by Ajahn Chah
Suffering—who created it? We don’t see. We say it is for this or that reason, but we never point at the source. The root is here, but we are looking all over for it, blaming people and situations, so it doesn’t become very clear; we don’t really get down to it. We just look at things outside ourselves and are always trying to manipulate externals.
We can look around and see when the house is not clean. We can see when the dishes are dirty. We can clean them up. Then the house is clean, the dishes are clean, but still the mind is not clean. When the house is a mess, we will probably feel uncomfortable and get to sweeping, washing, and so forth. The mind is dark and unpleasant, yet we don’t see ourselves. So we go on complaining about our terrible suffering. When you think about it, we are really pretty pitiful.
If we could put effort into cleaning up our minds the way we do sweeping our houses, washing and scrubbing our clothes, and doing the dishes, we would likely be at ease. But when we talk about cleaning like this, people don’t know what we’re getting at. It’s just like someone being indifferent to whether the dishes are clean or dirty. It’s an ignorant kind of indifference. We have to go to work and clean, otherwise we never reach the correct point, and the mind remains in this befouled, ignorant condition.
The Buddha spoke of this as the mind not striving to see clearly, but just following its inclinations and tendencies. In our vernacular, we say “following moods.” In our families, today we feel love, tomorrow dislike. Today we love our children, but the next day we are exasperated and upset with them. Why is it like this? Why is it not stable? It means that the mind hasn’t been trained. Love causes suffering to arise. Aversion causes suffering to arise. Too little and we suffer; too much and we suffer. Where can we stay?
Have you sought your dwelling place yet? Find the right place to stay. How many months and years have passed when you should have been seeking and building the place where you can be at peace, yet you are still in this condition? What is the reason?
A husband and wife live together. There is really no reason they should quarrel. But quarrel they do, even to the point where one of them will get up and leave in the night—though they are likely to come back the next day. It’s troublesome, really. I’ve come to think it’s because people don’t seek their true dwelling place. We don’t clean in the place that really needs it. We scrub and sweep elsewhere. We don’t make our minds clean, so there is always confusion. We are always looking outside. The Buddha taught about turning inward: turn inward to look at the mind, to see what is in the mind.
But these days there are only force and hurry. Mangoes are never sweet now. They are forced. Before they’re ripe, they are picked and artificially ripened. This is done because people want to get them in a hurry. So when you eat them, you find they are sour. It’s trying to match the desires of people, to get things in a hurry. To get something good, something sweet, you have to let it be sour first, according to its own natural way. But we pick them early and then complain that they’re sour.
For the most part, things are imitations. We grasp these things that are false and uncertain as real. The Buddha wanted us to see that which is not false but genuine. But these days, understanding is almost completely mistaken. People don’t know anything about whether things are real or false, and when it’s like this, all kinds of perceptions occur. Things that are false and contrived are taken for real. In this vein, the Buddha taught about turning inward to see. If the mind does not see and realize, there is no path to clarity.
The Buddha said that one who is a teacher, like me, can end up a hungry ghost—a refined sort of hungry ghost. How is this? There’s a story I’d like to tell, a fable that’s worth narrating. It’s a little long, so try to bear with me.
There was a person who had a very virtuous mind. Whatever was meritorious and skillful, he would strive to do that. Everything he did was refined and somewhat fastidious. Everything had to be neat, everything in its place. When his children, nieces, or nephews came to visit, he would get a little unhappy. The broom that belonged over here would be left over there. The kettle would not be put back where it was supposed to be. If anyone didn’t do things his way, he would suffer.
But he was a refined person with a good, orderly mind. One day, he thought about building a pavilion in the forest, a sala (hall) where people could take shelter. “Hmm, building a sala here would be a good thing, I would accrue merit. Merchants and travelers could stop and rest here, they would be comfortable and appreciate it greatly.” Having thought about this, he went ahead and built it, and people made use of it.
Later, he passed away. After he died, because of his attachment to his virtuous activity, his consciousness returned to reside in that place, the place where he used to live and do his good deeds. He would check out the sala and see whether it was being kept up. When he found parts that were messy, he would be upset, and when he saw that it was neat and clean, he was happy, because his mind was like that—virtuous, neat, and orderly.
Then one day, several hundred merchants came to stay there. After taking dinner, they went to sleep, lying down in long rows.
The owner of the hall was now this refined hungry ghost. He came to check whether they were sleeping in orderly fashion. Patrolling up and down, looking around, he noticed their heads weren’t lined up straight. What to do? He thought it over, and then pulled their feet to line up their heads evenly. He kept on pulling and tugging, this row and the next row and the next one, until he had them all adjusted right. But then he looked at their feet; now the feet were out of line. What to do now? So he started pulling the heads up to align the feet.
