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Dispelling Delusion: Exploring the Vipallāsas Through Early Buddhist Poetry (3 of 4) - Ayya Santussika

The following talk was given by Ayya Santussika at The Sati Center in Redwood City, CA on February 21, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Dispelling Delusion: Exploring the Vipallāsas Through Early Buddhist Poetry (3 of 4)

Hello everyone, it's nice to see you again. Tonight we're going to talk about the third inversion or distortion of perception in the list that the Buddha gave, which is to see things as self which are not self.

As you may know, the Buddha talked about not-self from the beginning of his time teaching, throughout his 45 years of sharing the Dhamma. It's really the defining principle of Dhamma—that we recognize that this body and mind is not a thing but a process, and not an enduring self. Even though the Buddha talked about rebirth a lot and how that works, he was clear that it wasn't an abiding self or soul that went from lifetime to lifetime, but merely a process based on conditions. The Buddha saw that everything is conditioned. It's based on the things that came before, and that's why our actions are so important, because they put the causes and conditions in place for the future. And the Buddha also said that nothing is predetermined, so that's why we can change course.

When we look at this idea of self and not-self as a distortion, it's where we assume that something is really "me" or "mine" when it's not. When I think about how we come into this lifetime and the way we develop as children, we start to recognize that we're separate from other people, that there's this concept of "me." We then develop these ideas about ourselves based usually on what other people are reflecting back to us. When we think about that, we're probably really assuming that the body is us. "Who am I? I'm this body with these kind of physical characteristics, and I have my personality and my mind and the ways that I feel."

Our language is really very supportive of this kind of assumption. We say, "It's my body," "My heart is beating fast," or "I'm sweating after exercise." When we say things like "It's me and mine," and "I'm sick," or "I'm feeling angry," the language is constantly reestablishing that this is a self. But the Buddha was calling that not just into question, but showing us step-by-step why that's not the case. We can't really depend upon the body, or our feelings, or our perceptions, or our mental activity, or the consciousness that takes in the sense input and makes sense of it, as reliable, stable, or under our control. Therefore, according to the concept of what a self is, it couldn't possibly be a self.

This is what we're going to explore. We're going to see in the poetry other aspects of "me" and "mine"—our attitudes about ourselves, who we think we are, how the Buddha related to that, how one begins to see reality, and why that's related to awakening.

Māra Saṃyutta: Escaping Māra's Realm

I'm going to start with verses from the Saṃyutta Nikāya¹. Specifically, the Māra Saṃyutta, which contains all the suttas that have Māra showing up in them. Most of you probably know that Māra is also called the Evil One or the Wicked One. He's the deity trying to keep people from getting enlightened. He wants people to stay in the realm of saṃsāra², which is considered his realm where he has control. He feels threatened when people are moving in the direction of awakening.

I didn't copy the prose part of this sutta, but basically, the scene is that the Buddha is giving a very rousing, inspirational Dhamma talk to the mendicants, the bhikkhus and bhikkhunīs, about Nibbāna³. He is really encouraging them, and they're listening with real attentiveness, hanging on every word. Māra sees this going on and wants to disrupt it. So Māra takes the form of a farmer with a large plow on his shoulder and a big long stick goad in his hand. His hair is disheveled, he has muddy feet, and he's wearing hemp clothing. He comes up to the Buddha and the mendicants and says, "Have you seen any oxen come by?"

The Buddha says, "Māra, what do you have to do with oxen?" The Buddha wasn't fooled at all.

Then Māra says, "The eye is mine, and all the sights are mine, and eye-consciousness and eye-contact are mine." He goes through the other senses: nose, tongue, ears, body, and then mind. "Mind is mine, ideas are mine, the contact of all of our thoughts, that's mine, the consciousness of all that, that's mine." He's saying this is all part of his realm. He says to the Buddha, "How can you possibly escape me? How can you imagine that you're going to escape me, escape saṃsāra, escape to Nibbāna?"

