that is beyond arising and passing, which we call nibbāna.

 

  So enlightenment is the experience of a stage beyond arising and passing.

  Yes, final, complete enlightenment is the experience beyond mind and matter, beyond the entire sensorium. All sense faculties stop working there. Eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind-they cannot function. For all practical purposes, one is like a dead person. But deep inside one is aware. How one is aware, and what one is aware of, cannot be explained in words, because the experience is beyond the sensory field.

 

  So a person like this doesn't function in the world.

  Yes, while one is in that state-for a second, or a few minutes, or maybe even a few hours-one does not function. Then one comes back to the sensory field, but one is totally changed. Because now one understands everything at the experiential level.

 

Having had that experience, a person would then lead a very different life.

  Yes. That is an important yardstick for measuring whether one is enlightened or not. Otherwise anybody can say, "I reached this or that stage." But the only way to judge is to examine how they lead their life.

 

 

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Interview with Mataji

Mrs.Ilaichi Devi Goenka, who is known to her family and students as Mataji (respected mother; a respectful form of  address for elderly Indian women) was born in Mandalay, Burma in January, 1930. Her ancestors migrated from Rajasthan, India to Burma about one hundred years ago. They were merchants, trading in grains and other commodities. She was one of three children, two girls and one boy.

  Mataji spent the first twelve years of her childhood in Mandalay, the old capital of Burma, in the house next door to the one where Goenkaji's family lived. As was the custom in those days, the marriage was arranged and she was engaged to Goenkaji at a young age.

  Near the end of 1941, the Japanese invaded Burma, and went on to occupy the country for the duration of the Second World War. Many of Burma's Indian residents, including Mataji's and Goenkaji's families, fled to their ancestoral homes.

  Goenkaji and Mataji were married in Mandalay in early 1942, during an aerial bombardment of the city. Almost immediately thereafter their families fled to India, where they remained for the duration of the war. Mataji's family stayed in northern India, where her father established a livelihood in Gujurat and the Punjab. Goenkaji's family stayed in southern India, where Mataji joined her husband during the war.

  After the war, Goenkaji and Mataji returned to Burma and settled in Rangoon, where they were fully occupied with the householders' responsibilities of raising six sons, conducting the family businesses, and being a leading family of the Hindu community.

  Goenkaji took his first Vipassana course with Sayagyi U Ba Khin in 1955. Mataji and other family members and friends also took courses and began practising under Sayagyi's guidance. In 1969, Goenkaji went to India and began conducting the first Vipassana courses there. Mataji stayed in Burma until after Sayagyi's death in 1971.

  Because of the change in the Burmese government, and the work of spreading the Dhamma (first in India; later, around the world) the family settled in Bombay shortly after Sayagyi's death.

  Goenkaji and Mataji have six sons, six daughters-in-law and eleven grandchildren, most of whom live together in a traditional joint family house in Bombay.

  The following interview, through an interpreter, was held at the family residence in Bombay in October 1991.

 

Can you tell us about your first meeting with Sayagyi?

  Mrs. Goenka: After Goenkaji did his first course, I went to the centre and met Sayagyi. Sayagyi gave me Ānāpāna at that time, and sometimes I would practise it, but I used to feel very heavy in the head, practising only Ānāpāna. Sayagyi told Goenkaji that it was important that I also sit a course, that this was very important for Goenkaji's progress also.

  How old were you when you first met Sayagyi? What kind of a Dhamma teacher was he?

  I was perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old when I first met him. I remember that I felt very peaceful whenever I was with Sayagyi, but I also felt something very overwhelming inside, which is difficult to put in words.

  Can you tell us about your first course with Sayagyi?

  It was really quite a miracle! When I went to my first course I was very ill, I could not even climb the stairs leading up to the Dhamma hall: two people had to support me and help me climb them. I was so ill that I could not even eat anything when I went. But after being given Ānāpāna and practising it for just the first evening, I felt well again- the next day I could walk around, and eat, and do whatever was necessary unaided. The meditation was very helpful! (Laughter)

  How old were your little children when you did your first course?

  My youngest child, Jay Prakash, must have been four years old.

  That's very young. Did you miss your children?

  It was not difficult for me, I didn't suffer much from a feeling of separation, because I didn't have too much bodily clinging to the children. Also, because of our joint family, I knew that there were people to look after the children properly at home, so I had nothing to worry about in that respect. Of course I remembered the children, but not with that much attachment.

  Sayagyi spoke in Burmese and English, but you speak Hindi. How did you communicate? What were the discourses like?

  Sayagyi didn't talk much. By gestures he would ask and by gestures I could reply, and that was more than enough. He gave very short Dhamma discourses, of about fifteen to thirty minutes only. Goenkaji translated just a few lines to the Indian students. The main thing was that you had been shown the path, and how to work, and then you just worked!

  This was four years after Goenkaji took his first course?

Yes, three or four years later.

  In those three or four years, did you notice any changes in Goenkaji?

There was a great change! (Laughter)

  Did you and Goenkaji take the children to Sayagyi's centre sometimes?

  In the first five or seven courses we didn't take the children, but later, when I went more often, the children used to go with me. They would sleep at the centre, and the next morning go to school from there.

How did Sayagyi respond to the children?

He loved them; he treated them very affectionately. He explained Ānāpāna to them. Whenever it was vacation time for the children, they would stay there all day, and Sayagyi taught them Vipassana as well as Ānāpāna. So the children were also on the path.

  At home, did you have a room where your family meditated?

In the later years, there was a room for meditation on the terrace. The children also used to sit there,

and they would recite the Ratana Sutta and Maugala Sutta with us. They would do a little bit of meditation, as much as they felt like, then go out quietly, to school or elsewhere, while the adults continued with their meditation.

  And otherwise did you go to Sayagyi's centre for sitting sometimes?

  Sometimes, but not daily. Before nationalization, we used to go maybe once a week. But after the new government came and the businesses were nationalized, there was more time on hand, and we used to go thrice a week, sometimes in the morning, but not at fixed times.

  During those years, did you know that your future would become completely devoted to spreading Dhamma?

Oh, no, I never knew anything!

  Did Sayagyi talk about your spreading the Dhamma?

  Sayagyi would very often say to me, "You have to work very hard! You have to do a lot of work, you have to work so much!" I always understood that my life would be filled with domestic chores, so I wondered: why was Sayagyi telling me that I had to continue to do domestic chores throughout my life? (Laughter) I didn't know what Sayagyi meant. He never mentioned to us that we would have Dhamma work to do. He was training us, giving us Dhamma training, but without telling us. We didn't know!

  Sometimes Sayagyi would say,"Go and meet that student who is sitting on this course;

see what you feel." And other things like that. We were being trained to be sensitive, but we didn't realize that this was part of the training, because he didn't explain it to us. Now we realize that he was always training us.

 

  After Goenkaji went to India to teach Dhamma, you stayed in Burma for another two years?

For two and a half years.

  Did you have any contact with Sayagyi at his centre during this time?

