''Excuse me, sir, who are you?''
''I am a samana.''
''Who is your teacher?''
''Venerable Gotama is my teacher.''
''What does Venerable Gotama teach?''
''He teaches that all things arise because of
conditions.
When they cease it's because the causal conditions
have ceased.''
When asked about the Dhamma by Sāriputta,
Assaji
explained only in brief, he talked about cause and effect. Dhammas
arise because of causes. The cause arises first and then the result.
When the result is to cease the cause must first cease. That's all
he said, but it was enough for Sāriputta4.
Now this was a cause for the arising of Dhamma. At that time Sāriputta
had eyes, he had ears, he had a nose, a tongue, a body and a mind.
All his faculties were intact. If he didn't have his faculties would
there have been sufficient causes for wisdom to arise for him? Would
he have been aware of anything? But most of us are afraid of contact.
Either that or we like to have contact but we develop no wisdom from
it: instead we repeatedly indulge through eyes, ears, nose, tongue,
body and mind, delighting in and getting lost in sense objects. This
is how it is. These sense bases can entice us into delight and
indulgence
or they can lead to knowledge and wisdom.
They have both harm and benefit, depending on our wisdom.
So now let us understand that, having gone forth and come to
practice,
we should take everything as practice. Even the bad things. We should
know them all. Why? So that we may know the truth. When we talk of
practice we don't simply mean those things that are good and pleasing
to us. That's not how it is. In this world some things are to our
liking, some are not. These things all exist in this world, nowhere
else. Usually whatever we like we want, even with fellow monks and
novices. Whatever monk or novice we don't like we don't want to
associate
with, we only want to be with those we like. You see? This is choosing
according to our likes. Whatever we don't like we don't want to see
or know about.
Actually the Buddha wanted us to experience these things. Lokavidū
- look at this world and know it clearly. If we don't know the truth
of the world clearly then we can't go anywhere. Living in the world
we must understand the world. The Noble Ones of the past, including
the Buddha, all lived with these things, they lived in this world,
among deluded people. They attained the truth right in this very world,
nowhere else. They didn't run off to some other world to find the
truth. But they had wisdom. They restrained their senses, but the
practice is to look into all these things and know them as they are.
Therefore the Buddha taught us to know the sense bases, our
points
of contact. The eye contacts forms and sends them ''in'' to become
sights. The ears make contact with sounds, the nose makes contact
with odors, the tongue makes contact with tastes, the body makes
contact
with tactile sensations, and so awareness arises. Where awareness
arises is where we should look and see things as they are. If we don't
know these things as they really are we will either fall in love with
them or hate them. Where these sensations arise is where we can become
enlightened, where wisdom can arise.
But sometimes we don't want things to be like that. The Buddha
taught
restraint, but restraint doesn't mean we don't see anything, hear
anything, smell, taste, feel or think anything. That's not what it
means. If practicers don't understand this then as soon as they see
or hear anything they cower and run away. They don't deal with things.
They run away, thinking that by so doing those things will eventually
lose their power over them, that they will eventually transcend them.
But they won't. They won't transcend anything like that. If they run
away not knowing the truth of them, later on the same stuff will pop
up to be dealt with again.
For example, those practicers who are never content, be they
in monasteries,
forests, or mountains. They wander on ''dhutanga
pilgrimage'' looking at this, that and the other, thinking they'll
find contentment that way. They go, and then they come back... didn't
see anything. They try going to a mountain top... ''Ah! This is
the spot, now I'm right.'' They feel at peace for a few days and
then get tired of it. ''Oh, well, off to the seaside.'' ''Ah,
here it's nice and cool. This'll do me fine.'' After a while they
get tired of the seaside as well... Tired of the forests, tired of
the mountains, tired of the seaside, tired of everything. This is
not being tired of things in the right sense5, as
right view, it's simply boredom, a kind of wrong view. Their
view is not in accordance with the way things are.
When they get back to the monastery... ''Now, what will I do?
I've
been all over and came back with nothing.'' So they throw away their
bowls and disrobe. Why do they disrobe? Because they haven't got any
grip on the practice, they don't see anything; go to the north and
don't see anything; go to the seaside, to the mountains, into the
forests and still don't see anything. So it's all finished... they
''die.'' This is how it goes. It's because they're continually
running away from things. Wisdom doesn't arise.
Now take another example. Suppose there is one monk who
determines
to stay with things, not to run away. He looks after himself. He knows
himself and also knows those who come to stay with him. He's
continually
dealing with problems. For example, the abbot. If one is an abbot
of a monastery there are constant problems to deal with, there's a
constant stream of things that demand attention. Why so? Because people
are always asking questions. The questions never end, so you must
be constantly on the alert. You are constantly solving problems, your
own as well as other people's. That is, you must be constantly awake.
Before you can doze off they wake you up again with another problem.
So this causes you to contemplate and understand things. You become
skillful: skillful in regard to yourself and skillful in regard to
others. Skillful in many, many ways.
This skill arises from contact, from confronting and dealing
with
things, from not running away. We don't run away physically but we
''run away'' in mind, using our wisdom. We understand with wisdom
right here, we don't run away from anything.
This is a source of wisdom. One must work, must associate with
other
things. For instance, living in a big monastery like this we must
all help out to look after the things here. Looking at it in one way
you could say that it's all defilement. Living with lots of monks
and novices, with many lay people coming and going, many defilements
may arise. Yes, I admit... but we must live like this for the
development
of wisdom and the abandonment of foolishness. Which way are we to
go? Are we going to live in order to get rid of foolishness or to
increase our foolishness?
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