by Ajahn Chah
One recurring example is the Thai word tammadah, derived from the Sanskrit Dharmata, a term for ultimate reality, usually translated as “suchness,” things as they really are. In Thai it simply means “ordinary,” and is often used by Ajahn Chah in conjunction with tammachaht, “nature” or “natural.” Nature is not meant to imply merely the physical environment, and statements that we should not try to alter nature don’t mean that we can’t pull weeds or create irrigation systems, but rather that we should avoid living in a constant struggle of not accepting the way things happen in the realm of cause and effect. The words for natural and ordinary would normally be taken in a mundane sense by Thai listeners, but Ajahn Chah expounds on them in a Dharma sense as “the way things are.”
In translating from Pali and Thai, multiple renditions were often used to convey the range of meaning and flavor of the original. Anicca is generally understood as meaning “impermanence,” but Ajahn Chah often spoke of this principle in terms of the uncertainty of existence. Dukkha has been translated as “suffering” and also as “unsatisfactoriness.” The third of the three characteristics of insight meditation, the truth that there is nothing constituting a self or belonging to a self, has also been rendered in various ways: not self, absence of a self, selflessness. Ajahn Chah sometimes used the Pali word, anatta, and sometimes Thai equivalents, so it seemed appropriate to use different English terms to fit the context and the flow of the language itself.
Some readers may be familiar with certain translations of common Buddhist terminology, often depending on which tradition they have studied. The Pali word kilesa (Sanskrit klesha), for example, has usually been translated as “defilement” in Theravadin literature, and the actual meaning is something that stains the original purity of the mind. However, this translation tends to take on moralistic overtones in modern English. In Tibetan Buddhist books, it is usually rendered as “mental afflictions,” “emotional afflictions,” or “conflicting emotions.” This variety was generally opted for here, to convey the sense of something afflicting the heart, but occasionally “defilement” is used.
Carrying on the Tradition
AJAHN CHAH LIVED in one of the more remote, unheard of, and inaccessible corners of Thailand, yet somehow a steady stream of Western seekers found their way to his monastery beginning in the late 1960s, and many ended up staying under his guidance for years. This “pot-bellied monk who looked more like a bullfrog than a saint”1 had an appeal and a way of communicating truth that reached across cultural barriers and the strata of society. Over the years, he touched many hearts and shaped many lives for the better.
In Thailand, it was always striking to see the throngs of people who would turn up at even the most remote monastery when he visited. Watching adults come running from a village like children to meet his car, joyfully calling out “Luang Por!” was an unforgettable sight. His very being was a refuge to people, each receiving what they could at their own level. Through his vibrant, joyous presence, he instilled an absolute trust and sense of safety.
Today in the West, there are monastic communities in his lineage, including a number of monks who had the opportunity to live and train with Ajahn Chah. There are also many former monks and nuns, as well as laypeople, who spent time with him. Visiting from time to time, one is struck by the great regard in which he is still held, the love and gratitude people feel for him. From a simple remark such as, “Luang Por was good, wasn’t he?” to the statement, “He was the most remarkable person I ever met . . . and one of the greatest men Thailand has ever produced,” it is obvious how he affected people’s lives.
Yet this was no mere personality cult of blind devotion. He was always on the alert for disciples who depended on him too much, and he could make one’s life miserable if he felt it was needed to get someone out of his or her rut. As he repeats in his teachings, the Buddha did not praise those who blindly follow another without trying to discover the truth for themselves.
It would be possible to fill a whole volume with recollections of Ajahn Chah and commentary on his teaching. At this point, however, it feels appropriate to let the teachings speak for themselves.
NOTE ON PRONUNCIATION OF PALI TERMS: Generally, all consonants are hard except for c, which is pronounced like ch; otherwise h following a consonant is always aspirated, as in hot-house. A is long, as in ma and pa. The following list of words that appear frequently here shows syllable emphasis in capitals.
bhikkhu: BHIK-khu (like sick)
dukkha: DUK-kha (like spook)
neyya: NAY-ya
pacceka: pac-CEYK-ka
samatha: SAM-a-tha
sasana: SAH-sa-na
sila: SEE-la
songkran: SONG-krahn
tathagata: ta-THAH-ga-ta
upaya: u-PAH-ya
vipassana: vi-PAS-sa-nah
1. Batchelor, Stephen. “A Thai Forest Tradition Grows in England.” Tricycle, Summer 1994.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MANY THANKS ARE DUE the sangha of Ajahn Chah’s ordained disciples, especially the Council of Elders for granting their permission to translate the teachings for commercial publication. It has long been the custom in Thailand to print books for free distribution, but this allowance was made in the hope of making the teachings available to a wider readership. Ajahn Jayasaro of Bung Wai International Forest Monastery (Wat Nanachat) was instrumental in helping to clearly present the facts to the elders and make the case for this book, following a translation of the book proposal by Venerable Bhikkhu Kongrit.