And the Buddha says, "Yeah, those things are yours, but they're not mine."

This is the verse where Māra speaks the first stanza: "The things they call mine, and those who say it's mine, if your mind remains here, you won't escape me, ascetic."

The Buddha replies: "The things they speak of aren't mine. I'm not someone who speaks of mine. So know this, Wicked One, you won't even see the path I take." And then Māra vanished right there.

The Buddha is saying, and this comes through throughout the suttas, that Māra can't find an arahant when they pass away and enter Parinibbāna. It's said that when an enlightened one dies, Māra can't find their consciousness anywhere, because it's like a flame going out. Māra can't follow what goes beyond saṃsāra, what goes beyond the world.

When the Buddha talks about what's not self, he often talks about it in terms of the sense bases, like in this sutta: eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind. He also talks about it in terms of the five khandhas⁴: body, feeling, perception, mental activity, and consciousness. The word in Pāli used here for mind is mano, the intellectual faculty, rather than citta. That's pretty different because citta is also translated as mind or heart, but is used in other ways to describe what separates from the body when we die. But citta is not "me" or "mine" either.

The Buddha doesn't come out and say "there is no self," but he also doesn't say "there is a self." What he points to every time is the fact that what arises that we think of as "me" and "mine" is actually based on conditions. When those conditions are removed, it falls apart. Anything that falls apart, if we attach to it, we suffer. It can't possibly be a self because it's completely unreliable.

Q&A: Understanding Non-Self

Question: You mentioned that the Buddha doesn't say that there is an "I" or there isn't an "I". Could you expand on that a bit?

Ayya Santussika: There are places in the suttas where the Buddha refuses to say whether there is or is not a self. He said the reason is that it confuses the person if he answers either way. What we hear from master teachers, in addition to what we see in the suttas, is that the idea of self or not-self is related to our ordinary, pre-enlightenment consciousness. Once we're enlightened, as Ajahn Mahā Bua said, it goes beyond self and not-self.

From the frame of mind of an unenlightened being, whether we think there's no self or we think there is a self, it's confusing. The clearest representation of it is that the idea of a self has this idea of eternalism attached to it, and the idea of not-self has the idea of nihilism attached to it. The Buddha said to set that all aside and look at conditionality. Look at dependent origination. That's what describes what's actually happening, and that we can see for ourselves. We can see the body deteriorate, we can see how feelings change all the time, and we can see how the five khandhas and the sense bases are unreliable. We can see that when we approach things from a place of the conceit "I am," we suffer.

That's probably the most prominent and obvious proof we have: recognizing that none of these things are me, and the possessions that I have are not mine. We use language like "this is mine, these are my assets, this is what supports my life," but of course, it's all very unreliable and can disappear at any time.

The first time I was confronted with this was with a Hindu guru, long before I met up with the Dhamma. I mentioned my garden, and he said, "It's not your garden. You just think it's your garden because you bought it from someone else who thought it was their garden. It's not yours." That gave me pause. I knew my children weren't really mine; they're their own beings. I knew that the huge oak trees on the property I owned were not mine either. You start to really reflect on what you can truly call your own, and there isn't anything in this world we can call "mine." It is a useful reflection to go through.

Theragāthā: Bhikkhu Jenta on Conceit and Arrogance

We're going to move on to the next poem from one of the monks, translated by Venerable Gnanananda. This is Bhikkhu Jenta in the Theragāthā (6.9):

"I was intoxicated by my high-class birth, wealth, and status. I was intoxicated by the beauty of my body. I didn't care about anyone who was equal to me or elder to me. I was so stubborn, I was foolish to be so arrogant. I lived lifting high the flag of conceit. I did not venerate anyone, neither my mother nor father, and no others regarded as honorable. That's how strong my stubbornness and disrespectfulness were. But one day I happened to see the supreme trainer of people to be tamed, the best teacher for the three worlds, the Buddha. I was looking at the great teacher who was walking like the blazing sun, surrounded by many other monks. My mind was pleased with that sight. I threw away all pride and intoxication. I knelt down with my head near the sacred feet of the best of all beings, the Buddha. I worshiped the Blessed One. My pride of superiority and inferiority were eliminated and completely uprooted. The conceived 'I' is cut out. All forms of conceit were destroyed."

