Fake Dhamma

We need to urgently study and practice Dhamma. This study should focus on the core principles of Buddhism and the essential teachings that we must understand. Practice includes knowing how to give, uphold moral precepts, and practice effectively. I frequently emphasize that we must be committed to learning, because Buddhism isn’t as robust as we might think. It is quite fragile. We see fake Dhamma, or false teachings, arise periodically. One gains popularity for some time and then fades, only to be replaced by another. This cycle continues endlessly. This issue arises because many Buddhists lack integrity for studying the Dhamma-vinaya (teachings and discipline). Some people revere the Buddha as a deity, venerating statues as divine icons, and respect monks for supposed supernatural powers, or the creation of protective amulets. This is not a true Buddhist form of reverence.

It is a priority for us to study and practice Dhamma. This is essential; without it, we cannot preserve Buddhism. Some worry other religions will destroy Buddhism, but the Buddha taught otherwise. He said that Buddhism could only be undermined by the Buddhist community itself—the male monks, female monks, laymen, and laywomen. They are capable of undermining Buddhism by failing to truly understand Dhamma and by holding and spreading misguided beliefs. When people misunderstand, misrepresent, or misteach Dhamma, it causes serious harm, gradually eroding Buddhism from within. This transgression may not be a criminal offense, but it causes damage to Dhamma preservation.

Someone who does not understand the Buddha’s teachings

cannot truly be called a Buddhist

In every era, similar situations arise. At one time, there were people who elevated themselves as being the source of essence and Dhamma, claiming superiority over even the Buddha. Human impurities can be so strong that some think they surpass the Buddha, believing themselves to be the ultimate origin of Dhamma. Eventually, Somdet Phra Yannasangvara himself pointed out that such self-proclaimed sources of Dhamma had actually broken the code to the degree of Parajika (a grave offense leading to expulsion from the monastic order). After that, other trends emerged, and we keep seeing people idolize one figure after another. Some monks go out on alms rounds, and thousands flock to offer alms. People become enchanted, drawn in by news and the promise of blessings, acting as ordinary people do, easily excited and swept away. They think, “this monk is the best.” But in the end, it doesn’t hold up; many such trends eventually fall apart. And it continues without end.

There are also lay people who make Buddhism distorted. They appear continuously. Some establish large centers and claim to teach Dhamma, saying that Luang Pu Thuad or Somdet To speaks through them. But it’s just their own act; why would Luang Pu Thuad need a medium to deliver teachings? These people become so deluded and immensely egoistic. They even told others to tell the Supreme Patriarch to come and pay respect to them. They believe themselves to be of the royal lineage. They are completely delusional. Some practice things like “mind connection” or other concepts. None of these have anything to do with Buddhism. They even believe Anagami (non-returners) can be reborn as humans, not knowing that Anagami means one who doesn’t return to the human world after death. Lacking proper understanding, people end up believing and worshiping such ideas without question.

If one were to study properly, they would understand that a Sotapanna, or a Stream-Enterer, is one who has entered the path toward Nibbana. There are three types of Sotapanna, and not every Sotapanna must be reborn seven times. Some are reborn only once before reaching the end of suffering—this type is called an Ekabiji (one-seed returner). Another type of Sotapanna attains Arahantship within three lifetimes. The third type attains Arahantship within seven lifetimes at most. People commonly refer only to “seven lifetimes” without categorizing.

A Sakadagami, or a Once-Returner, has significantly reduced impurities, with only one remaining opportunity to return to the human world. What has been reduced? Primarily attachment to sensual desires (Kama) has weakened. If a Sakadagami still has attachment to sensual pleasures, they may return to the human world again. But, if they transcend sensuality, they will no longer be reborn as a human or a Deva; if they are reborn, it will be in the Brahma realm. A Sakadagami, if reborn, returns only once due to lingering attachment to sensuality. They may still find some pleasure in sensual desires, but the allure is minimal. For instance, they may feel attracted to someone, but this infatuation quickly fades as they recognize its lack of substance, and the mind naturally lets go from the lingering attachment.

