This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Ajahn Nisabho: All the Unpopular Buddhist Topics: Part 2 - Buddhist Cosmology & Body Contemplation. It likely contains inaccuracies, especially with speaker attribution if there are multiple speakers.

All the Unpopular Buddhist Topics: Part 2 - Buddhist Cosmology & Body Contemplation - Ajahn Nisabho

The following talk was given by Ajahn Nisabho at The Sati Center in Redwood City, CA on January 07, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

All the Unpopular Buddhist Topics: Part 2 - Buddhist Cosmology & Body Contemplation

Introduction & Q&A

Welcome back, everyone. Before beginning the talk on Buddhist cosmology—which, if you thought the Marvel Cinematic Universe was colorful, has far more color—I wanted to speak to one question someone put privately in the chat:

"Thank you, Ajahn. You talked about contemplating one's own death and letting go of loved ones during the meditation. Do you have any advice on how to contemplate the death of loved ones and be with the emotions that arise in letting go? I find that contemplating my own death does not bring up fear like that of a loved one does."

There are a few useful things to think about there, as it is a very common reality to work with. First, it is worth mentioning the Akankheyya Sutta¹, the discourse on "If a Bhikkhu Should Wish." The Buddha says that if a practitioner should wish, "May I be dear to my companions in the spiritual life, may they fulfill the precepts, not neglect meditation, delight in empty huts, develop samadhi," they should do so. He goes on through a list, and one of the wishes is: "If a bhikkhu should wish, 'When my relatives have passed, may they remember me and brighten their mind with faith.'"

I take this as an explicit pointing by the Buddha to the fact that even if a loved one didn't understand exactly what our practice was about—or if they thought we were strange, or communication was blocked by personality, view, or distance—there is a clarity and lucidity that can come after the body has been let go of. In that state, they can see clearly, and your practice can have a very powerful effect on them. If you read about near-death experiences, this is a common theme: people's sudden clarity, spiritual insight, and valuing of those near them who had been a refuge. It is helpful just knowing that your bright heart and your practice could carry them, even if it didn't in the life they were living at that moment.

Next, it is worth recollecting that the Buddha said you can spread mettā² or dedicate merit to the dead. If they are in a nearby realm, it can be received. This is not some esoteric economy. When you dedicate merit, you do good in the name of someone. The idea is that if spirits do exist, they can receive that intention, which invites them to identify with good action and brightens the heart. It is like when someone tells you they did something good in your name; it feels good. Knowing that most cultures have a way of dedicating merit to their dead, it is useful to do so. For the first seven days after someone has passed, I highly recommend lighting a candle in the morning and evening for them, spreading mettā, and dedicating merit. In Thailand, you do this again after 100 days and after a year.

I was once at a monastery with a teacher named Ajahn Kalyana, and a woman came up to him saying, "My mother in Sri Lanka just passed. I keep having these dreams of her coming to me shivering in ragged clothes, asking for food and clothes." Ajahn Kalyana said, "She is in a preta³ state. You need to do good and dedicate it to her." Afterwards, I told him I had read about this but had never seen it in person. He told me it happens all the time. Take it or leave it, but I think it means you can trust that brightness of heart can carry on to those we don't see.

These rituals also change our relationship to their memory. Sometimes you need ritual to bring about closure. There is a story of Franz Kafka seeing a little girl who had lost her doll in the park. The next morning, there was a letter on her doorstep signed by her doll from a different part of the country, like a travelogue. Every few weeks, there would be a new letter. Years later, when she was graduating high school, she found a replacement doll on her door with a little note clutched in its hand that said, "You will lose everyone you love, but the love will always come back to you in new forms." That is the beautiful side of not-self. These saṅkhāras⁴—these patterns of goodness—are impersonal. The goodness of a person carries on. Even if someone has passed, you can trust that their goodness carries through you as you honor their memory, and the goodness you put into the world ripples out as well. It is a beautiful way to hold it, whether or not you believe in rebirth.

Finally, you sometimes need to step back and consider everyone your brother and sister in birth, aging, and death. That widening of vision can help hold those we love who have passed in better stead. For parents or people you deeply love, sometimes you have to lean into that open wound and transmute it into compassion. If it is a raw wound that will not heal, consider that you are channeling the dukkha⁵ of many, using it to give kindness to a world rife with loss. Frank Ostaseski knew a woman whose toddler was hit in a road, and on the way back from the morgue, she said, "This cannot break me." She kept it from breaking her by channeling that hurt into action, counseling other parents who had lost their children. Who else could speak to their suffering like she could? That is part of the bodhisattva⁶ impulse: to move through that dark valley of dukkha into a kind of grace. That is part of the beauty of the First Noble Truth—it binds us together. The body connects through pleasure, but the heart connects through the compassion catalyzed by shared dukkha.

As to a previous question about the blind turtle analogy, the word used for coincidence is adhicca⁷, which means rare, spontaneous, or exceptional. It comes from the root dhar, meaning "to hold," coupled with a negating prefix, so it means something like "not holding" or "without a cause." It is exceptionally rare that the turtle hits the right spot.

[Chanting]

Buddhist Cosmology

Now we get to talk about Buddhist cosmology. Before going into it, it's worth noting that the equation the Buddha gives for how experience manifests is idappaccayatā⁸, this/that conditionality:

With the arising of this, there is the arising of that. With the cessation of this, there is the cessation of that. When this arises, that arises. When this ceases, that ceases.