  I had much more contact than before, a great deal more. When I went to Sayagyi's centre after Goenkaji had gone to India, he showed me so much love and affection. He would ask, "How are you?" just as if he was my father. He knew that I was separated from Goenkaji, and he was as concerned about me as any parent would be. He always asked about my welfare, and whether things were going well at home. I would go to his centre and meditate, and then sit and talk a little with Sayagyi, and then I would feel so much better, very relaxed. There was so much mettā (loving kindness) in him. I felt it at that time particularly; he was filled with so much mettā.

Did your own parents meet Sayagyi?

  Yes, both my mother and father did two ten- day courses with Sayagyi.

 

  When you and Goenkaji became established in Dhamma, did your parents notice a big change in your life? Were they happy for you?

  When we started the Dhamma work, my parents felt a little taken aback at first, because they feared we might not be able to take care of the children, as we should, because of being absorbed in Dhamma work. But later on, when they saw that things were going well, when they saw the good results of Dhamma, and also that the children were on the right track, they also felt happy about our Dhamma work.

  Was there a period when Goenkaji had just taken Dhamma, that your family felt concerned for his wellbeing-that he might be exploited?

  When Goenkaji went for his first course, everyone in the family was really worried. The fear was, that if he turned to Buddha Dhamma perhaps he would become a monk, and then what would happen to our family? Everyone in the family was discussing their worries, and this strengthened my own concerns in that direction.

  But then, gradually, as the changes in Goenkaji became apparent, and then when I did the course-and later all the others in the family also-then all of that was washed away. After that, there were no fears, no apprehension, nothing like that.

Were you in Burma when Sayagyi died?

Yes, I was.

  Can you tell us about the ceremony after he died, how the people said goodbye to the body?

After Sayagyi passed away, I felt so much emptiness inside, as though everything was finished. I went to the funeral, but I couldn't make myself go and see everything; it was beyond me. There was an electric cremation, and I didn't watch.

  After the funeral, we went home and sat for meditation. Then I felt peaceful, and much, much happier.

Before that it had been terrible; I had felt very empty. Even going to the centre to meditate became too much. It was as if the purpose of the centre was gone when Sayagyi was not there. During one of my courses there, while I was sitting, I felt-if there is no Sayagyi, there is no centre, there is no use in my coming here. Then I had the feeling as if Sayagyi were standing near me; but when I opened my eyes, there was nothing. It was just a feeling inside, feeling his presence.

  After that experience, did all your confidence in Dhamma come back?

  The confidence in Dhamma was always there. That wasn't lost or shattered because of Sayagyi's passing away. His passing was just the experience of when somebody very near and dear to you dies suddenly. If you lose such a person suddenly, what a traumatic experience it becomes. You feel so empty from deep inside. One feels bereft at the loss, but not because Dhamma is lost. And, with time all the wounds heal; then gradually, you become normal once again.

 

  It must have been a big surprise when Sayagyi passed away so quickly. Did it shock everybody?

  It was a great shock, because he was ill for just two days. Nobody realized that he would die so quickly. When I came to know that, at three o'clock he had passed away, it was such a big shock. He was in hospital for one or two days, but one could never think that he would pass away.

  If we go back to before Sayagyi's passing, when Goenkaji was in India teaching, and you would go to the centre, did Sayagyi have any advice or guidance for you, about your return to India and teaching Dhamma? Did he talk about the role you would play?

  He never told me directly that I would also go to India and then around the world on the Dhamma mission with Goenkaji. But he always said that he was very pleased and happy that Goenkaji had gone to India and was spreading Dhamma.

Were you happy living in Burma?

  It was my country. I felt very happy living there because it was my country, I was born there.

Does it still feel like home?

  Now, for me, it is like this: wherever I go is my home and I feel happy.

  In Burma, is Mandalay or Rangoon your favourite place?

  I spent my childhood in Mandalay, and afterwards when we came back to Burma, then we lived in Rangoon. I was happy in both places. Rangoon was of course a bigger city than Mandalay, but I didn't give a thought about which was better. Wherever you live is good enough! Be happy!

  What was it like for you to go back to Burma after being away for twenty-one years?

  I felt very happy, because the atmosphere there is charged with Dhamma vibrations. So it was a wonderful experience to go back.

  In 1971, you left Burma and moved to India. What was it like to leave Burma, and settle in a new country?

When we left the house in Rangoon, then of course I felt very sad, because our family house had been established there for so many years, and now I had to leave it. But when we came to Bombay, when I saw the house there-where all our family was living-I felt quite happy and very relaxed. Now it's a better place and I feel very good. Of course there was not so much tranquillity in this country as in Burma.

  In those early days, when Goenkaji was teaching the "gypsy camps," did you help teach the camps?

  Yes, I used to accompany Goenkaji to the Dhamma courses at the gypsy camps.

  That must have been a big contrast from Sayagyi's centre where it was so peaceful, so established. In the gypsy camps everything was so unpredictable.

  Yes, it was difficult. But that was part of it, and with the strength of Dhamma, things would sort themselves out. Any upheaval which came would sort itself out, and settle down again without any problems.

  In those days, the gypsy camps were quite demanding. You were travelling to different parts of India, and the foreigners who came on the courses could be somewhat wild. It seems like a huge undertaking. How did you find it?

  It was a very rewarding and happy experience for me. When I found a change coming in the Western students, it was of course very rewarding. Because then we could see how much Dhamma can do for them, to change their life pattern. That was a big reward.

  And you were confident that your children were well looked-after in the joint family in Bombay?

Yes. Dhamma takes care of everything.

As a loving and highly respected wife and mother and grandmother-and you are at the centre of a traditional extended Indian family-what value do you see in Vipassana for family life?

  It is very, very helpful for the joint family. If somebody asks for guidance, then one sees it from the Dhamma angle: one does not find fault with others, and gives the correct advice. On the other hand, if you are not asked for any guidance, then you are also happy. It is not as if you are boosting your ego, that everybody must come and ask you for everything. If somebody asks, you give your opinion; otherwise you are content and happy within yourself. Vipassana is very helpful.

  Are Ānāpāna and Vipassana good for children?

  Yes, they are a big help to children because they get the seed of Dhamma planted in their early years, and then anytime later it can grow and develop. It is good for them, very good.

  We understand that it is the mother-in- law's role, when the daughter-in-law is having a baby, to be very supportive. What are your duties when your daughter-in-law is expecting a child?

  It is an important duty for the mother-in- law. I must take great care of my daughter-in- law at that time-giving her proper rest, and taking full care of her. This is essential.

For how long a period?

  After the child is born, for about a month or a month and a half.

How many grandchildren do you have?

Eleven.

Did you go to the birth of each grandchild?

  No, for two grandchildren I wasn't there at the time of birth.

  When you are present at the time of a birth, do you find that mettā helps your daughters-in-law?

  If the daughter-in-law also practises Vipassana, then the mettā will be very helpful to her. But if she is rolling in the pain, if her mind is absorbed in pain-of course only the daughter-in-law understands how much she is rolling in pain, and how much she is able to take in the mettā.