This gives us the image that thinking about "me" and "mine" involves not only tangible objects, friends, or family, but also where we place ourselves relative to other people. The stubbornness, the arrogance, the disrespectfulness. It can go either way: "I'm a really good person, I'm a kind person, I'm a helpful person." Any kind of "I am," if you actually look into it deeply, is a trap. First of all, none of us are the happy person all the time. None of us are the helpful person all the time. Anything we identify with, we suffer from, even if it's something highly respected.

I want us to distinguish between identifying with a quality and living according to the precepts. When we are honest, kind, and patient, and follow wholesome activity, it makes us happy and gives us peace. But when we take it as "this is me, this is what I am," that brings suffering.

To see the change in this person who had all this arrogance when he saw the Buddha—it had to be an incredibly powerful experience to be in his presence and feel that drop away. Bowing in itself to what deserves respect has a beautiful effect on the mind because we begin to release some of that pride and arrogance. Oddly enough, solid self-confidence begins to develop further, and self-arrogance goes away. Because a sense of self is unreliable, it brings an underlying insecurity. But when we rely upon virtue, generosity, and kindness—when we are selfless—we feel solid. We don't feel like the rug can be pulled from under our feet.

Q&A: Identifying with Wholesome Qualities

Question: A while back I was sitting with a teacher who looked at me and said, "Holly is very happy." And I was, but as I reflected back, it was the whole moment that was happy. It was the teacher, the listeners, the ambiance. I was completely happy, but that doesn't mean I'm happy all the time. I could have taken it as "Yeah, Holly is really happy," but the gift of it was just to be so happy in that moment. It was a window.

Ayya Santussika: It's a different quality, isn't it, when it's not-self? It's being present with what's happening and knowing it for what it is. To imagine our pride of superiority, inferiority, or equality—the Buddha said when we're thinking in those terms, we're far from the Dhamma. To completely uproot the conceit "I am" doesn't happen entirely until arahantship. Even if we know for sure that the body and khandhas are not self, a sense of "I am" lingers until full awakening. But the more we let go of this sense of self, the happier, more content, and more solid we feel.

Question: In the poem, maybe the man whose mind was ready just realized in that moment that "this is not me." If we just say "not me, not mine," in the end it is still only thinking. But when one experiences something in meditation and sees thoughts separate, realizing the thought is not us, then we start to truly let go.

Ayya Santussika: Yes, thinking is an important start. The Buddha says we should listen to the Dhamma, reflect on it, and accept it with reason. But insight is what really does it for us. There was probably some practice and time that happened for this monk between the time he saw the Buddha, feeling overcome with awe, and the actual complete dropping of his pride. He probably didn't become an arahant in that moment, but it was a significant shift. It's crucial that we make that step from intellectual processing to direct experience.

Theragāthā: Arahant Kimbila on the Unreliable Body

This next verse is from Arahant Kimbila. Kimbila, along with Nandiya, was a friend of Venerable Anuruddha. They were all incredible meditators. He says:

"This youth will fall down just as an unbalanced object falls down. Yes, this form appears to belong to someone. I don't have any desire for this form. I investigate wisely the true nature of my life like looking at something that belongs to someone else."

That deeper reflection goes on when we practice meditation. We reflect: "What is this body? What is this process of thinking and conceiving?" I really like the metaphor, "This youth will fall down just as an unbalanced object falls down." It's interesting to look at our own life and body as if it belongs to someone else. From stepping back, there's something about letting go of our past and the mistakes we've made. Seeing how much of our life is based on conditioning, without identifying so strongly with what came before, we are better able to forgive ourselves and others, and see the value of living according to the Dhamma.