An Anagami, or a Non-Returner, is one who will no longer return to the sensual realms; they will never again be reborn as a human or deva. Instead, they will be reborn only in the Brahma realms, specifically suited to their spiritual qualities. There are five types of Anagami, each distinguished by a dominant strength: some have exceptional faith (Saddha), others diligence (Viriya), mindfulness (Sati), concentration (Samadhi), or wisdom (Panna). Anagami with these developed qualities, especially those who have attained the fourth Jhana, are reborn in the Suddhavasa (Pure Abodes), which consists of five levels. Those without the fourth Jhana or without a prominent quality are reborn in lower Brahma realms, but will not be reborn in the Asanna-satta Brahma realm, where beings exist with only a physical form and no mind.

An Anagami does not return to the human world because they see it as void of true substance, filled only with sensual enticements. The human realm is dominated by sensual desires (Kama-guna)—sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations that lure beings into attachment and bind them to the sensual world. An Anagami has truly realized the truth of these sensory objects—that they are impermanent, decaying, and unworthy of attachment. Their mind perceives this world as flavorless and devoid of true value. Some students, while reflecting on their progress, report feeling that the world has lost its appeal; if this perception of the world as “flavorless” becomes permanent, they would have no basis for rebirth in it. Therefore, an Anagami will not return to the human realm.

An Arahant, even more so than an Anagami, will never be reborn. This is because an Arahant transcends death in a unique way. When an Arahant attains Nibbana, their mind simply ceases without any rebirth-consciousness arising—unlike ordinary beings who experience Cuti-citta (the dying mind). For ordinary beings, Cuti-citta acts like a truck, carrying accumulated Kamma (past actions) and conditioning a new life. The dying mind rises and immediately ceases. It is succeeded by the Patisandhi-citta (rebirth-linking mind) in a new life, like a new truck taking on the Kamma “load” from the previous life. This cycle continues life after life, as each new existence picks up the burdens of past Kamma.

An Arahant does not experience this rebirth-linking mind; when they pass away, it is like a flame going out. When a flame is extinguished, it does not “go” anywhere; it simply ceases. In the same way, an Arahant will never be reborn because the very roots of existence have been eliminated. The foundation of rebirth is ignorance (Avijja); with ignorance comes craving (Tanha), clinging (Upadana), becoming (Bhava), birth (Jati), and the resulting suffering. An Arahant has destroyed ignorance completely through the path of Arahantship (Arahatta-magga). With the cessation of ignorance, there is no more craving, clinging, becoming, or birth. So, rebirth in any form becomes impossible.

I don’t criticize the “mind-connection” group; many others have already addressed them. Since they are lay people, it’s appropriate to let lay people handle the matter. There’s nothing complicated about it. But some monks are spreading strange teachings, claiming that noble beings like Anagamis can return to the human world. They even teach that the Buddha, as a Bodhisattva, attained Arahantship in a previous life and then returned to be born again, ultimately becoming a fully enlightened Buddha. This is severely distorted and utterly misguided. Spreading such ideas is Asaddhamma—false Dhamma. This brings to mind Luang Pu Mun’s warning: “When true Dhamma enters the mind of an ordinary person, it immediately transforms into a fake Dhamma.” The teachings become distorted as soon as they are misinterpreted. These teachers even go so far as to say, with confidence, that Thai Buddhists only think Arahants or Anagamis don’t return after Nibbana due to a lack of thorough understanding. This is a severe misunderstanding of Dhamma.

The reason for speaking on this matter in detail is because it involves monks. The Buddha did not instruct monks to stay silent when Satthamma-patirupa (fake Dhamma) arises; it is the duty of Buddhists to clarify and correct misunderstandings. That’s why this is being explained—to discourage blind belief in ideas like the Buddha being reborn. Not long ago in Nepal, someone claimed to be a “young Buddha,” but later, as he grew up, he was involved in serious misconduct. This happened because people did not study properly, became superstitious, and then called themselves Buddhists. Someone who does not understand the Buddha’s teachings cannot truly be called a Buddhist. So, studying is essential. At the very least, one should know the basics of the Pariyatti (theoretical understanding) to properly understand how to practice.