  But from my side of course I give mettā; I am always giving as much as I can. How can I say how much mettā I can give? (Much laughter)

  Did your mother-in-law help you when you gave birth to your children?

  Oh yes, she took much better care of me than I take of my daughters-in-law! She worked so much harder than I work. Now we have so much help; how much do we do on our own, with our own hands? Whereas, they didn't have so much help, they did everything themselves. They took much better care of us.

  What is the role of the grandmother to the grandchildren in the extended family?

  (Laughter: one sixteen year-old granddaughter is present.) We guide the children to walk on the proper path, and then it's up to them! How they take it and what they do is up to them. We just guide them onto the proper path. I feel happy because as of today the grandchildren are all on the right path. The responsibility lies on the shoulders of the elder grandchildren, because, if they walk on the right path, the rest will follow.

  About my children also-they are doing their jobs well, and they understand their responsibilities. This gives me satisfaction.

  How has Dhamma helped you? And, as a Dhamma teacher, how have you seen the technique help others?

  I have peace of mind. I am happy, and I don't care for other things. For me, Dhamma is a benefit all around. It gives people peace of mind in all respects, and also helps them to carry out their duties in life. It is not money which brings happiness and contentment in the heart. If someone has no money, and has Dhamma, then such a person will feel "Oh, I am full." One will feel so content, even if there is no money, because Dhamma is there.

  How do you feel about travelling so frequently, especially to countries where you do not speak the language?

  The journeys are tiring. We get off the airplane and just for a day or two it is very tiring. Because of travelling, and the different vibrations all around, we are unsettled a little for a day. Once we start the course, and get engrossed in it, then it is very peaceful and very nice.

  Although I do not understand the language, yet I feel very good within myself. The students ask questions, and although I don't understand them fully, it give me happiness to be there.

 

Many Westerners say that although you do not understand English, they feel that you do understand. They feel that you understand very well what they say.

  (Laughter: Mataji is smiling, indicating to all that she has understood this comment.)

  I don't speak much because I am very aware of the fact that nothing wrong, nothing which is not truth, should come from me. I am very aware of this fact. Even from my childhood it has been my nature to speak less about matters involving many people. It is better to watch, better to be watchful than to be actively participating, talking.

  May we ask you, when Goenkaji is giving a Dhamma discourse, what are you doing?

  You want to know what I do at that time? (Laughter) I meditate and keep giving mettā to everyone at that time.

  We've come to the end of our questions. Thank you.

Be happy.

 

 

 

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In the Tradition of Sayagyi U Ba Khin

 

  The following is condensed from remarks made by S.N. Goenka in March, 1991, during an interview about his teacher, Sayagyi U Ba Khin.

 

Would you give us the outlines of U Ba Khin's teaching?

  S.N. Goenka: A meditator has to start with sīla (morality), and then one develops samādhi (concentration), by cultivating awareness of the natural breath, pure breath, without anything else added to it. Next, one starts developing paññā (wisdom) by observing the sensations on the body with eqanimity, without reacting, understanding their characteristic of anicca (impermanence), so that no new impurities are generated, and the old ones come on the surface and get eradicated. This is what U Ba Khin taught; this is what Buddha taught; this is what I am teaching.

  What is the fundamental distinction of Vipassana meditation as taught by U Ba Khin?

  All importance is given to bhāvanāmayā paññā (wisdom developed from direct, personal experience). In suta maya paññā (wisdom gained by listening to others), or cinta maya paññā (wisdom gained by intellectual analysis), one can purify the mind, but only to a certain extent. It is only bhāvanāmayā paññā (wisdom developed from personal experience) which can purify the deepest level of the mind. Buddha called the deep-rooted sakhāra (mental conditioning) anusaya kilesa-the impurities sleeping deep inside- and he taught that unless these are eradicated, one is not fully liberated. Purification of the anusaya kilesa can only be done by bhāvanāmayā paññā. Bhāvanāmayā paññā can only occur when there is a direct experience of reality. And direct experience of reality is only at the level of body sensations.

  Why did U Ba Khin choose such a small area below the nostrils to concentrate on? Why did he suggest feeling a sensation in this area, along with the awareness of respiration? Isn't Ānāpāna only concentration on the breath?

  If one's goal in meditation is concentration of mind using either the four jhanas (states of mental absorption) or the eight jhanas, then using the object of sensation is unnecessary. A meditator can remain with the respiration, and along with it some symbols will appear while the eyes are closed. Then the meditator concentrates on these symbols, and attains jhānic samādhi.

  But the Buddha's teaching takes one to Vipassana, and for Vipassana, awareness of body sensation is absolutely essential. One works with the breath passing over the area of the nostrils, and the smaller the area of awareness, the sharper the mind becomes. As the mind becomes more sensitive, it starts feeling sensations. If one keeps the mind scattered over a large area, it becomes difficult to feel sensations, especially the subtler ones. Therefore, after two or three days of Ānāpāna-observing just the respiration- one is taught to feel the sensations.

  Why did U Ba Khin give predominance to the observation of bodily sensations, and why predominance to the observation of the material phenomenon, with the base of sensations, more than to the observation of the mental phenomenon?

  Because when we are working with bodily sensations, this is a direct, tangible experience; no imagination is involved. Buddha did not want us to work with imagination. Most of the time when meditators talk of observing the mind, they are not observing it. They are merely rolling in thoughts; they are just contemplating, thinking. When you are aware of the body sensations, it doesn't mean that you have forgotten your mind, because it is not the body that feels, it is the mind that feels. The sensation is on the body, but it is felt by the mind. So mind and matter are both involved when one observes sensations on the body.

  Why did U Ba Khin use the word "sweeping" for the observation of sensation?

Is this a new technique that is different from the Buddha's teaching?

  This was a way of explaining things. When a meditator reaches a stage where the entire body and mind get dissolved, one's attention can move from head to feet without any obstacle. In the ancient language of Pāli this stage was called bhaga-dissolution. One's attention moves quickly from head to feet, and feet to head, like a flow. The Buddha used these words: sabba kaya paisavedi passasissami, ti sikkhati, sabba kaya paisavedi assasissami, ti sikkhati. (with each breath, incoming or outgoing, one feels the entire body.)

  In English we describe it as "free flow," or a "sweep." In Hindi we use the word dhara pravaha. When one has reached the stage of dissolution, then-when one breathes in, one feels the whole body; when one breathes out, one feels the whole body.

  We can use the word bhaga, or sweeping, or free flow for that. It is simply a way of describing an experience. This does not mean that we are changing the technique in any way. Call it by any name, but this experience of bhaga ñāa is a very important milestone on the path of full liberation.

How did this confusion arise?

  Perhaps it all started because in one of his talks, Sayagyi said, "I have developed a technique which is very suitable for non- Buddhist English-speaking people. Everyone can work with this and get results. Come, try and you will get the same result." This was his announcement. Before U Ba Khin, the teachers were all teaching to Burmese Buddhists, who have a certain way of understanding. But U Ba Khin was dealing with non-Buddhist, non-Burmese students, so he had to develop a way of expressing the technique that they could understand.