Therīgāthā: Bhikkhunī Vimalā on Intoxication with Youth

Here's a poem from Bhikkhunī Vimalā:

"In the past, I was extremely beautiful and fit. I was intoxicated by my appearance, my figure, my beauty, my fame, and my youth. I was self-absorbed and conceited. I despised other women. I adorned this body so fancy, cooed over by fools. I stood at the brothel door like a hunter laying a snare. I stripped for them, revealing my many hidden treasures, creating an intricate illusion. I laughed, teasing those men. Today, having wandered for alms, my head shaven, wearing the outer robe, I sat at the root of a tree to meditate. I've gained freedom from thought. I've cut off all ties that lead to rebirth as a human or a god. I've wiped out all defilements. I have become cool and quenched."

We don't get much sense of the process from her previous life to this one, but you can see that her view of herself—what she thought was enjoyable or attractive—has completely fallen away. Now she values the practice of meditation, renunciation, and letting go.

Q&A: Contemplating the Body and Overcoming Intoxication

Question: What's interesting to me as an older person is that the poem speaks of the conceit of a very young, beautiful woman. Would it also be true that there's a conceit of a very old, unattractive man?

Ayya Santussika: Of course, exactly. Does it come through if each of us thinks about how we identify ourselves? I just turned 70; do I identify as a 70-year-old woman? Do I take as a self this idea of being a bhikkhunī? Or do I just recognize the conventional reality of the form I have and make use of those qualities for the benefit of the path? It's really about how we relate to this idea of "who I am." If we look deeper into the things we think are "me," where does it lead? It's constantly changing and might completely fall away at any time.

I was once in a qigong class where we partnered up for an inquiry. The partner would ask, "Who are you?" Whatever you said—"I'm a computer scientist, a mother"—they would ask again, "But who are you?" You peel away the layers of all these perceptions. In that case, it came down for me to a column of energy running through my core, and the insight that it was the same energy for all living beings. It's certainly not a self or an identity.

Question: I had an interesting experience this weekend. Bhikkhu Bodhi led guided meditations on the 32 body parts. I initially had a real aversive reaction because of my health issues. But I realized after that it dissolved my sense of the body as a whole, solid thing. Suddenly I realized, "Oh, it's just a bunch of parts."

Ayya Santussika: Wonderful. That's the point of the practice from the suttas. The Buddha compared the body to a chariot. If you take a chariot—or a Tesla—apart and lay all the parts out, it's not that cool car anymore; it's just a bunch of parts.

Question: The word "intoxicating" in the poem really stuck with me. It made me think about how consuming myself through sensual pleasures or how others reflect me is like a constant intoxication that blinds me and distorts reality. Is that the right view?

Ayya Santussika: Yes. The Buddha talks about intoxication with sensual pleasure, youth, health, life, and wealth. We get high on who we think we are and lose track of what's really important. We think we've got the world by the tail, but before you know it, the tail whips out and slashes us. If we don't look at reality, when things fall apart, we're devastated. Instead of it being a drag to see the truth, it's liberating. It brings contentment and happiness that isn't easily shaken.

Going beyond the idea of a lasting self means coming to grips with how we might wish there could be one. Even with rebirth, people want to be reborn because they want the self to continue. Recognizing that we can't maintain the ego, and seeing the danger in clinging to it, helps us open up to the direct experience of freedom.

Theragāthā: Bhikkhu Vakkali and the 32 Parts of the Body

Bhikkhu Vakkali said:

"When the barber approached to shave my head, I picked up a mirror and examined my body. My body appeared hollow. The darkness of ignorance is abandoned. The rags of ignorance have been torn out. Now there'll be no more future lives."