At the very least, one should know the basics of the Pariyatti (theoretical understanding) to properly understand how to practice

Some people study how to practice but don’t put it into action. This is missing an opportunity. For instance, they might study courses on Vipassana meditation, covering theories like the stages of Vipassana knowledge, meditation objects, the Five Aggregates, the six sense bases, the eighteen elements, the twenty-two faculties, and the Dependent Origination. They may even memorize these concepts without directly experiencing the phenomena themselves. Such knowledge is only verbal, like a parrot repeating words without understanding. If we truly understand, we must practice to attain results. We may know that Vipassana isn’t about sitting and viewing the body as filthy or disgusting—that’s just a method of subduing lust through calmness (Samatha) and suppression. True Vipassana is seeing impermanence, suffering, and non-self. When we contemplate the body’s filthiness, we can suppress lust temporarily, but this is still within the domain of Samatha, as it restrains the mind.

One should grasp the basic principles and then gradually observe. When Luangpu Dune first taught me, he said, “Practicing isn’t difficult; it’s only difficult for those who don’t practice. You’ve read enough books. From now on, read your own mind.” The key is to “read your own mind.” So, I tried observing my own mind, but at first, I didn’t understand what “reading your own mind” meant. I was confused. He instructed me to observe my mind, to read it. But how was the mind? I didn’t know. Where was it located? I didn’t know. What should I use to read it? I didn’t know. How should I read it? I didn’t know. In short, I began from a place of not knowing, relying on simple observation.

I recall a chanting passage from the morning chanting ritual that I learned when I was a student. I once ordained as a monk at Wat Chonprathan and was a disciple of Luang Por Panyananda, who encouraged us to chant the translated meanings of the verses. One particular verse from the morning chanting that left an impression on me was the one about the aggregates, which goes: “Rupupudunakkhandho: the aggregate of clinging that serves as a basis for attachment is form. Vedanupudunakkhandho: the aggregate of clinging that serves as a basis for attachment is feeling. Sannupadanakkhandho: the aggregate of clinging that serves as a basis for attachment is perception. Sankharupadanakkhandho: the aggregate of clinging that serves as a basis for attachment is mental formations. Vinnanupadanakkhandho: the aggregate of clinging that serves as a basis for attachment is consciousness.” At that time, I understood that the mind is consciousness (Vinnana).

So, to observe the mind, one must first separate out the other aggregates. I relied on the chanting verses as a guide; it’s a good chant that teaches Dhamma. So, I practiced separating the aggregates: the body as one part, feeling as another, perception and mental formations as yet another, with the mind itself being distinct. Once I could separate them, I wondered what to do next. At first, I misunderstood, thinking that observing the mind meant isolating it from the other aggregates and then watching over it, focusing on it constantly. I thought this was the practice that Luangpu meant by “reading your own mind.” But in reality, I wasn’t reading my mind at all—I was just sitting there watching over it. It’s like confusing reading a book with merely sitting and watching over it; they’re completely different. In this case, I wasn’t reading the book; I was just keeping watch over it, continually trying to control it.

On my second visit to report my progress, Luangpu said, “That’s wrong. The practice is to read your own mind; not to alter it. The mind’s nature is to think, imagine, and fabricate. You’ve been practicing in a way that suppresses thought, imagination, and mental fabrications. Start over.” He didn’t give any further instructions on how to do it correctly. I recalled the chanting verse again, the same one that teaches: “Rupam Aniccam—the body is impermanent; Vedana Anicca—feeling is impermanent; Sanna Anicca—perception is impermanent; Sankhara Anicca—mental formations are impermanent; Vinnanam Aniccam—consciousness is impermanent.” It continues, “Rupam Anatta—the body is non-self; Vedana, Sanna, Sankhara, Vinnana are non-self.” To observe the mind, we must see Vinnana (consciousness) as impermanent and non-self. Observing the mind in this way, seeing the three characteristics (Anicca, Dukkha, Anatta) in our own consciousness—that is what it means to truly “read the mind.”