  His presentation was certainly the unique presentation of U Ba Khin, but the technique remained the technique taught by Buddha.

Who was U Ba Khin's meditation teacher?

Sayagyi was the appointed teacher of a tradition. His teacher was Saya Thetgyi, a farmer who lived on the opposite side of the Rangoon River. Saya Thetgyi's teacher was Ledi Sayadaw, a very learned monk and very renowned master teacher of Vipassana. That was a century back. The tradition stretches back before that, but we no longer know the teachers' names.

  Why is your technique referred to as "in the tradition of Sayagyi U Ba Khin"? Did your teacher inaugurate a new tradition of Buddhism? If not, what tradition was he continuing?

  Buddha's tradition! Buddha's teaching went from India to Myanmar, and, as I said, we do not know the names of all the teachers. But we do know the names of the last three generations: Ledi Sayadaw, then his disciple Saya Thetgyi, then his disciple U Ba Khin.

  We use the name U Ba Khin because he was the most recent teacher in the tradition, and was known to others. If we were to use the name Saya Thetgyi, or Ledi Sayadaw, many would not know who they were. So we use U Ba Khin's name, but this does not mean that he invented the technique.

  In your teaching method, are you following U Ba Khin, or have you introduced changes? If so, how can you be sure that the changes are improvements, and are not simply creating confusion and wrong understanding?

  No one can make any amendment to the teaching of Buddha unless he has become a super-Buddha. Everyone is below the status of a Buddha. Therefore no teacher should try to alter the teaching and, in the name of improving it, spoil it.

  The method of explanation will of course differ.  Sayagyi had to deal with Western students and had to explain things in a modern,

scientific way which Westerners would understand. Similarly, when I came to

India I had to face a large number of people who come from different sects and traditions. Being of Indian heritage myself, I have the background of the whole spectrum of Indian spiritual thought-before Buddha, during the time of Buddha, and after Buddha. So when I discuss Dhamma with someone from a particular sect, I have to consider that person's background, and then explain things in a way which is easily comprehensible. If the student does not understand my explanation, then the whole purpose of my teaching is lost.

  When I give a discourse to Western people, the essence remains the same. But when I explain the Dhamma in Hindi, there is a big difference: the examples, stories, and so on are different. I have to consider who is listening and how I can explain the technique so that they will understand and practise properly.

  If you study the suttas (discourses), you will find that Buddha himself when talking with a particular community-say, the brahmin (priests) community-would talk in one way. Then when he was talking with the shramana (wandering ascetics) community he would speak in the way which shramanas would understand. There is a term in Pāli to describe this quality of the Buddha: upaya kosalla. It means "skill in the use of means." Even when he had not become a Buddha (enlightened one), when he was a Bodhisatta (one working to become a Buddha), we find him developing this quality. How skilfully in different situations he saved himself from slipping down in sīla (morality); how skilfully he helped others! When he became Buddha, he became all the more skilful.

  Everyone who is walking on the path of Buddha, and everyone who is going to spread Buddha's teaching, has to be skilful. The method of expressing Dhamma differs from time to time, place to place, and person to person. But the essence of the teaching remains the same. The method of meditation does not change, even from one Buddha to another. When a Buddha does not change the technique of the previous Buddha, who is U Ba Khin to change the technique? Who is Goenka to change it? The technique of meditation must never be changed.

  Did U Ba Khin call himself a Buddhist? How could he call Vipassana a universal teaching without giving it a sectarian connotation?

  Sayagyi called himself a Buddhist, and felt quite satisfied and proud to do so. But it was very clear that he was not trying to convert people to a sectarian religion. His method of teaching Dhamma was always non-sectarian. In my case, for example, he never pressed me to become a Buddhist. He repeatedly said that someone who does not practise sīla, samādhi and paññā but calls himself a Buddhist simply because he was born into a Buddhist family, is not a Buddhist. Another person who may not call himself a Buddhist, but practises sīla,samādhi and paññā-for Sayagyi, that person is a true Buddhist. Following the teaching of Buddha is more important than this or that name.

  How did you realize that U Ba Khin was your teacher?

  I come from a very staunch Hindu background and, although I was not very highly educated-not having a college degree-my thirst for knowledge was very great. Even from a very young age I started reading many books, especially books on Hindu religion: the Gitā, Vedanta, Upanishadas, and so on.

  These teachings attracted me so much. I felt that to free the mind from all negativities was the best thing one could achieve in human life. But I found that merely contemplating the purity of the mind, or understanding the theory of dharma did not help me at all. So I took to practising devotion, strong devotion, due to a friend's recommendation and also my family's tradition. I thought perhaps devotion might purify my mind, which was full of impurities, full of ego. I had not come out of these by playing an intellectual game, so I tried the emotional, devotional game. This also did not work, except for giving a temporary relief.

  On my first course, the first thing which struck me was that all the teachings of the Gitā, Upanishadas, and so on, were only teachings. They offered no technique to purify the mind. The scriptures keep saying, "Purify the mind, make it free from craving, make it free from aversion." But how could I make my mind free from craving and aversion? Just giving suggestions to the mind does not work.

  Here, on my first course, I found a technique which started helping. So then and there, in my first course, I made the decision that this is the path for me. There was no meaning in my looking here or there for another path. The practical teaching of the Buddha, given by my teacher Sayagyi U Ba Khin I found to be so enchanting, so fascinating, so satisfying.

  Traditionally   meditation has been perceived as retreating from society. Why did U Ba Khin give so much importance to the role of meditation within society?

  You withdraw from others and focus your attention inside to gain purity of mind and Dhamma energy. Then you must become extroverted and use this energy. When you take a long jump, you must first take some steps backward. Then you run, and make the jump. Like this, you first withdraw, observe yourself inside and get the energy. Then you make a long jump into society, to serve society. These two steps cannot be separated.

  Buddha left his householder's life for six years to gain enlightenment. But once he became a Buddha he was involved in serving the society throughout his life-for forty-five years, day and night. In the same way, one who develops in Dhamma does not turn away from responsibilities towards society. Householders have more worldly responsibilities to fulfil than monks or nuns. Monks and nuns are venerable and are worthy of respect because of their renunciation. But they too keep on serving society in one way or the other.

  How did U Ba Khin use meditation to combat the problem of corruption in the government?

  His colleagues and subordinates who were involved in corruption naturally were full of greed and craving (lobha). When one practises Vipassana, craving is lessened. So after practising Vipassana, these people no longer wanted to illegally squeeze money from others. By teaching Vipassana to office workers U Ba Khin tackled the root of the problem.

  Besides, not everyone was corrupt. There were many who were not, but they were inefficient. Their minds were cloudy, and they were unable to make quick, efficient decisions. With Vipassana one's mind becomes clearer and clearer. One can go to the depth of the problem, and then make quick and correct decisions. This is how efficiency was  increased.  Vipassana  was  helpful for eradicating corruption and increasing efficiency in the administration.

  Could you tell us some episodes in U Ba Khin's life which you feel clearly demonstrate his approach to meditation?