Once that was finally accomplished, he saw that the heads were out of line again. What’s the story here, anyhow? he wondered. He went on like this through the night, bothered the whole time. Finally he gave up, asking himself what the reason was for this. He sat down and thought and saw the light: people are not the same. Their heights differ, so they can’t be lined up straight. He then let go of the matter, because he saw that some are short and some are tall; that is just the way it is.
He let go, and he felt better because he saw that people aren’t the same. Before, he had expected them all to be the same. When they weren’t, he tried to make them the same, but it was impossible, and he suffered for it. Then he stopped and contemplated the matter and saw the truth: “Ah, people are like that. They are not all the same height,” and he felt better.
It’s similar for us. We have to see the causes of things. We have to see that people are not all the same. This is something worth pondering, because we can’t change certain things; it won’t do to go cutting off their legs to make them even. Grasping gets us stuck in attachment to how we expect things to be.
We people are like this. We have different work and responsibilities. Some will be fast and efficient, some slow—all sorts of differences. It’s easy to become a hungry spirit if you view it wrongly. Me, too. I can become a hungry ghost over this, though I become aware of it quickly: “Hey, you’re becoming a hungry ghost, cut it out!”
I have my disciples and I want them to improve, to develop by following our mode of training. Sometimes I suffer over this. When that happens, I remind myself, I’ve become a hungry ghost again. I teach myself all the time like this.
In this way, we can take birth as hungry ghosts often. We don’t give up easily. We have to teach ourselves to become skilled in dealing with things, knowing the causes and results. Then we can let people be as they are, let them do as they do. We let go and can be lighthearted about it. We may want them to be a certain way, but the problem is not because of them, it’s because of us. Our own minds are obscured, so we think it is because of this or that person. That’s not so. It’s because of us. People are not the same, but we expect them to be the same. If we solve the problem of the way we see things, we will be alright.
Someone rides a motorcycle. He loses control and goes down. Then he’ll say, “The motorcycle made me fall.” Actually, he made the
motorcycle fall, because he couldn’t drive it well, but he says the motorcycle made him fall.
I’ll sum it up. For children and adults, the situation is different. If children do wrong, you can forgive them because they don’t really know anything. If adults do wrong, people don’t want to forgive because they should know better. The Buddha said that someone who doesn’t know right from wrong can be taught to know; someone who knows but doesn’t act accordingly is hopeless. The person is called heedless and cannot really be taught.
People end up miserable only because they don’t look at themselves. We are always looking at other things and people, looking outside for something that is attractive, trying to make externals pleasing. We never dig internally, never work on ourselves and become bright and clear. The result can only be constant difficulty and confusion. Wherever we look there is darkness. Why? Because the eyes are not good. We complain of the dark; we cannot see light and color, so we say they could not possibly exist. OK, that’s true—for the blind. But actually we are upset for nothing. The problem is in the eyes. Nothing is seen clearly, neither light nor color. But if the eyes are good, those things appear, and we will know what they are. We don’t really examine this problem. Mostly we look elsewhere, so we don’t have happiness. We should learn how to make this life of ours joyous. There really are things that can make that happen.
Monastic Life: Why Do People Ordain?2
DOCTOR V.: I’d like to tell you a story about some relatives of mine. This family had a son whom they recognized as having the potential to be a good student, so they made a lot of sacrifices to send him to college. While he was in school, he began to take an interest in learning Dharma and soon found a lot of joy in it.
The parents had great hopes that he would get a good job and become the pillar of the family. Everyone had sacrificed for him to study. But by the time he graduated, he was immersed in Dharma and wanted to ordain. His parents were upset to the point of tears and felt distressed about religion, but in the end they had to agree to let him ordain.
I don’t go to monasteries. According to my view, the world has two factions, the laity and the monastics. I have a family to support, and I practice a livelihood. I have my duties to them and to society and the country. When I come here, I get the idea that some people want everyone to ordain. But as a layman, I give benefit to society and people. I support my family and bring them happiness. We can support the sasana (dispensation of the Buddha) in this capacity. But if everyone ordained, the monks and nuns would have to work in the fields and do trading and wouldn’t have time to practice and teach.
So when I hear the tale of this young man, who let his parents down so badly, I see it as a sin. A terrible sin. He made bad karma with his parents and so many others. It was a selfish action, following his own desire.
AJAHN CHAH: That’s true, Doctor. But I will ask you a question. Which has more value, a kilo of lead or a kilo of gold? Which would you choose if I offered them?
DV: The gold.
AC: Life is like that. When it’s so clear-cut, you want the thing with value, the gold. Likewise, this young man made his decision. Why do you choose the gold?
DV: Because it’s valuable.
AC: There you are. So don’t think like that. I’m not telling you not to think, but investigate to see whether it’s correct. And you don’t have to worry about everyone ordaining and there being no one left to build the world.