You see, the chanting is based on the teachings, taken directly from the Tipitaka, the Buddha’s own words. That morning chant is highly valuable. I had read the Tipitaka multiple times before I met Luangpu Dune, so I had a solid theoretical understanding but didn’t know how to apply it in practice. When Luangpu instructed me to observe the mind, I naturally recalled the chant, which itself is the study of the scriptures (Pariyatti). It reminded me to look at physical form, feeling, perception, mental formations, and consciousness, seeing them as impermanent and non-self. At that time, I had a small question: why mention impermanence and non-self, but not suffering? Where did it go? In truth, when observing the Five Aggregates (Khandha)—one of which is physical (form) and four of which are mental—the Five Aggregates are presented as teachings for those inclined toward observing mental phenomena rather than physical form.

The Six Sense Bases (Ayatana) are also taught to yield similar insights. Among the six, five are physical, and one is mental, making this approach suitable for teaching those who are more attached to the physical forms. The Eighteen Elements (Dhatu) contain an abundance of physical and mental phenomena, making them helpful for those with a strong desire to analyze and understand. The Twenty-Two Faculties (Indriya), which are mostly mental, reveal themselves through more delicate practice over time. Dependent Origination (Paticcasamuppada) is the process through which the mind generates realms of existence, birth, and suffering—and it’s also the process by which these realms, birth, and suffering can be brought to cessation. We don’t need to study all of this in excessive detail.

When we talk about the Five Aggregates (Khandha)—one being physical (form) and the other four mental—it suits those inclined to observe mental phenomena. Observing the Five Aggregates, we might first see the body sitting; this is awareness of form. Then, we notice pleasant or unpleasant sensations arising in the body or mind—this is feeling. We perceive memory and recognition in the mind, which is perception. Observing the formation of good or bad thoughts, we see mental formations. Finally, we see consciousness arising and ceasing at the six sense doors, which is also mental. So, most of what we observe is mental. When focusing on observing mental phenomena, two of the Three Characteristics (Tilakkhana)—impermanence (Anicca), suffering (Dukkha), and non-self (Anatta)—are key; Impermanence and non-self stand out most clearly in mental observation. This is why the teaching emphasizes Rupam Aniccam (form is impermanent) and then Rupam Anatta (form is non-self), skipping over Dukkha. This approach was taught for practical application, not to provide a complete theoretical framework.

Why must we see the Three Characteristics in body and mind

So, we can observe this: when we look at our own mind, it’s difficult to see suffering (Dukkha) directly. But seeing impermanence (Anicca) is easier. We can notice that a happy mind is impermanent, an unhappy mind is impermanent, and a good or bad mind is impermanent. This is straightforward to observe. Happiness arises by itself, Unhappiness arises by itself, goodness and unwholesomeness arise on their own. Whether the mind takes on the role of “the knower” also happens by itself, and we cannot sustain it. This is seeing non-self (Anatta). As for seeing the mind as full of suffering (Dukha), that requires being established in Jhana (deep meditative absorption); only in that state can one perceive the mind as inherently suffering. For most of us, it’s not possible to see the mind’s suffering nature directly.

The Buddha taught a wide variety of Dhamma, but when we learn from our teachers, they often select specific teachings to explain. Luangpu Dune had a unique ability to discern and assign the right Dhamma for each individual. This quality of Luangpu Dune, his ability to customize the teachings to each person’s needs, is something most people may not know about. Each student received different instructions tailored to their inclinations. Some were taught to observe the body, others to observe feelings, some focused on the mind, and others on deeper workings of phenomena (Dhamma-nupassana). Each person received teachings suited to their own path.

The one who could best classify and explain Dhamma was the Buddha himself, which is why he is called the “Bhagava”—the one who perfectly expounds the teachings. No one else can match him in this skill. Disciples can do this to some extent, but the Buddha’s mastery is complete and flawless, with all his teachings rooted in causes and results. Why must we see the Three Characteristics in body and mind (form and name)? Because if we see body and mind as they truly are—impermanent, suffering, and non-self—we will become disenchanted and let go of our attachment. The mind will begin to feel detached and uninterested in the world, and then it will be free from it. Initially, we are caught in the sense realm (Kama-loka), the realm of sensual desire, and we become enchanted, feeling that sensual pleasures are desirable and valuable.