  There are too many incidents to describe in such a short talk. But one outstanding thing was that he would not budge an inch from the truth, whatever the temptation or pressure might be. You see, every government officer works under the pressure of his superiors, who are politicians, ministers, party leaders, and so on. Frequently these superiors are corrupt. They want to favour their friends or party supporters, so they tell the officers to make decisions which are improper or illegal.

  Many officers succumb to such pressures, whereas U Ba Khin's integrity was such that he never succumbed. Whatever pressure he faced, he would not hesitate to make the correct decision, however much he displeased his superiors.

  Another difficulty a government officer faces is his limited salary. One signature of his can earn hundreds of thousands of dollars to this or that merchant, importer or industrialist. Ordinary human beings fall prey to greed and think, "This fellow is rolling in money due to the permit or license that I gave him. Because of my permission he can now undertake this industrial or commercial activity. Why shouldn't I get a share of this?" Often these business people want illegal permission from the officers, and they try to instigate greed in the minds of the officers by offering bribes in larger and larger amounts. The officers have never seen this amount of money in their lives, and they could never hope to accumulate such wealth from their meagre government salary. So ordinary people may succumb to this temptation.

  Here we see such a sterling quality of U Ba Khin. Whether facing pressure or temptation, he conducted his duties without fear or favour.

 

 

Nāmaskara gurudeva ko kaise santa sujana!

Kitane karu a citta se, diya Dharama ka dana.

 

Salutations to the Teacher, what a wise and saintly man

Who with compassion overflowing

gave this gift of Dhamma.

-Hindi dohas of S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

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Nāmaskara gurudeva ko kaise santa sujana!

Kitane karu a citta se, diya Dharama ka dana.

 

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On Goenkaji's Return to Myanmar (Burma)

  The following is extracted from an interview with S.N. Goenka conducted at Dhamma Giri in February 1991, in which he discussed his return in November 1990 to Myanmar, after a twenty-one year absence.

 

     Goenkaji, we know that you left Myanmar in 1969 and stayed in India for ten years. Then, in order to be able to travel abroad you took Indian citizenship in 1979. Since then you have not been able to get a visa permitting travel to Myanmar. How did it happen that suddenly you were allowed to visit Myanmar in November 1990?

  S.N. Goenka: I was invited to visit Myanmar by the authorities. According to the present regulations, all those Burmese citizens who left Myanmar and changed their nationality are not allowed to go back there. Because I come in that category I could not get an ordinary visa. But during the last ten years, word has spread in Myanmar that I have been doing good work around the world. The people of Myanmar are proud that one of their countrymen, and a disciple of Sayagyi U Ba Khin, is spreading Dhamma in the world, and that many people are benefiting. There have been a number of articles in magazines in Myanmar written by people who have visited Dhamma Giri, who felt very proud seeing how the work is being done. Some government officials have also visited Dhamma Giri.

  Some of the Burmese people who visited Dhamma Giri were enthusiastic that I should come to Myanmar, but there was the difficulty with the visa restriction. There was a way: I could apply for a business visa, which would be permitted since my sons are now engaged in business there. It was suggested that I visit Myanmar to help my sons in their business. But I said, no, because I am no longer in business. I would be the last person to go for business. I can go for Dhamma.

  When they got home, they discussed how they could invite me to Myanmar, and this is how it happened: There are some universities in Myanmar of pariyatti (theoretical study) for monks, and a number of leading monks from them have come to Dhamma Giri. They were very interested, especially in the seminar on the meaning of the words sampajañña and vedanā, that was held here in early 1990. They were pleased to see how deeply we go into Dhamma-we don't just recite the scriptures and call this pariyatti. We go deeply into every word that is related to the teaching, especially words related to Vipassana meditation, that is, paipatti (practice) and paivedha (penetration towards the final goal).

  They thought it would be good if I could go and discuss these things with learned monks there, because my understanding of certain words is not traditional. When you practise the teachings of the Buddha, a word can carry an altogether different meaning from the accepted translation. So they wanted me to go and give a talk, and this materialized. That was why I was given the visa.

  When you arrived in Yangon (Rangoon), what did you do first?

  I went to pay respect to my motherland, the land where I got Dhamma. I have two birthplaces in Myanmar: the place where I was born, and the second, where the shell of ignorance was broken and a new Goenka was born.

  In our tradition, when a child is born, and the umbilical cord is cut, it is not just thrown away. Somewhere near the place where one is born, the cord is buried. The land where the cord lies is my birthland. This birthland is 360 miles away from Yangon, in Mandalay.

  The birthland where the real birth in Dhamma happened-I went there first and payed respect.

  So you went first to the International Meditation Centre?

  Yes. I paid respect, meditated and met my friends there. Fortunately it was the last day of a course. My elder Dhamma brothers U Tin Yee and U Ba Po were waiting eagerly to give me a warm welcome. They had delayed the giving of mettā (loving-kindness meditation) until my arrival, so that I could give mettā and share merits with the students. My plane was late, but they kept waiting and waiting until I came. Many of the students had heard of our work and were eager to meet us.

  As you approached I.M.C., did you feel pleased? It must have been very exciting.

  Naturally it was very exciting: I was returning after such a long time. Even the landing at the airport was exciting, like joy. It is not that there was an emotion; there was no emotion. But joy was there: "Oh, look. I have come back home. " Like a child coming back to the lap of the mother.

  You see, although India is the land of my ancestors and the land of all the Buddhas, I don't feel more at home in India than in Myanmar. I'm not unhappy here, not at all. But compared to my happiness asīlanded in Myanmar-oh, it was totally different, totally different.

How long did you stay in Myanmar?

  Ten days. My visa was only for seven days, but someone from Mandalay was present at the first talk I gave to the monks at Pariyatti University, and he informed the monks at Pariyatti University in Mandalay of my talk. They pressed me to go and speak there, so my visa was extended.

  Can you tell us about the public discourses that you gave? Where were they held, and how many people attended?

  There were two discourses in the Pariyatti University in Yangon, the monks' university. The first was for the student monks only, and there were about three hundred or so. Word spread after the first talk, and other monks and quite a few lay people came to the second. I am told there were eight or nine hundred at the second discourse.

  Moreover, our Vipassana students had also arranged for three public talks to be held in the Gandhi Memorial Hall, one of the biggest halls in Yangon. It can hold about eight hundred people. These talks were scheduled on consecutive evenings. I give a series of consecutive talks sometimes in India too. For example, in Bombay I will give five consecutive talks-first about what Dhamma is; then what sīla (moral conduct) is; how to control the mind in a non-sectarian way; how to purify the mind in a non-sectarian way; and then how to use it in life. People understand more about the technique of Vipassana from these talks than if they listen to only one discourse. I've given these consecutive talks in a number of places. So this was arranged in Yangon, and the hall was full. Some had to stand as there was not enough seating.

What sorts of people came to the talks?

  Some members of the audience were old friends, but a much larger number were those who had heard about the Dhamma-duta work (work of spreading Dhamma). There were also quite a few intellectuals who were inquisitive about why I am successful. So after the discourses there were many questions. Many questions were also asked when I met Pāli scholars and monks individually and in groups. That was very interesting because many things were clarified.