For example, when they need to hire someone to play music, you don’t have to be bothered by that. They only hire the ones who can play. They don’t hire you and everyone else. Not everyone is going to ordain, and it also won’t happen that no one ordains—it just can’t happen. Whoever has faith and wisdom will do it. There shouldn’t be any sense of oppression.
I used to think like this, too: Killing animals is wrong. How about just eating chilies every day? But who can do that? Who can pound the chilies every day for us to eat? We can’t make these sweeping judgments.
The intention in ordaining is not to destroy our parents or our family lineage. We see that our family is still sunk in suffering. But others might see it differently. Like the gold and the lead: one who decides to ordain for life sees the world as lead, just as you chose the gold. We don’t want the world, our family, and the rest to be destroyed. But it’s difficult to find people who can understand this. There is a palm and back of the hand, but your view is one-sided.
When people ordain with pure intention, they suffer too, because they see things according to Dharma. You can call it bad karma, but then the Buddha really made a lot of bad karma! In the end, the intention is not selfish; it is to be able to teach the family to live in the light.
Right now, in our monastery, there’s a monk who studied abroad and then decided to ordain for life. His father was upset at first, but now he comes here and doesn’t want the son to leave. At first, we don’t see any value to monastic life, but with some wisdom we see that it really has value. Oh, don’t worry. There are not so many who want to ordain; there are plenty who want to stay in the world. Don’t think the world will empty out.
When someone ordains, he ceases doing evil and works to help people understand and live in happiness and coolness, practice right livelihood and live harmoniously, help each other, live without harming or exploiting. Not everyone will ordain, don’t think about it. Not everyone will be alike. The world isn’t like that. If it weren’t this way, it wouldn’t be the world.
DV: OK, I understand. On the subject of making merits, I have this question. Making merits should bring happiness to oneself and others. When I see people do it, they may tell their kids, “Don’t eat the most expensive fruit, save it to offer to the monks.” Shouldn’t it be something that is not a burden to others? This is my objection to the young man who graduated and wanted to ordain: Shouldn’t meritorious activity bring happiness and satisfaction to oneself and all others? The way this guy made merit is like me stealing from someone’s purse to make an offering, when she needs to take her child to the hospital before he dies.
Monks ordain, they go and teach and spread Buddhism, but these days there are so many ajahns. Others want to make themselves like the Buddha. The Buddha was the one who went first, the one who founded our sasana, for the benefit of the many—others could not see, so he left home to be able to open their eyes. But now there are so many. You and others are teaching the Dharma; it’s enough. So it isn’t important for this fellow to try to be like you or like the Buddha. If he could wait a few years, it would not upset others. It wouldn’t make trouble for them, and he could find happiness for them. My objection is that he did not wait for the appropriate time. He could have waited a few years. He chose the wrong time, so I call it evil.
AC: Who can know the right time?
DV: If he could determine firmly to wait seven years and ordain, fine. Of course, if he waited seven years and became an alcoholic in the meantime, that would be wrong. But apart from something like that, he should wait seven years.
AC: If you say wait, how will you ensure he has the time? You say wait seven years, but will death wait? Is there an agreement you can make with death? Everyone would like to, but who can? So if he sees it like this, he wants to ordain. He doesn’t see things the way you do, he realizes the timelessness of the Dharma and the immediacy of the situation, so what can you tell him to do?
DV (faltering): What I think is, he is selfish; he wants the happiness in Dharma for himself. He doesn’t think of others.
AC: If it’s like that, then think about this. You studied to be a doctor, and that was out of your self-interest, right?
DV: True.
AC: Why? When someone still has self, they will be selfish. The Buddha talked about this. The word self is just a concept. We look at others, and we think they have self as we do. But there is just earth, water, fire, and air. The Buddha saw this and taught that there is no real self, no person, being, or individual. So how could there be selfishness? We believe in a self, so
we think about selfishness. People who talk about self see the four elements as a person. The Buddha only sees lumps of things momentarily gathered together. But we can’t speak about this, people don’t understand.
I’ll just say a word or two for you to think about: When I say walking forward, backing up, or stopping, you can relate to these words. But if I say none of those, then what is it? One person has reached this point, but others are somewhere else. You hear it, but don’t understand at all. There’s a problem in understanding, because this is transcendent speech, the words of the awakened ones. When we grow up, we can understand.
The ways of the world and of Dharma don’t meet. We have to talk about going forward and such for ordinary people, but that isn’t the whole story. We say there is cause and effect for people. True, but it’s different for fools and wise people. They get different results. The Buddha said, “I am above cause and effect, beyond birth and death.”
Once you were a child. When you saw a balloon, you got excited and wanted to play. But if you see a balloon now, do you want to play?