As we continue practicing, we begin to see that what we call the sensual pleasures (Kama-guna) are, in truth, the traps of sensuality (Kama-dosa). When our mind clings to something, we lose a portion of our freedom because of it, and suffering arises as a result. This is the danger of sensuality. For example, if we love a woman, we feel we must please her; if we love a man, we feel we must win his favor. We lose some of our independence and become bound to pleasing the other. The more attached we are to something, the more we become enslaved by it. Some people love cats and become slaves to their cats, or they love dogs and become bound to them. If one loves one’s spouse, one becomes their servant. We lose our autonomy and sacrifice our freedom.

As we deepen our wisdom, we come to realize that whatever we like, love, or hate brings suffering. When the mind becomes wise, it questions: Why love something if it leads to suffering? Why hate something if it brings suffering? Seeing things this way, the mind naturally loses its desire to love or hate—there’s no need to force it; it happens on its own. Many of us who practice will, at a certain point, see this world as bland and empty, without anything truly satisfying. We begin to perceive that this world is filled with suffering. Looking around, we see people in suffering; examining the body, we see suffering; looking into our own minds, we see suffering. Gradually, the mind becomes disenchanted and releases its attachment step by step. The mind first lets go of external things—the outermost “layer” being the world outside. It lets go of this before moving inward, eventually letting go of the body and, ultimately, even the mind itself. The outside world and the body are let go at the same time.

The mind is the last to be let go of because it is the most refined. It’s easier to see suffering in the body or in the external world, but it’s harder to recognize suffering in the mind itself. A well-trained mind can bring happiness. How do we train it? By developing virtue (Sila), which brings happiness; developing concentration and stability (Samadhi), which brings happiness; and developing wisdom (Panna), which also brings happiness. We then tend to become attached to this happiness. If we observe with mindfulness and wisdom, we’ll see that every kind of mental state is impermanent and non-self. So, even a happy mind is impermanent and beyond our control. Seeing this, the mind will eventually let go. But for those established in Jhana (deep concentration), they can see the mind as suffering directly. When mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom are sufficiently mature, they experience a sudden realization, recognizing that the knowing mind—often considered a supreme happiness—is actually the greatest suffering. It is the ultimate suffering, surpassing all others. But until reaching that point, we must depend on the knowing mind. Only then can we truly let it go.

As Luangpu Dune said, “When you encounter the ‘knower,’ destroy the knower; when you encounter the mind, destroy the mind—only then will you reach true purity.” The term “destroy” doesn’t mean to literally destroy it. Once, Luangpor Phut asked me, “When you went to see Luangpu, what did he teach?” I told him, “Luangpu said, ‘When you encounter the knower, destroy the knower; when you encounter the mind, destroy the mind—only then will you reach true purity.” Luangpor Phut became concerned that I might misunderstand and end up trying to obliterate the knower, which could lead to madness. So, he clarified, saying, “To destroy the knower and destroy the mind doesn’t mean to annihilate them. Rather, you must see them display the Three Characteristics.” This was his teaching.

Train yourself well before training others

I have relied on the teachings of venerable teachers to support my practice, stumbling and struggling along the way, yet managing to make it through each time. Sometimes I would turn to the scriptures, other times I would recall the teachings of teachers, or simply observe for myself. There were many influences guiding my path. Sometimes I’d think, “The Tipitaka teaches this,” and other times, “But my teacher taught it this way.” Often, I’d have to observe carefully and ask myself, “Do my experiences align with the teachings in the Tipitaka?”

Once, during meditation, my mind became caught in a form of Vipassanupakkilesa (impurities that can arise from insight practice) called radiance (Obhasa). My mind was bright and full of happiness, like sitting and gazing at the full moon, serene and beautiful, with a lasting sense of peace. One day, though, a doubt arose: the Buddha taught that the mind is impermanent—so why does my mind seem stable? The Buddha taught that the mind is suffering—so why does my mind feel so happy? The Buddha taught that the mind is non-self, beyond control—so why does it feel like I can control it? It dawned on me that something must be wrong, not with the Buddha’s teachings or the Tipitaka, but with my own understanding. Somewhere, I must have gone astray.

