LORD BUDDHA ELUCIDATES THAT unawareness of four things is ignorance (avijjā). Those four things are: suffering, cause of suffering, cessation of suffering, and the path for attaining the cessation of suffering. Not knowing these four ‘noble truths,’ beings toil endlessly to keep this body, which is ever subject to birth, decay, sickness and death, in the best of health.[1] At stadiums, gymnasiums or sports centres throughout the land, along the grassy nature strips lining thoroughfares, and on public media, you would see revered-men and women running, walking, doing exercise. For what purpose? To prevent birth, decay, sickness and death.

The creature that runs the fastest in the world is the Cheetah. They, too, die in infancy, die at a young age and die middle-aged, ever succumbing to birth, decay, sickness and death. The monkey is the creature that exercises the very most of them all. Every moment he is engaged in a great big workout, jumping from branch to branch, from treetop to treetop. The monkey, too, perishes at a tender age, young age or middle age; invariably suffers birth, decay, sickness and death. Isn’t it impossible then to forestall birth, decay, sickness and death by running or exercising? The day we stop running―only then will we escape birth, decay, sickness and death. [Stop] whose running? The mind that runs, imbued with attachment to form―rūpa; The mind that keeps holding on to, with clinging (upādāna). If that mind is stopped from running, therein lies the end of suffering.

What is it that lies hidden in this running and exercising? The impetus of ignorance. It’s towards ignorance, towards the world, towards suffering that you keep running more and more. A body that has disease inherent in it is what you’re thus trying to make healthy. What you’re seeking to tauten with muscle is a body given to disease, to wrinkles. Is there, or has there ever been, anybody on this planet who managed to extricate this body from birth, decay, sickness and death? Not in the least! It’s those who, having noticed this body is nothing but fecund ground for birth, decay, sickness and death, had done away with lustful desire for form that escaped suffering. The puthujjana being, though, for they don’t see the adverse consequences in form to be adverse consequences as such (ādīnava), is harrowed in the face of birth, decay, sickness and death. They shudder. They become fraught with fear lest one should lose ‘my’ beauty, ‘my’ good looks, ‘my’ good health.

The one who is scrawny finds happiness in having put on weight. The corpulent finds happiness in having lost weight. Whoever has too much fats tries to find happiness by cutting down on fats. The one who is deficient in vitamins tries to find happiness by taking vitamins. What is it that lies in all this? Adjusting downwards what is too much. Adjusting upwards what is too little. When somebody clings to what is less, another clings to what is more. What ever are the bounds of this? Who decides this boundary? The arbiter is the puthujjana mind.

Adjusting this way and that way, we arrive unawares at the boundary called death. And we cross that threshold discontented, for we lapsed into the above states not thinking one would die. it’s the discontent, the fear of death, the resentment that crops up because, having given rise to the clinging that there is good health in ‘me’ or ‘I am’ in the best of health, what one has so clung to [now] falls apart.

In the throes of this resentment, neither the exercise nor the bodily strength nor the vitamin syrups come to your rescue. What they all bequeathed you was nothing but suffering. Worse yet, if it was the perception of permanence of the exercise or brawn that you had practised throughout life, if those perceptions sprang to mind on your deathbed, and if your last ‘clinging’ fastened on them, then your next birth could well be in the womb of a cheetah or monkey―for then you could, just the way you had desired, just as you had been clinging to, run and exercise all you want.

Once when a bhikkhu was in a samādhi, he discerned the following scene: Some 200 meters above ground, in mid-air, was a troupe of about 20 [acrobats] engaged in a gymnastic-like sport, on such equipment as swings and suspension bridges. Without any sense of fear, these beings were landing on ground ever so gracefully from a height of about 200 meters; Then reverting back to the top. So dangerous a sport though it was, little did they fear, engaging in it nonchalantly. Were somersaulting atop a rope trapeze of sorts suspended in the sky.