  How did the questions differ from questions that Indians or Westerners ask you?

  Well, mostly they were interested to hear why our Dhamma work is so successful. People know very well that I come from a business background. And for a person who has been such a successful businessman, so busy in the mundane world, for such a person to become a Dhamma teacher-it's unbelievable. But they see the success, so they wanted to see me personally and ask how I became successful. That was one general inquiry that came.

  Another was what difficulties I had faced in spreading Dhamma, especially in India, where there is no antagonism towards the person of the Buddha but there is strong antagonism about the teaching of Buddha. It's unbelievable for the Myanmar people that Hindus, Jains and people from so many religions, and monks and nuns from these religions, are coming to practise Dhamma.

  And why did you say that you are successful?

  (Laughs) I said people come to me because they have got pāramis (accumulated virtues)! There is no specialness in me. They have got pāramis! It is time for them to get Dhamma. And they get it. I just become a medium.

  What obstacles did you tell them that you faced?

  I explained that of course there are people who don't understand what the Buddha really taught. They mistake the teaching as that of an organized religion. They feel that I am trying to convert them to Buddhism. And, in India, nobody likes conversion, because of the forceful historical conversions. So that obstacle comes. But once they join the course it becomes so clear that no conversion is involved.

They understand the Buddha's teaching as non-sectarian, universal and very inspiring, which is Dhamma, and they have no objection to being converted to Dhamma.

  The Myanmar audience was interested in how you teach Dhamma in India and out in the West?

  Yes. There is no difference in the actual teaching, but there is in the way of presentation. For example, I don't use the word "Buddhism" which is commonly used for the teaching of the Buddha. Nor do I use the word "Buddhist" for those who follow the teaching of Buddha.

  But, you see, most of the time I have to deal with people, especially in India, who are not followers of the Buddha, who belong to different religions. For them the words, "Buddhism" or "Buddhist" have a sectarian connotation. If I used these words, they would not even come to listen to what I say-taking a course of ten days would be out of the question. Certainly I don't want to scare people and make them shy away from this wonderful teaching. If these words scare them, I do better to say "Dhamma" and "Dhammist," which sounds non-sectarian to them, which sounds universal.

  And for me this is not some sort of strategy to use the word "Dhamma" instead of   "Buddhism," but, rather, it is a matter of strong conviction. As I studied Buddha's words, nowhere could I find the word "Bauddha," which is equivalent to "Buddhist" as well as "Buddhism." I found the Buddha using the word "Dhamma" and I could locate only five words used to refer to his followers: dhammiko, dhammattho, dhammi, dhammacari, dhammavihari.

  Dhamma means natural law, which is universal, not sectarian. The law of paicca samuppāda (dependent origination)-cause and effect-this law, or Dhamma, is always operable, whether a Buddha exists or not. But a Buddha discovers the law and makes use of it not only for his own liberation; out of infinite compassion, he distributes it to one and all. He never calls it Buddhism; he calls it Dhamma. In the same way, he does not call his followers Buddhists.

  While discussing this with the learned scholars of Tipiaka (Pāli canon), both venerable monks and lay professors, they smiled and agreed with what I said.

  But the people of Myanmar are born Buddhists as Sayagyi was. It must puzzle them that you stress this non-sectarian aspect of Dhamma so much.

  For me it is the actual practice of Vipassana which is the most significant contribution of Buddha to mankind. I explained to them how I got so fascinated, with a tremendous magnetic pull towards the teaching of Buddha, even during my first ten-day course with Sayagyi. This was entirely because of the practical aspect of the teaching.

  At the theoretical level, there was not much that was not available in the common Indian spiritual tradition. Nearly all the different spiritual schools of India give importance to sīla, samādhi and paññā. To some extent the practice of sīla and samādhi has also been there. But so far as paññā is concerned, no such practice as that given by the Buddha is found anywhere. We find in many different scriptures the use of the word paññā-in Sanskrit, prajñā, r¥tambharā prajñā, or sthitaprajñā.

  There is so much talk about becoming vita raga, vita dosa (Sanskrit vīta dvesha), anāsavo (anāshrava). But besides playing devotional and intellectual games and performing recitations, rites and rituals, there is no actual, systematic, scientific practice in the entire Indian tradition. This is what was given only by the Buddha, and this is what fascinated me.

  I very much wanted to come out of mental defilements, but I found no way. Vipassana came as an answer because it is practical, not mere sermons. I keep saying that one who does not practise Vipassana does not practise the quintessence of Buddha's teaching. This statement seems shocking initially, but as people discussed it, they seemed to be fully convinced.

  Basically the people of Myanmar are very intelligent and, fortunately, there is no religious fanatacism or fundamentalism as in other places. I had no difficulty in convincing them of my views.

  Goenkaji, are Dhamma teachers and the people of Myanmar aware of Sayagyi U Ba Khin-his method of teaching and his importance in the spread of Dhamma?

  U Ba Khin was known amongst Dhamma teachers, but not amongst the masses. He taught only a small number of students; he didn't teach large courses. However, the Vipassana teachers knew that he taught non- Buddhist foreigners.

  But you said that people were aware of your work, and the spread of Vipassana.

  Many articles were written. Some Burmese have visited Dhamma Giri and seen the work for themselves. And the Burmese who travel abroad-when they visit universities in different countries, at times they visit the departments of Buddhism or Pāli or Sanskrit or Indology. Many times there it is discussed that the teaching of U Ba Khin is being offered in our courses around the world. Even if they might not have heard of U Ba Khin before, and have had nothing to do with meditation, naturally they are enthusiastic to hear things like this.

  Sayagyi U Ba Khin has become known around the world because his work was so good.

  You told us a few years ago of your volition to return to Myanmar. From all that you've said, it sounds as if it was successful...

  Yes, that volition has been fulfilled, in a very good way. Of course everybody would like to return to his motherland, his birthplace. There is a saying in Sanskrit that one's birthplace is more precious even than the celestial world; there's nothing comparable to it.

  However, another reason for wanting to visit Myanmar was that I wanted to discuss my understanding of the Buddha's teaching with learned scholars who are also practising meditation.

Although I was sure that I was not deviating from the teaching of the Buddha, I have tried to understand it from my background of a spectrum of many colours of Indian spirituality of the past and present. Centuries before Buddha there was a certain spiritual understanding in India. Then Buddha came and contributed something, and this spiritual understanding continued for centuries. These traditions have been passed down to today. There are different branches, but nonetheless there is a common spiritual background. How this spiritual understanding evolved, reached such a height, and then slowly deterioriated, I can understand so easily-it's as if I have lived that experience. Viewing Buddha's teaching from so many different perspectives I feel has helped me to understand and evaluate it better.

  Another reason is that my mother tongue is the Rajasthani language, which seems to be a direct granddaughter of Pāli. So many words, and even the grammar, are directly in line with Pāli. And I have learned this language with "my mother's milk." So for me, it was not necessary to learn Pāli formally, with the grammar, and so on. When I read Pāli, the words spontaneously seem to give their own meaning and this helps me to understand Buddha more clearly.