People nowadays often have strong egos and are highly self-assured. When their meditation experiences don’t align with the scriptures or the Tipitaka, they claim the Tipitaka is wrong—an extreme misconception. Or, they might believe others are misinterpreting the Tipitaka, without realizing that their own understanding is flawed and deviates from the fundamental principles of Buddhism. Some even adopt Hindu theories, such as the idea that one can attain Nibbana and then return to be reborn. This is a Hindu concept, where the individual self (Atman) is believed to merge with the Supreme Self (Paramatman), or God, and at some point, can return to the world to fulfill divine tasks or missions. In this way, Hindu teachings portray God assigning roles—like sending a deity to conquer a specific demon. This concept of the Buddha assigning worldly roles or worldly missions to accomplish is of Hindu’s teaching, not the Buddha’s.

When people haven’t studied thoroughly, they become misguided; their delusions cause harm to themselves. But if they spread those misunderstandings to others, the damage can be severe, leading others astray as well. This is why I often advise people not to rush into teaching. First, focus on developing your own practice well. Luangpu Mun also said, “Train yourself well before training others.” There are only about ten or so people I’ve approved to teach right now; for everyone else, I haven’t given permission. Some teach secretly without having the necessary qualifications. If I find out, I’ll tell them to stop. It’s unacceptable for someone who is still overwhelmed by impurities to go around teaching others. There have even been cases where someone starts teaching meditation with good intentions but ends up falling in love with a student, leaving their spouse to be with that student. Teaching meditation without being truly qualities–without sufficient practice and unable to overcome defilements.

So, don’t rush to teach others—teach your own mind first. Every day, observe your own mind. Notice which impurities haven’t yet been eradicated, which ones still arise, and which have been lessened. Observe which wholesome qualities have developed and which have not. Focus on your own wholesome and unwholesome states; this is how we measure our progress. Measure your progress by your impurities: Have any of your existing impurities faded? Do new impurities arise less frequently? Are wholesome qualities that were absent now emerging? For example, if you previously struggled to uphold moral precepts (Sila), is it now easier? If you couldn’t achieve concentration and stability (Samadhi), has that improved? If you couldn’t see the world through the lens of the Three Characteristics, are you now seeing it more clearly? These are signs that your wholesome qualities are growing. Measure your own practice by whether your impurities are weakening and your wholesome qualities are strengthening. Focus on this, without mingling with others.

Only when you have gained a deep, clear understanding should you begin teaching others. Otherwise, you’ll end up projecting your own impurities onto others, which is harmful to both yourself and others. It’s like contaminating Buddhism from within, causing the teachings to rot and decay. To prevent this, we must take our time to study without rushing to spread the teachings. First, gain a thorough understanding of your own mind. Ask yourself: What impurities have yet to be removed? What still has power over me? What wholesome qualities have I yet to cultivate? Are the wholesome qualities I am cultivating increasing and growing? For example, if your mindfulness has become quicker, that’s a sign of progress. Perhaps before, your mind would be lost in thought for hours, but now, you recognize distraction almost instantly—this is real development. So, focus on observing yourself.

As for claims about who has attained enlightenment or who has become an Arahant, the Buddha laid down clear guidelines. If someone declares themselves an Arahant, we shouldn’t immediately accept or reject it. Instead, observe them over time. Do they behave in ways consistent with an Ariya (noble one)? Do they teach in ways that align with the teachings of the Ariyas? This is what we should look at. By being close with them, we’ll come to see the truth. For instance, some people claim to be Anagami (non-returners) but still behave in exaggerated, attention-seeking ways, showing anger and irritation. That’s not the mind of an Anagami. Yet, people often believe such claims, no matter how far they deviate from the true qualities of a noble being.