These weren’t a bunch connected to the peta-ghost realm. Rather, they were a group with as good a physique as any human has, dressed in white trousers, shorts and t-shirts. Bhikkhu thought them a strain of devas. Even here they have clung to the same sport or exercise they had been clinging to in their previous lives as humans. Those with a penchant for such things had congregated. But these weren’t an opulent kind of devas. Just a section of devas ranking slightly above the peta world. Not in the least was there illumination or effulgence present in them. Rather, an uncanny gloom filled their countenance.

Is it clear how, if you clung to something, you’d take it even to the next rebirth?

What Bhikkhu set forth here was only an analysis based on cause-and-effect phenomena. Do carry on running and doing exercise as usual. But do so, without succumbing to the pernicious view that ‘my’ body, ‘my’ brawn, ‘my’ good health, ‘my’ good looks, personality, or shape is permanent. Do so, understanding well that you cannot wield authority on any of the above. Granted, this isn’t easy. That māra mind of yours will persistently draw you away towards the notion of permanence of these things.

One of the wrong-view-based ritualistic practices of old was the pernicious view that [future] happiness could be achieved by subjecting the body to pain and suffering. Groups such as naked ascetics, having refused seats, walking and lying on spiky, jagged surfaces, put the body through pain and suffering. For what purpose? For happiness. For the sake of exhausting past karma. When looking at those present-day folks running or exercising, one can’t help but think whether this is a novel version of the [same] pernicious view held by the naked ascetics of yore. Because these folks, too, are [putting their bodies through] suffering like this for the sake of future happiness.

With whatever perception you grasp these 32-fold impure parts of the body as permanent, through which what you will experience is only suffering. It matters not how hard you strive to leave the muscles taut or looks attractive, for if you were to catch a cold or fever or some other ailment and went without exercise for a week, the body would start to get pudgy again; would go out of shape. No matter how much you keep it healthy by running and exercising, were you to suddenly attend a wedding or party, or when the festive season came, there the blood sugar, carbs, or fat levels would soar again. In whichever way you conceal birth, decay, sickness and death, they will, just like a rubber buoy held underwater by force, resurface the moment they slip from your grasp.

The revered-doctors treating these, the fitness instructors, would give you medical advice, fitness instructions. Those gentlemen advise you even as their own bodies are in the same state as above. They, too, haven’t escaped the above plight. If they get sick, they, too, have to go see another doctor and get themselves treated. The one who prescribed the best treatment for this malady, though, is Lord Buddha. Before prescribing others remedies, first he extricated himself from birth, decay, sickness and death. What he countenanced for his disciples was the three robes and the alms bowl and subsisting on just two meals at most. [Yet] a constant refrain uttered from his sacred mouth was that having just one meal a day imparts an amazing lightness to the body. Rein in your tongue. Rid yourself of the hankering for taste. Cultivate the perception of repulsiveness of food. Then, naturally, without being made to happen, your body will become healthy to a certain degree. Will become pleasant. Will shape up. If you let go of the voracity for taste, then disease will be averted to some extent. You’ll be able to experience the lightness, the relief, that’s found in letting go.

What the wise man must endeavour to do, rather than wallow in long life, is to escape these birth, decay, sickness and death the soonest; to avoid having to take rebirth again. Or, if that can’t be effectuated, to shorten the peregrination of saŋsāra―the round of rebirths. Whichever of these two one brings off, one must, at any rate, do away with the ignorance that claims there is a permanent good health, beauty and shape in oneself.

Some folks, however, avow that, though they exercise, they do so while also cultivating the perception of impermanence. But the thing is, this, too, is nothing but a māra phenomenon―an evil deceptive phenomenon. It’s just like that other māra phenomenon that tells one to wish to attain nibbāna after having availed themselves of the full range of pleasures and comforts of the human and deva worlds. No trust can ever be placed in [being able to attain] a nibbāna in the wake of the gamut of pleasures of human and celestial worlds. This is as distinct a dichotomy as any. Celestial or human world means ‘clinging.’ Nibbāna, or extinguishment, means a ‘letting go.’ To place trust in a ‘letting go’ that ensues hard on the heels of ‘clinging’―now this is an impossibility! Throughout the round of rebirths, why we were made to trudge along for millions of eons was because we embraced these beguiling evil statements, making them ours. We had better choose one or the other. Either clinging or letting go.

