“WHAT ARE YOU doing, venerable Sir, staying all alone in this kuṭi?” asked a gentleman who came to the kuṭi Bhikkhu resides in.

 “Just staying restfully in solitude in this kuṭi,” replied Bhikkhu.

“When one stays in this manner, venerable Sir, life seems to have lost all meaning,” he sneered.

“For life anyway has no meaning whatsoever is why I abide here in restful solitude,” Bhikkhu assured him. 

For this gentleman, restful solitude is a problem. He fancies seeing an active character in Bhikkhu, one who is ever restless and as busy as a bee. Alas, upon seeing the restfulness of others, one loses their own peace of mind. Entertaining a glut of unwanted thoughts, they spawn unwholesome karma as well. 

If the eye is not ‘mine,’ if the sights that meet the eye are not ‘mine,’ if the ear, the nose, the tongue, the mind, or the body is not ‘mine,’ then what’s there to be busy about? What is there to gain by being busy? If what is referred to as “I,” the product of the mind-matter phenomena, is nothing more than the six faculties, and in that too if there is no being or person but only a phenomenon of cause and effect, then to search on whose behalf should one be busy? If one be searching thus, what they search for is nothing but illusion. 

If the eye proves to be meaningless, if the ear turns out to be meaningless, then life can’t have any meaning, can it? It is the Dhamma that elucidates the meaningless life to you. Leisurely, contemplate the mind-matter phenomena. Then you will realize there is nothing here for you to acquire by being busy. So, revered-you, resolve that whenever you meet a venerable monk you will always discuss only a matter pertaining to the Dhamma.

When the mind settles into restful quietude, it begins to dawn on you what gives rise to busyness. The mind becomes busy purely due to regarding the five clinging aggregates―form, feeling, perception, volition, and consciousness―as permanent. When what is impermanent is regarded as permanent, it puts you in a tangle. You’re taking something non-existent to be existent. Now you’re busy. Now you have plenty of things to do, to search for, to see, to say. The world remains at a standstill, but revered-you are running. Speed has a most excellent value placed on it in the sphere of ignorance. “Avijiā paccayā saṅkhārā” ―it is due to ignorance that karma-formations come into existence. You being fast-paced means you’re fast accumulating karma-formations (saṅkhāras). But if you set about restfully contemplating the impermanence of form, feeling, perception, volition, and consciousness, you’re headed towards the cessation of karma-formations. Look how vast a chasm there is between busyness and restfulness. Taking form to be permanent, thus searching for something that isn’t there, would bring about busyness. Perceiving form, feeling, perception, volition, and consciousness as impermanent, and consequently there being nothing to search for, would bring about restful solitude. 

Only when you grow distant from faith and confidence―saddhā―in the Triple Gem does restfulness become distant from you. One who has formed saddhā in the Triple Gem investigates the causes of life’s busyness. It is only through ‘associating with a wise and virtuous friend (kalyāna-mitta),’ ‘listening to the true Dhamma (saddhamma)’ and ‘wise reflection’ that saddhā will form.

When writing about this exalted saddhā, a whirl of past incidents springs to mind. Bhikkhu’s father was a person well disposed towards deities. Bhikkhu recalls, as a kid, every year, father used to hold a ceremonial ritual and make offerings to deities. Likewise, every month an offering to the deity called Kaḍavara was performed in the backyard. At the time, as a child I knew not what saddhā really meant. Nor did my father. I remember countless times when, as a result, I burnt sprats or cowhide with my own hands for burnt offerings. At this moment though, when Bhikkhu harks back to that past, Bhikkhu knows full well that in those days I, as a lay person, as well as my father, only had saddhā that hadn’t taken root―that is, unreasoned faith and confidence melded with delusion. Only because we had this unrooted saddhā did we diverge from having faith and confidence in the Triple Gem and descend to beseeching deities. It was due to unrooted saddhā alone that we burnt sprats, burnt cowhide, and laid betel leaves and an exact number of flowers on altars as offerings. 