Practice as an homage to the Buddha

Today’s teaching is a bit intense, but listen well. If we don’t work together to preserve Buddhism, it will fade away. And why would it fade? Because of false teachings that slowly infiltrate, eventually causing the true teachings to deteriorate completely. So, listen carefully and continue your practice. Practice for a while and then observe yourself. What you know, what you see, who you are, and what you’ve gained—does it align with the Tipitaka? Does it align with the genuine teachings? Reflect on this. For example, if you used to violate the moral precepts (Sila) but no longer do so, you can measure that improvement yourself. If your mind was once restless and filled with desire all day but now is not, you can see this development. You know your own progress.

Our mind once saw the world as truly “the world,” but now we see this world as empty. When we see people, animals, and all sorts of things, we can view them in two ways. When we look at the world for our own insight, we see it as empty. But if we look outward with the intent to help the world, we see nothing but fabrications. Everywhere we look, it’s full of fabrications—there’s nothing else. The world holds nothing genuinely lovable; it’s all fabrications, all illusions. Whatever is fabricated is impermanent, suffering, and non-self.

When the mind sees the truth, it loosens its grip and no longer clings to this world, with its fabrications, impermanence, suffering, and non-self. The mind lets go on its own—there’s no intention to let go. This way, the mind finds peace and is freed from the power of all fabrications. The mind is empty. Turning inward to observe the body, the body is also empty. Looking at the world, the world is empty too. But when we engage with the world for the sake of helping others, the mind must interact in a different way. When we’re alone, the mind rests in a different state entirely.

That’s all for today’s talk. Practice diligently. First, uphold the Five Precepts. Make sure to formally practice every day, as an homage to the Buddha. Whether you practice sitting meditation or walking meditation, don’t do it to gain anything for yourself; simply set your intention as an offering of practice to the Buddha, our teacher. Formal practice can be approached in two ways. On days when the mind is restless, practice in a way that allows it to focus on a single object, helping it to become calm, strong, and peaceful. On days when the mind is already strong, formal practice becomes an opportunity to cultivate wisdom. See the body sitting and know that the mind is observing. See the body breathing and know that the mind is aware. See the body walking and recognize that the mind is the knower. This is how wisdom develops. You’ll start to see that the body is impermanent, in conflict and decay, and non-self; that the mind, too, is impermanent, suffering, and non-self. Observe these truths during formal practice when the mind is strong. If the mind isn’t strong, focus on peacefulness (Samatha) practice, letting the mind rest with a single object.

The first task is to uphold the Five Precepts. The second task is formal practice. The third, and the most important, is cultivating mindfulness and wisdom in daily life. Formal practice is like training in a boxing gym, while practicing mindfulness in daily life is like entering the real ring, where it’s all live and real. In the gym, if we make a mistake, like losing mindfulness or slipping into drowsiness in meditation, we can catch it and correct ourselves without serious consequence. But outside, in daily life, if we make a mistake, develop wrong thoughts, hold wrong views, or start spreading these mistaken beliefs to others, the consequences are severe. Such actions undermine the Buddha’s teachings and damage the Dhamma and Vinaya (the teachings and disciplinary code).

How do we practice in daily life? When the eye sees a form, and a reaction arises in the mind, be mindful and recognize it quickly. When the ear hears a sound, the nose detects a smell, the tongue tastes a flavor, or the body feels a sensation, notice the change in the mind with mindfulness. Similarly, when thoughts or mental fabrications arise, observe the mind’s response with awareness. For example, if we think of a certain person and suddenly feel angry, recognize this reaction with mindfulness in real-time.

So, we use all six sense bases in our daily practice. We don’t choose which one to use. Sometimes the eyes see a form, the ears hear a sound, the nose detects a smell, the tongue experiences a taste, the body feels a sensation, or the mind engages in thought. We don’t control which sense is stimulated; each base operates naturally. But regardless of whether it’s sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, or thought, ultimately, all experiences come together in the mind. Our task is to be mindful of each reaction as it arises in the mind.

When contact with a sense object brings about happiness, be mindful of it quickly. When it brings suffering, be mindful of that as well. If it brings about wholesome states, recognize them. If it stirs up greed, anger, or delusion, catch these quickly. By maintaining this kind of continuous mindfulness, our moral precepts (Sila), concentration and stability (Samadhi), and wisdom (Panna) will grow more complete. Eventually, liberation (Vimutti) will arise, and we will attain the stages of enlightenment and its fruits naturally. There’s no need for someone to tap your forehead for you to attain enlightenment—that’s not a real path to awakening. That lacks wisdom from the start.