Ajahn Pasanno of Abhayagiri Monastery in Redwood Valley, California, helped with vocabulary questions and painstakingly checked every translation, line by line, often from barely audible tapes. He and Ajahn Amaro offered valuable editing suggestions, as did Ajahn Jayasaro and Jack Kornfield. The Venerable Bhikkhu Pasukho helped us when we were stumped by phrases in the Lao language. Most of the translations were done from tapes collected and remastered by Mr. Paiboon Jongsuwat of Ubonrachathani, Thailand. These tapes were of talks given from the late 1960s to the early 1980s, and it is something of a miracle that they could be preserved in tropical conditions.
“Mindfulness of Breathing” and “The Path to Peace” in Chapter III were excerpted from The Path to Peace, translated and published by the sangha of Wat Nanachat.
Special thanks to Peter Turner of Shambhala Publications, who had the idea to create such a book, and who nurtured it through to completion with infinite patience, even as he was assuming additional responsibilities as president of the company; to Emily Bower, my editor, who is a real professional and a joy to work with; and to my wife, Lili, who saw mostly my back for the year and a half that I was at work on this project.
INTRODUCTION
THE BUDDHA SAID, “That one who sees emptiness, the Lord of Death cannot follow.” When an awakened being passes away, what happens next? There are only the elements breaking up. There is no person, or self, so how could there be death or rebirth? There are only earth, water, fire, and air dispersing. The Lord of Death can then only follow after earth, water, fire, and air. There is no person to follow. Likewise, if you are looking for a solution to problems, there will always be problems because there is “you.” When there is no person, there are no problems. There is no need for solutions, because there are no problems to solve anymore and no one to solve them. But if you believe that you die, you are going to be reborn.
Today I am speaking a little about the Dharma for grown-ups. When those of childish intelligence hear that there is no self, when they hear that nothing is truly theirs, not even the body, they may wonder, Should I stick a knife in my flesh? Should I smash all the cups and plates and be done with it because nothing is mine? It’s not that way. It is thick obscuration that can lead people to have such absurd ideas.
How can we make the mind incline to and enter the Dharma? The sotapanna, or “stream enterer,” is one whose mind has entered the stream to nirvana and does not return. Even if such people have anger, they do
not return to the cycle of suffering and attachment. Even though there are desires in their minds, they will not return, because of the power of knowing these things as they are.
The sotapanna enters the Dharma and sees the Dharma, but his being is not yet Dharma. Sometimes there will be anger or desire and he will know them yet still follow after them, because although he knows and sees Dharma, his being is not yet Dharma. The mind has not become Dharma. So he may study Dharma, understand Dharma, practice Dharma, and see Dharma, but to actually be Dharma is something quite difficult. It is a place for each individual to reach, a point where there is no falsehood.
We are all like birds in a cage. No matter how fine the conditions in the cage, the bird cannot be content. It will always be restlessly hopping about, wanting to be free. The wealthy and the privileged are no better off—we could say they are doves in gilded cages.
From hearing the Dharma all the way to seeing it, you will still have suffering, and you won’t be free of unsatisfactory experience until you are Dharma. Until you are Dharma, your happiness still depends on external factors. You lean on them: you lean on pleasure, on reputation, on wealth and material things. You may have all sorts of knowledge, but this knowledge is tainted by worldliness and cannot release you from suffering; you are still like a bird in a cage.
The correct practice of Dharma is derived from a teacher, who received it from another teacher, and it has come down in a long lineage this way. Actually it is just the truth. It doesn’t reside with any particular person. If we respect the person of the teacher and only act out of deference to him or her, this is not Dharma. We will practice as if doing a chore or fulfilling our duties because we see the teacher around, and when he or she is gone we slacken.
Ajahn Chah, circa 1973.
It’s like working in a factory. We work for the company that owns it. We don’t really like the job, but we do it to get money. We take it easy at every opportunity we get. That is the way people tend to be. Relying on a teacher out of respect is one level of practice. But then we ask, “When will we see the real Dharma?”
The teaching of the Buddha is something that clarifies. It enables humans to enter the stream and see themselves. When we see ourselves, we see Dharma. Seeing Dharma, we see the Buddha. Then we have entered the stream.
I’ve said this before: if you reach the Dharma you cannot lie, you cannot steal. We think that lying is deceiving others. We think we can act wrongly without others knowing. But wherever you are, doing wrong and not letting anyone know is impossible if you have entered the stream. To think you can is only the thinking of the ignorant. Whether living in a group of people or alone, even if you live in the middle of the water or up in the air, to do wrong and not have anyone know is impossible. When you truly realize this fact, you enter the stream.
If you have not entered the stream, you think you can do wrong actions and no one sees. You are just belittling yourself, not seeing Dharma. Whoever sees Dharma will not deceive others or do anything harmful, no matter what the situation. If we stop and recollect the authentic teaching of the Buddha, he said that wherever there is Dharma, there is someone who sees: it is we ourselves. To think otherwise is a real loss. It is contradicting the intention of the Buddha when he talked about being a witness to yourself. If you bear witness to yourself, you will be unable to lie or do wrong, and your practice will always be direct and upright, just like a compass that always points out north and south.