From that examination of the body, realizing the truth of not-self, the hollowness of the body becomes apparent. This practice of looking at the parts of the body is important to gain stability of mind, and then use that reflection to break down our intense identification with the body. When we recognize it for what it is, we can care for it, but let it go when it starts to fall apart.

One way I practice this, based on guidance from a teacher in Thailand, is to come to a place of calm and then take the body parts out in your imagination. Start with the hair of the head, hair of the body, nails, teeth, and skin. I visualize taking the sweat and pus from the skin out, and then visualizing what's left. A supportive resource I found is the book Body Worlds, which shows plastinated human bodies.

I visualize removing the parts one by one until there's nothing left. Then, the teacher said, take the citta out, and finally put everything back one by one. Repeating this process three times is very calming and beautiful.

Therīgāthā: Bhikkhunī Mittākālī on Spiritual Urgency

Here is a poem from Bhikkhunī Mittākālī, translated by Ayya Soma:

"I went forth out of faith from the home life into homelessness. I wandered here and there, longing for gain and honor. Disregarding the highest aim, I pursued an inferior goal. Controlled by defilements, I did not understand the real purpose of the contemplative life. While sitting in my hut, I was struck with a sense of urgency. I've entered upon the wrong path. I'm under the control of craving. Decay and sickness are trampling my trifling life. There is no time to waste before this body falls apart. In conformity with the truth, I observed the rise and fall of the khandhas. I stood up with a liberated mind, having completed the teaching of the Buddha."

It's interesting seeing her development. Even though she went forth with faith, she was sidetracked by wanting respect and requisites. Then she was struck with a sense of urgency. This sense of urgency is so important. Looking at the body as it is shows us that any part can fall apart at any time. It doesn't bring up fear, but recognizes: "I should apply myself while I have health, not waste time on foolish endeavors, and open my mind to the truth."

The shift from seeing the rise and fall of the khandhas to being fully liberated was the trigger. We never know when this kind of major event happens, but we're continually putting the causes and conditions in place as we practice virtue, meditation, and wisdom.

Q&A: Practicing Body Contemplation in Depth

Question: When you envision the skeletal part, do you detach the soft tissue and leave it in a pile?

Ayya Santussika: I reordered the 32 parts for this process to work from the outside in. Novices are given the first five: hair of the head, hair of the body, nails, teeth, and skin. We acknowledge that's all we see on the outside. Then I go deeper. I remove the skin, and then the flesh, blood vessels, and organs like the brain, heart, lungs, and intestines. You take everything out of the skeletal system, and then take apart the skeleton itself.

The details aren't critical—there's no magic to the number 32. It's whatever helps you see the truth of your body. However, if this reflection brings up fear or self-loathing, turn to something else, like mettā (loving-kindness). As Ajahn Brahm teaches, it is much more powerful when you have a basis of samādhi (concentration) first.

Question: I never felt disgusted by the body reflection; I find the body amazing and all the fluids so caring and cushioning. I couldn't figure out why it was taught as disgusting.

Ayya Santussika: When there is strong lust—which I've experienced myself—it can flare up like a wildfire. What really acted as cold water on that fire was to mentally strip the image of the skin and see what was underneath. But beyond combating lust, this practice has so much depth. We learn to be at peace with both the amazingness and the fragility of the body. The Buddha said everything we need to know we can learn from this body. We can celebrate the benefits we've gained from having this life, and we can also let it go.

Theragāthā: Puṇṇamāsa on the Vacant Body

Finally, Puṇṇamāsa said:

"I abandoned the five hindrances and I picked up the Dhamma as a mirror, with the knowledge of insight. Only with the intention of realizing Nibbāna. For knowing and seeing myself, I checked over this body, all of it inside and out, internally and externally. My body looked vacant."

Our intention is important. Having the intention to realize Nibbāna is what the Buddha was offering us. It frees us from all dukkha and attachments. The result is an extraordinary, unconditional, unlimited love, equanimity, peace, and happiness. And I think that's all there is.