  The third reason I feel that the Buddha's words are very clear to me is because of my practice. I had never studied Buddha's teaching before I started to practise Dhamma. For me, paipatti was the first step, and pariyatti came much later. With the direct experience of Buddha's teaching, his words carry special meaning for me. So I wanted assurance that in my understanding there was no deviation from the Buddha's teaching, and I am glad to have received this assurance.

  Actually, my main aim in returning to Myanmar was to find Pāli scholars there who are also meditators. In Myanmar there are deep meditators. That was a great desire in my mind to meet people who are good meditators and at the same time scholars, so that I could ask them why they give particular meanings to certain words.

  And I got that opportunity in November. What a wonderful opportunity! On my first full day in Yangon, I offered a meal to a reputed monastery teaching paipatti and was able to have discussions with some chief monks. On other occasions, we invited many leading monks to meals, and I had the opportunity to talk with them about points of Dhamma.

  The second day of my visit to Myanmar I went to see the most Venerable Mingun Sayadaw. He is Tipiakadhara (holder of the Tipiaka) Dhamma Bhaṇḍagārika (treasurer of Dhamma). He knows the entire Tipiaka by heart. It is not easy to memorize so many hundreds of thousands of words. (In fact, he has twice been in the Guinness Book of Records.) Today he is the most respected monk in Myanmar. He is known as Abhidhaja Mahāraṭṭhaguru (foremost spiritual teacher of the nation). He played a leading role in the Chaṭṭha Sagāyana (sixth recitation of Tipiaka, held in Burma in 1954-56) and now is a guiding light of the Myanmar Sagha and of the Buddha sāsana (dispensation of Buddha's teaching) work.

  I was fortunate to have met with him previously in his monastery in Mingun, which is across the river from my birthplace, Mandalay. Although very aged and physically weak now, I found him mentally very sharp. I specially requested him to help me meet Pāli scholars to discuss certain words of Buddha. He and the Pariyatti University of monks very kindly helped this to materialize.

  So a meeting was arranged with about twenty or twenty-five leading professors, who are teaching Dhamma and Pāli there in the universities. We had a long sitting, about two to three hours; and later I met with a few for a second time. That was wonderful. We went into the details of many important words. I explained to them how the Indian spiritual background gives a particular meaning for a particular word, which perfectly suits Buddha's teaching.

  We went into the words chronologically and etymologically, examining the precedents of a certain word, and then the successive meanings, as we do in our research at V.R.I. (Vipassana Research Institute). They agreed with our interpretation. It was a healthy and productive meeting.

  So the Burmese Pali scholars realized that something very good is being done at V.R.I. when the discussion of such words came up.

  Quite true. This is why they had invited me to Myanmar. They felt it would be helpful if I went to talk with the scholars there. And it was helpful.

  In order to be certain that I was not inadvertently distorting the Buddha's teaching due to the conditioning of my background, which would be wrong, I felt that I had to discuss Dhamma with people who are not influenced by other Indian traditions. They received the pure teaching of the Buddha. They have no influence of any other teaching. So they have kept Buddha's teaching in its own pure form. I was seeking the opportunity to compare my understanding with that of others, and I received it during those discussions. It was very helpful; I felt very satisfied.

Is there anything else you wish to mention?

  The present enthusiasm in Myanmar that has developed towards this technique of meditation will spread. Those who came to the discourses started understanding why we give so much importance to body sensations. This importance to body sensations is given in the schools of the Ledi Sayadaw tradition but not in all the schools of meditation there. This point, clearly expounded in Buddha's teaching, in his own words, has been put in the limelight. So I'm sure this will spread, and this means that with this teaching, more and more people will benefit by practising Vipassana.

 

________________________________________

  After Goenkaji and Mataji's November 1990 visit to Myanmar, they were invited to return in September 1991, when two ten-day courses were conducted. These were the first independent courses conducted by Goenkaji in the land of his birth.

  The consecutive courses were held at the Daw Dhammethi Nunnery, in the outskirts of Yangon, from 8 to 19 September, and 20 September to 1 October. Two hundred students attended the first course, including forty- five nuns from the nunnery. The enthusiasm for this course was such that the second (unscheduled) course was immediately organized. One hundred thirty students attended the second course.

  During his stay, Goenkaji again met with monks who were Pali scholars and heads of monasteries and discussed certain important points pertaining to the publication and research of the entire Pali literature being conducted at V.R.I., Dhamma Giri.

  Before the courses, Goenkaji gave a three- day series of public talks in English at Yangon University. Each was attended by over six hundred people, filling the hall to its maximum capacity. At the end of the last discourse, Goenkaji commented,

 

   "Years ago, after passing my high school final exam, I was admitted to this very university. I stayed and studied here for all of three days before I was pulled away by family responsibilities. So, now I am happy to be able to repay my debt of gratitude to this prestigious institution by giving these talks, for exactly three days, about Dhamma, which was my greatest gift from this country."

 

 

Aisījage Vipasyana, samatā citta samāya. Eka eka kara maila parata utaratī jāya.

 

May Vipassana thus arise,

may equanimity suffuse the mind. One after another, may each layer of dross be stripped away.

-Hindi dohas of S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

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Aisījage Vipasyana, samatā citta samāya. Eka eka kara maila parata utaratī jāya.

ƒ”ƒBƒpƒbƒTƒi[‚ª‹N‚±‚èA•½Ã‚ªS‚ð–ž‚½‚µ‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉBˆê‚‚¸‚ÂA•sƒ•¨‚ª”‚¬Žæ‚ç‚ê‚Ä‚¢‚«‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉB

 

\S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJŽt‚̃qƒ“ƒfƒB[Œê‚̃h[ƒn

 

 

 

S.N. Goenka: Dhamma Son of Myanmar

by Dhammācariya U Htay Hlaing

 

  The following article by Dhammācariya ("teacher of Dhamma") U Htay Hlaing, was published by Ma Hatta Maghandi Monastery (Yangon, Myanmar) in November 1990. It was written to mark the visit of S.N. Goenka, who returned to Myanmar in that same month, after an interval of twenty-one years.

 Dhammācariya U Htay Hlaing is a renowned Pali language poet in Myanmar, and his piece reflects the characteristic reverence the people of Myanmar feel for their motherland and the Dhamma, which has been preserved there for twenty-two centuries.

 

  This prose poem was published in both Pali and Burmese (the Burmese article being slightly longer than the Pali). Here the Pali verses are preceded by the English translation of the Burmese version.

 

    Satya Narayan Goenka and his wife Mataji were born in Yadanabon, the royal city of Mandalay, in the country of Myanmar, golden in the wellbeing of the sāsana (era of the Buddha's teaching).

  Because of the perfections they had fulfilled through the journey of sasāra (cycle of rebirth), both their thoughts and their deeds were in harmony, and they became wealthy and prosperous, even in their twenties. In their thirties, they began living in the peace of Dhamma. Through the power of Dhamma, they were able to face the ups and downs brought about by great wealth, with neither depression nor elation. This was a marvellous thing.