With a compass, when you enter a deep forest you will always be able to know in which direction you are headed. You might start to think you are heading east, but the compass will show you are going south. Then you realize, “Oh, I was wrong. It was merely my mistaken thinking that I was going east.” The compass will always show you the right direction, so you will stop relying on your own guesses. Like this, wherever you are, you have this sense that shows you the truth. Our thinking may lead us elsewhere, but we have the compass. We can let go of our ideas and feelings because we learn that they will lead us the wrong way.
It is the nature of people to enjoy doing wrong. We don’t like the result that comes from it, but we are addicted to such actions. We don’t want things to come out twisted and wrong, but we like to act in wrong ways. This isn’t right view. Things don’t just float up into existence by themselves; they are born of causes. We can’t get the results without causes. We want to work a little and get rich. We want to realize Path, Fruit, and Nirvana, but we don’t want to do strenuous practice. We want to gain knowledge, but we don’t want to study. We want to pass tests without applying ourselves, so we go to get sprinkled by holy water from Luang Por. What’s the purpose? What will the water do? It’s necessary to work hard and hit the books. But people are like this. Well, they may get a little inspiration from the old monk spraying them with water, but in the language of common folk it’s called not reaching the Dharma. That is one level.
In practicing Dharma there must be causes and results. Those who really apply themselves can put an end to doubt and can resolve and finish with problems. Like the compass needle that always points true: we may enter the forest and think east is north because of our own confusion, but the compass is always pointing out the right direction. This is the nature of Dharma. We call it sacca dharma, or “truth.”
So practicing according to the way of the Buddha, there is no wrong. There is no wrong in the cause, no wrong in the result.
There can be right view, or there can be wrong view. Whichever there is will be the root of your practice, firmly clung to. There are just these two kinds of path. But when you have wrong view, you do not realize that it is wrong, rather you will think it is right and good. You cannot see, and things will not go well.
Actually there is not a lot to learn about in the real Dharma. There are just the principles of practice that need to be applied. They concern things that already exist, and we only need to practice and gain direct experience. Those things we need to study are merely for knowing what to practice and how to go about the practice: we should understand such and such, we should practice such and such, we should go straight ahead in such and such direction. . . . That’s all.
The explanations and instructions are one matter. As to the teachings, we can compare it to mangoes. All the stages and characteristics of mangoes, such as sourness and sweetness, being small and growing large, can be found in a single mango. Studying one, it is possible to know about all mangoes.
But meditation is different for various individuals. Some people need more study; if they don’t study, they won’t be able to understand anything. When we say that some people don’t need study, actually they are studying, too: they study directly through practice. There are these two approaches. We can study from ABC on, or we can learn by following the model of the methods for practice.
If things are not clear, we can look at the appearance and actual existence of things, such as hair, nails, teeth, and skin. Their nature is that they are not stable or reliable, not clean or beautiful. This is one way. If we study, we will really take a serious look at them and consider this. Without this kind of study we are not likely to know. Even though we may read the words that hair and nails and the rest are not lovely, they still appear as beautiful and attractive to us. We don’t know what is hidden there. The facts are already there, the aggregates and elements arising and passing away continuously. That is all. As for their being impure and uncertain, impermanent, suffering and not self, that is already present. They are filled to bursting with these characteristics.
We recite, “Form is impermanent, feelings are impermanent, perceptions are impermanent, thoughts are impermanent, consciousness is impermanent. . . .” Thus we can say that we know, in a way; that is indeed one kind of knowledge. But when we are put to the test, we don’t really know. When the time comes that form really displays its impermanence, then we cannot claim to know. When we get sick and the body is suffering intense discomfort, we get very upset and ask why this is happening to us. That
’s our impermanence right there. But we recite, “Form is impermanent, feelings are impermanent. . . .” We know it because of this study, but as to the actual phenomenon of impermanence, our knowledge is not clear. We recite the words according to the scriptures, but we only know the formula. In spite of our melodious chanting, which we do so perfectly, we have missed the point.
Some might even contemplate the parts of the body, doing the meditation on impurity, and experience desire. When they say “liver, intestines, stomach,” their minds run far afield and they are thinking of chicken livers and kidneys, pigs’ intestines, and whatever they may have eaten before, and they start getting hungry. It can really take a long time before people understand.
Actually, the truth is inherent in these things in its entirety. It’s not necessary to make an elaborate business out of it. The Buddha emphasized meditation. When we sit to meditate, we can see the truth. The word for meditation, bhavana, may be interpreted as causing things to come about. Whatever has not yet come about, make it come about. Whatever is not yet in existence, bring it into existence.
No matter where you are, no matter what your situation, it is possible for you to be practicing Dharma well. Even if you are young, it’s something for you to do. Don’t leave it to the old folks to do. Mostly, this is what everyone thinks now. “When I’m older I will start going to the monasteries and spend some time on Dharma. Now I can’t do it. There are a lot of things to take care of first, so I have to wait until I’m older.” They pass the buck to their elders.