The greed with which the puthujjana being clings to what they like is incredible. What is the first thing humans cling to in life? His or her mother’s womb. Even as the rebirth-consciousness―arising in the uterus, centred around the embryo―grows as a fetus during gestation, this unborn baby clings to the womb, taking it as ‘mine.’ Alas, what suffering befalls the child inside this uterine chamber! Confined to a tiny space bounded by a balloonesque membrane. Huddled up with arms and legs tightly pressed together. Blood, pus, fat, faeces, urine, bowels and intestines, vomit, digested and undigested food… alas, enveloped by many a kind of impurities! Being afflicted by wind element―the gases; fire element―the heat; and water element―the liquids that are in constant motion inside the mother’s belly. This is how this unborn child grows.

Inside the womb where this child grows, squalid as the neighbourhood may be, not against its will does it remain there. Not thinking it an ordeal would this child be staying in the womb. It’s while having clung to the womb as ‘mine’ that the child has taken up residence here. So tenacious is the clinging born of attachment (tanhā) that, wherever one stops off, one clings to that stopover, taking it as ‘mine.’ Makes it ‘mine.’ Views it as nothing but a pleasure. Nine months go by like this. And then, what travail it takes to deliver the baby into the world! What an awful lot of innocent pangs of labour the mother braves, to break the child free of its clinging! How severely she has to bear down in parturition! What a great deal of energy must be expended! Why does mother have to suffer so much? Because baby doesn’t want to let go of the womb, which they have clung to and made ‘mine.’ Because baby is holding on to it, thinking it ‘mine,’ for they simply don’t want to part with ‘my’ dwelling place.

In the end it becomes a duel between the mother and the child. Baby is trying to stay put inside the uterus. Mother is trying to take the baby out. From this battle between the clinging the child has for the womb and the clinging the mother has to set eyes on the baby and to own the baby, the mother, who is stronger, emerges victorious. If the mother had not the strength, then the doctor would take the baby out by force by way of surgery. The child, clinging to the womb, tries to sit tight. Mother, with the clinging ‘my baby,’ wants to cradle the baby in her arms, wants to take possession of it. The doctor, clinging to his profession, takes the baby out through surgery. The nurse, clinging to her profession, assists in safely bringing the child into the world. It is but clinging that’s in operation in all four of them. What each one has fondly clung to is what they thus see as a pleasure.

In this manner, as the baby sees the light of day, they come out screaming at the top of their lungs, wailing shrill cries. What does this scream, this wail signify? They’re just letting out cries of agony and fear and desperation [as if] to say, “I lost my place of residence; the abode I occupied for nine months was taken away from me!” Hollering thus, they’re just protesting because Mum and Doc, working in concert, took it away much against their will. Even as the baby bawls to say, “I was denied my dwelling,” hearing this cry the mother, shedding tears of joy, breaks into a paroxysm of happy smiles to say, “I have my baby!”

The sorrow at losing or rejoicing at gaining is what each one is feeling. But these states of feeling will become impermanent in a jiffy. Once the child comes into the world, with its clinging for the womb sundered, what happens next? It clings to the mother’s warmth, mother’s breasts. Now it latches on to the present place of residence, thinking it a greater pleasure than the one before. Clinging to mother’s warmth and breasts as ‘my’ dwelling place, they relish those things as ‘mine.’ If somebody now tried to remove the child from the mother’s warmth, mother’s breasts, they would shriek and fulminate. Look how they have now clung to mother’s warmth and breasts. The ‘feeling’ inside the womb became impermanent. Grasped yet another ‘feeling.’ When one form slips away by means of the state of feeling becoming impermanent, moving from one to the other as father, cot, nursery school, school, university, job, house, wife, child, grandchild and so forth, by insidious degrees, another form is clung to as ‘mine,’ taking each as a pleasure.

[1] Here, although “birth, decay, sickness and death” could more aptly be rendered as “formation, decay, disease and disintegration,” for better readability, the former has been adopted throughout.