This was recounted for you to recognize the difference between saddhā and unrooted saddhā. Much as you may be a person who worships the Triple Gem, gives alms, and abides by moral precepts, when life is confronted with problems in the occupation or business or in the form of illnesses, veering away from faith and confidence in the Triple Gem if you expect to solve them through burning sprats or cowhide, offering up fruit trays, or doing other shamanic rituals associated with deities or nonhumans, revered-you must know with certitude that you still have unrooted saddhā. But for some reason, at the young age itself Bhikkhu could discern from within himself this unrooted saddhā, purely thanks to association with wise and virtuous friends, listening to the true Dhamma, and wisely reflecting upon the Dhamma that was listened to.

Revered-you, listening to the Dhamma alone isn’t enough unless you wisely reflect upon that Dhamma. Our lifespan is elapsing ever so fast. Death could come at any moment. So, be someone who has a claim on a venerable death, as opposed to an occupation, business, or marriage. Don’t be attached to illusion; don’t be enamoured of it―not even with a single word, notion, or thought. Be afraid of it. Unrooted saddhā alone is what makes you lapse into Wrong View (micchā-diṭṭhi) in saŋsāra―the round of rebirths.

This is a most fearful world; A capricious world; A murderous world. The five clinging aggregates forming in humans is every bit as dreadful and sinister as that. An exorcist Bhikkhu once met said that, using the witchcraft and black magic he knew, he could even destroy or end someone’s life. Vauntingly, he averred that he had indeed carried out such acts of sorcery. For the deluded, who don’t know the meaning of the Dhamma, killing a human being is no more difficult than is killing a mosquito. A person whose mind is far removed from the Dhamma cannot so much as comprehend the value of one’s own life, let alone the value of that of another. They would place on others’ lives the same worthless bid they place on their own. As folks who listen to the true Dhamma, revered-you, be ever vigilant of the dangerous tendencies prevalent in society! 

One who has formed saddhā in the Dhamma will have the gumption to discern that ‘I lost my job, suffered an illness, or my business collapsed, all for my own good’; and that ‘Through such collapses what I experience is the nature of the world, the essence of the characteristic of impermanence.’ Letting go of the attachment to what inevitably turns impermanent, unravels, and falls apart, he draws closer to the realization of the Dhamma even more. Such a person will endeavour, with still greater effort and energy, to rebuild what has collapsed. And it is only through the Dhamma that such a person will seek solace.

A field spreading unchecked through contemporary society is that of sorcery, black magic, and witchcraft. The more this field gains ground and the more ubiquitous its use becomes, the less the Dhamma will be practised. It’s a law of nature; an ominous harbinger that the true lifespan the Dhamma will remain existent is far shorter. As the world continues without belief in karma and karma-results, you fall prey to Wrong View. Worse still, out of sheer delusion, people spend money to embrace Wrong View. Forsaking the noble Dhamma, they buy Wrong View, paying money for it. Look how subtle the machinations of Māra1 are. Having first clouded your vision, he sells you Wrong View, snatching away your money. The realm of peta-ghosts, the sphere of yakkas, the world of nonhumans is extremely gruesome, so multifarious, and terribly intricate. Their way is the evil (adhamma); is destruction; is hatred. Having forfeited the refuge of so exalted a teacher par excellence as the Buddha, to seek the refuge of nonhumans, dreaming of an ephemeral success, revered-people, is to sell off your own life to the evil Māra.

It is only through samādhi that the delusion of this world, the hidden truth behind the world, the world that remains invisible to the flesh eye, or the veracity of the Dhamma spoken by the Buddha, will have to be empirically seen. Unlike how the world appears to the flesh eye, when a monk witnesses through samādhi the range of wondrous and piteous ports of call in the saŋsāric journey of beings laden with merit or sin, it becomes crystal clear how badly we humans have misapprehended the world, grasping it through many a jejune fallacy. When making offerings to deities, shamans would invoke the deities. You may have heard them beseeching deities thus: “Oh dear demigod whose divine eyes are watching over the herd of bulls, the flock of peacocks, and the Maenik river...” Well, we think this deity watches over the herd of bulls. Revered-you, just think for yourself, would a deity born in that [opulent] form owing to past merits be all eyes for a cattle herd lying amidst dung and urine while caked in mud?