The Dhamma, indeed, gives protection from all danger to those who follow the path of Dhamma, bringing them to a state of tranquillity and peacefulness amidst the worries and flurries of this world.

  At the age of forty, Mr. S.N. Goenka, reflecting on the power of Dhamma, made the following firm resolve:

  From this time onwards, I will forsake worldly affairs and go round from village to village, from country to country, in order to illuminate the teachings of Buddha, and declare the Noble Triple Gems: the true Buddha, the true Dhamma, the true Sangha.

  Now the gong of Dhamma has been struck: first in India, birthplace of the Buddha, where his teachings have long been absent, and then in different parts of the world. Up to now, people from many nations, from different classes, with different views, have been awakened by Mr. Goenka's energetic proclamation of the Dhamma. They have developed faith and taken refuge in the true Dhamma.

  A messenger of Dhamma has been distributing the technique of Vipassana meditation around the world for the past twenty years! Who is he?

  It is he, Guruji Satya Narayan Goenka by name, who was born in Myanmar and who loves his motherland, Myanmar Naing-Ngan. He is a noble disciple of Ven. Ledi Sayadaw, Ven. Webu Sayadaw, Anagam Saya Thetgyi and Sayagyi U Ba Khin.

How happy and peaceful the mother feels@who gave birth to such a noble son! She will definitely be proud of having such an honourable son!

  How happy and peaceful the teacher feels who produced such a noble disciple! He will definitely be proud of having such an honourable disciple!

  How happy and peaceful is the motherland, who has produced such a noble son! She will definitely be proud of having such an honourable son!

Be happy and peaceful!

 

 

Sacca Nārāyano Goyako, jāto ca'ssa pajāpatī Dhammoja Brahmāraṭṭhamhi, mantale rāja dhāniya.

Sama citta samasīlā, ubho' pacita pārami.

Yuva kālamhi te bhoga-samappitā dhanañcayā. Aho te lokāmisesu, bhogesu nunnatonatā.

Niccalā dhamma tejena, dhammaṭṭ brahmācarino.

Dhammo hi dhammacārina, pāleti akuto bhaya.

Dhāreti amata santa, ussukesu anussuka. Avajjetvā dhamma bala, sanniṭṭhāna' makāsio su.

"Jahissam gihīkammāni, jotetu Buddhasāsana.

So aha vicarissāmi, gāmā gāma purā pura. Namassamāno sambuddha, dhammassa ca sudhammata"nti.

 

Tadā so majjhima desa, cira ucchinna sāsana.

Adi katvā videsesu, ahanī dhamma dundubhi. Nānāraṭṭ nānākulā, nānādhimuttikā bahū.

Pabujjha dhamma ghosena, āsu dhammapparāyanā.

Visati vassā tikkanta, sakhona medini paja.

Dhamma dūto dhammaghosako, ko so vipassanā guru.

Myanmā jāti sa Goyako, guru no Myanmā māmako.

Ledī, Vebū Mahāthera-sissā nūsissa jeṭṭhako. Nibbutā nūna mātā, nibbuto nūna so garu. Nibbuta nūna ta raṭṭha, yassā'ya īdiso suto.

 

Bhavatu sabba magala.

 

 

Having appreciated and experienced the Buddha's teaching to be deep like the ocean, broad like the vast earth and high like the Himalayas, I feel very comfortable to accept, practise and teach Buddha's teaching in its pristine purity. There can be no question of practising or teaching anything but this wonderful Dhamma. Dhamma is paripuṇṇa-it is complete, there is nothing to add. And it is parisuddha-so pure, there is nothing to be removed.

-S.N. Goenka

 

 

 

S.N.ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJFƒ~ƒƒƒ“ƒ}[‚̃_ƒ“ƒ}‚Ì‘§Žq

ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}ƒ`ƒƒƒŠƒ„EƒEEƒeƒCEƒ‰ƒCƒ“’˜

 

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K‚¹‚Å•½ˆÀ‚Å‚ ‚è‚Ü‚·‚悤‚ÉI

 

Sacca Nārāyano Goyako, jāto ca'ssa pajāpatī Dhammoja Brahmāraṭṭhamhi, mantale rāja dhāniya.

Sama citta samasīlā, ubho' pacita pārami.

Yuva kālamhi te bhoga-samappitā dhanañcayā. Aho te lokāmisesu, bhogesu nunnatonatā.

Niccalā dhamma tejena, dhammaṭṭ brahmācarino.

Dhammo hi dhammacārina, pāleti akuto bhaya.

Dhāreti amata santa, ussukesu anussuka. Avajjetvā dhamma bala, sanniṭṭhāna' makāsio su.

"Jahissam gihīkammāni, jotetu Buddhasāsana.

So aha vicarissāmi, gāmā gāma purā pura. Namassamāno sambuddha, dhammassa ca sudhammata"nti.

 

Tadā so majjhima desa, cira ucchinna sāsana.

Adi katvā videsesu, ahanī dhamma dundubhi. Nānāraṭṭ nānākulā, nānādhimuttikā bahū.

Pabujjha dhamma ghosena, āsu dhammapparāyanā.

Visati vassā tikkanta, sakhona medini paja.

Dhamma dūto dhammaghosako, ko so vipassanā guru.

Myanmā jāti sa Goyako, guru no Myanmā māmako.

Ledī, Vebū Mahāthera-sissā nūsissa jeṭṭhako. Nibbutā nūna mātā, nibbuto nūna so garu. Nibbuta nūna ta raṭṭha, yassā'ya īdiso suto.

 

Bhavatu sabba magala.

 

 

ƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ªŠC‚̂悤‚É[‚­AL‘å‚È‘å’n‚̂悤‚ÉL‚­Aƒqƒ}ƒ‰ƒ„ŽR–¬‚̂悤‚É‚‚¢‚±‚Æ‚ð—‰ð‚µA‘ÌŒ±‚µ‚Ä‚«‚½Ž„‚ÍAƒuƒbƒ_‚Ì‹³‚¦‚ð‚»‚Ìƒˆ‚Ȃ܂܂Ɏ󂯓ü‚êAŽÀ‘H‚µA‹³‚¦‚邱‚Æ‚É[‚¢ˆÀ‚炬‚ðŠ´‚¶‚Ä‚¢‚Ü‚·B‚±‚Ì‘f°‚炵‚¢ƒ_ƒ“ƒ}ˆÈŠO‚Ì‚à‚Ì‚ðŽÀ‘H‚µ‚½‚苳‚¦‚½‚è‚·‚é‚à‚Ì‚ª‚ ‚é‚Å‚µ‚傤‚©Bƒ_ƒ“ƒ}‚ÍparipuṇṇaiŠ®‘S‚Å‚ ‚èA‰½‚à‰Á‚¦‚é•K—v‚ª‚È‚¢j‚Å‚ ‚èAparisuddhaiƒˆ‚Å‚ ‚èA‰½‚àŽæ‚蜂­•K—v‚ª‚È‚¢j‚Ȃ̂ł·B

-S.N. ƒSƒGƒ“ƒJ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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