Start practicing today

before the chance to cultivate true progress is lost

These days, I’ve aged quite a bit. In the past, I could teach Dhamma for three hours straight without effort. Now, even an hour of teaching leaves me tired. When I went to visit Luangpu Thong, there were about 30 people waiting for him at the temple. He’s already 94 years old and also gets tired. So, he asked his student to call and asked me, “Where is Ajahn Pramote? When will he arrive? So, we can help clear these people out.” Even our great teachers are aging, tired, and growing old. If we cannot develop ourselves, things will become more challenging in the future. When I went to learn from my teachers—many of whom were in their 80s or 90s—my mind constantly reminded me, “The teachers are getting old. We must not become a burden to them. Be diligent in practicing. Hurry and practice. If something goes wrong, we can still ask them.” But if we are lazy and procrastinate, and the teachers pass away, who will we turn to with our questions? It would be hard. Asking someone who lacks true understanding might lead us astray, and that would bring even more difficulties.

So, start practicing today before the chance to cultivate true progress is lost. Right now, there is still an opportunity. The Buddha’s teachings still exist. What constitutes the essence of Buddhism is the Dhamma and Vinaya. As long as the Dhamma and Vinaya endure, preserve and uphold them, and continue their legacy.

I practiced diligently until I felt satisfied with my progress. I even went back to study the Abhidhamma. I had already read the Suttas and Vinaya since I was a layperson, and later combined that knowledge with my practice. The Suttas teach methods for practicing and training the mind. That’s why some people describe the Suttas as being about Samadhi, or the cultivation of the mind, while the Abhidhamma is associated with wisdom, and the Vinaya with morality. See how these are Sila (morality), Samadhi (concentration and stability), and Panna (wisdom). In the part where we actively practice, it’s about Samadhi—right effort (Samma-vayama), right mindfulness (Samma-sati), and right concentration (Samma-samadhi). We must actively engage in this, with morality as the foundation. What results is wisdom: right knowledge and right understanding. When we practice and come to know or see something, we must test it against the Buddha’s teachings. Observe whether what we have realized aligns with his Dhamma or not. This requires careful attention.

As for the Abhidhamma, it contains both highly valuable aspects and parts that are more philosophical in nature. The beneficial parts focus on the mind, offering profound and precise insights that are accurate and virtuous. Some sections, though, address worldly matters, crafted to counteract other philosophies, religions, and beliefs prevalent over a thousand years ago. For example, ideas about the thickness of the earth’s layers—soil, rock, water, and air—are metaphysical concepts developed by scholars of that era. These details, such as the number of layers in the world, are not aimed at enlightenment or liberation from suffering. They go beyond the scope of understanding suffering and abandoning its cause. That said, such concepts were necessary at the time to confront strange sects and religions. People’s strengths were weaker back then, and they sought answers to satisfy their curiosity. Monks of that era created such explanations to address these questions, but they extended beyond the boundaries of directly understanding suffering and letting go of its cause.

If we truly understand the practice, we will see that practice (Patipatti), theoretical study (Pariyatti), and realization (Pativedha) are harmoniously interconnected. There is no conflict among them. Theoretical study provides the framework for practice. The practice guides the development of morality (Sila), concentration and stability (Samadhi), and wisdom (Panna), including both calmness meditation (Samatha) and insight meditation (Vipassana). The wisdom aspect of Abhidhamma goes into great detail, serving as a tool to verify whether the Dhamma we understand and realize aligns correctly with the teachings.

The Abhidhamma is an explanation of the Dhamma—nothing more. Similarly, the Abhivinaya is an explanation of the Vinaya. So, we should preserve and utilize the beneficial parts of the Abhidhamma, while leaving aside the aspects that seem unusual or out of place. There’s no need to remove anything because in doing so, we might accidentally discard something valuable. Just leave it as it is, and those with wisdom will discern and choose wisely on their own. Teaching to counter wrong views can be so exhausting, as you can probably see from this explanation.