But there’s also a hidden truth in this statement. Only through samādhi will you be able to see that truth. One day, while in a state of samādhi, a bhikkhu saw the vision of a group of some twelve divine water buffalo. Half a dozen were mature females, and the rest were calves. This was a herd of divine water buffalo dwelling in the human realm itself. These female buffalo were resplendent in longevity, beauty, and opulence. These creatures were endowed with pristine, ample bodies, glistening with an oleaginous sheen and covered in luxuriant fur. The udders were exceedingly large and full, heavy and pendulous with milk. Teats were of remarkable size, resembling the very largest of plantains. When one beholds those celestial buffalo, it’s as if they are a symbol of prosperity.

In the vision the monk had, this herd of divine buffalo appeared to be ambling along a road. There’s a truth here that your flesh eye cannot see. There is indeed a deity watching over this herd of cattle. It is they who, despite their merits, have taken rebirth merely as oxen―divine though they were―that are being watched over; not those bulls living in the village, wallowing in dung and urine. See how profound the difference is between blind faith and reality.

This herd of divine buffalo is but another port of call, yet another sojourn, in the journey of saŋsāra. Faced with as precarious a saŋsāric journey as this, revered-you should, rather than looking to deities [for help], look instead to the qualities of the Triple Gem.

Always make your life a research laboratory, a field of investigation. What kind of a research lab? One that examines the Dhamma. With the faculty of wisdom, thoroughly examine everything you see, hear, or that enters the mind. Distinguish the Dhamma from adhamma―the opposite of dhamma. Remain ever vigilant against the precariousness of saŋsāra.

To extricate yourself from the pernicious defilements that preclude happiness, first you need to accept the fact that these injurious defilements are present in you. This is precisely where we most often go wrong. Despite all the roots of unwholesomeness2 growing within us, we aren’t skilful enough to recognize this fact. Even those who do recognize make every effort to forge ahead on the path of Dhamma while concealing them. This happens because you don’t examine the Dhamma within you.

Bhikkhu, during that time of life as a lay householder, fully recognized the unwholesomeness: lust (rāga), hatred (dosa), and delusion (moha) present in him. Bhikkhu is not ashamed to say this, for it is that very recognition that paved the way for Bhikkhu to reach this place. During lay life, only through the lust that existed in him was the vileness of lust recognized. It was only through the depravity of hatred within him that hatred was recognized. Only through the delusion present in him was the blindness of delusion recognized. There was nothing for him to learn by observing others. All of the baleful defilements were present in him to a greater or lesser extent. He was able to discern those roots of unwholesomeness from within himself at that time only because he had made his life a research laboratory―not to do research for others, but to genuinely correct himself. It is because he first accepted that those roots of unwholesomeness were present in him that he undertook such self-examination.

At that time, more than to the outside world it was to his own self that Bhikkhu sought to be truthful. Sustaining this candour, he reflected upon himself with the faculty of wisdom; only then did he perceive the roots of unwholesomeness festering in his life. This discovery proved most invaluable to Bhikkhu then. This alone was the reason he became aware that there were roots of unwholesomeness in him; secondly, saw the danger they posed; and thirdly, entered the path to extirpate them tactically.

During lay life, Bhikkhu was not ashamed to lay bare, for others to see, the fact that lust, hatred, and delusion existed in him. He made himself an open book to others; And with this very overtness, he humbled himself through self-abasement. You, too, make your life transparent to the outside world as much as possible. Discern that concealment from the outside world only fosters ‘self-view’ (sakkāya-diṭṭhi). It is but self-view that serves to keep the unwholesome qualities―lust, hatred, and delusion―present in you hidden from others. For the sake of “my” protection; for “my” survival; to show the world who “I” am. Who is it, truly, that is being puffed up here?

1 The term ‘Māra’ has several meanings. (see. Māra). Here, ‘Māra’ may denote defilements as well as Māra the deity, who is ever scheming to drive people away from the Dhamma.

2 Principal roots of unwholesomeness are: greed (lobha), hatred (dosa), and delusion (moha); sometimes also enumerated as lust (rāga), hatred (dosa), and delusion (moha).