This sounds both strangely simple and cryptic at the same time. What it means is that there are concurrent and subsequent levels of conditionality. That interplay means we live in a chaotic system. One feature of a chaotic system is scale invariance, which means that any pattern playing out on a micro scale will play out on a macro scale too, like a Mandelbrot set or a fractal pattern. You see this in meditation: you try to control your breath, and suddenly you realize that how you are controlling your breath is how you have been trying to control your spouse. This tiny pattern that seems so insignificant is repeated at every level of your life. If you soften that pattern in meditation by giving your breath a little more spaciousness and compassion, soon you find you give your spouse a little more spaciousness and compassion as well.

The manifestation of the mind happens internally, but it repeats on a macrocosmic scale. Scale invariance means that the mental states we embody in our own internal experience manifest on a vast cosmic scope as literal beings and realms. What is so amazing is that the Buddha clearly maps these realms to mind states. Even if we don't believe in them literally, they provide great analogies for our different patterns. Luang Por Sumedho⁹ recommends imagining your different mental states as different breeds of dogs. Similarly, you can notice when you are in a deva¹⁰ (angel) state, a hell state, or a preta (hungry ghost) state.

In the Mahāsīhanāda Sutta¹¹ (The Greater Discourse on the Lion's Roar), the Buddha gives analogies for these destinations:

• Hell is compared to a charcoal pit deeper than a man's height, full of glowing coals without flame or smoke. A man scorched and exhausted by hot weather comes by a path directed only to that pit, experiencing exclusively painful, wracking feelings.
• The Animal Realm is compared to a cesspit.
• The Hungry Ghost Realm is compared to a tree growing on uneven ground with scanty foliage, casting a dappled shadow.
• The Human Realm is compared to a tree with thick foliage and deep shade.
• The Heavenly Realms (Devas) are compared to a well-adorned, comfortable mansion.
• Nibbāna¹² is compared to a clean, agreeable pond of cool water where one experiences exclusively pleasant feelings.

These analogies beautifully overlay the 32 realms of existence in Buddhist cosmology. The hell realms are characterized by heat, burning, and a sense of being curled in on oneself. When we are angry, we feel that burning isolation. The animal realm is driven by fear and scheming for food. The preta (hungry ghost) realm is characterized by insatiable obsession. Many of you know hungry ghosts are often pictured with tiny needlepoint mouths and gigantic bellies, always hungry but never satiated.

The human realm is a fortunate rebirth. Despite the tragedy in our world, in the Buddhist conception, the human rebirth is incredibly blessed due to the immediacy of both pleasure and pain concurrent with deep cognition and mindfulness. We are like half angel, half animal. If held with right view, this is a potent ground for insight.

The deva (angel) realms seem beautiful on the surface, but devas easily become careless and heedless. It is a common trope in the suttas that when a monk or a Buddha visits, the devas flee in fear, realizing that they too are impermanent. When devas near death, five signs appear: their seat becomes hot, they start to smell, their bodies grow hot, and their flower garlands fade. The fact that we are frail and fragile in the human realm is exactly what makes it such a powerful place to practice.

Notice that in all the lower realms—under the trees, in the cesspit, or in the mansion—the parched man never actually finds the water he needs. The only place he finds true satiation is in Nibbāna, the pond.

Moving past the sensual heavens, we reach the Brahma realms. The Brahmavihārās¹³—loving-kindness (mettā), compassion (karuṇā), sympathetic joy (muditā), and equanimity (upekkhā)—are the boundless abodes of the Brahmas. These mind states actually correspond to the four jhānas¹⁴.

At the apex of the sensual realms sits Māra¹⁵, a rebel prince who hooks all those below him into saṃsāra. Ajahn Anan¹⁶ once told me, "Māra is the part of you that co-opts any good action with ego." Even the most pure intentions can be taken over by Māra through pride. To practice against Māra is to go against the grain—agere contra¹⁷, as the Christians say—or swim against the stream. When Māra manifests, one simply says, "I see you, Māra." Just knowing Māra is there is often enough. The Brahma realms and the jhānas exist beyond and above Māra.

These unified states of mind are vast. The Buddha mapped the Brahma realms directly onto the jhānas:

• The first jhāna has vitakka-vicāra¹⁸ (directed thought and evaluation). Appropriately, the Brahmas in the first realm have a retinue and can converse.
• The second jhāna loses vitakka-vicāra but retains pīti and sukha¹⁹ (rapture and pleasure). Rapture is dynamic, so these Brahmas are described as having a light that flutters like a candle flame.
• The third jhāna loses rapture, leaving only still pleasure (sukha). Thus, the light of the third-level Brahmas is described as completely still, like the radiant moon.

The mind can manifest in so many different ways. In a single day, we move through many of these realms. Having this imagery is deeply helpful for bringing compassion to the various parts of ourselves.

[BELL - 10-Minute Meditation Break]

Q&A: Cosmology, Realms, and Fear

Question: Where do Asuras fit into this, and the Nagas, and other beings like that?

Between the human realm and the highest deva realm, there are many parallels to cosmologies around the world. The Asuras²⁰ (Titans) are pictured as angry, constantly fighting beings. They reside right below the human realm. In the commentaries, the Asuras mill about at the bottom of Mount Sineru²¹, look up at the Devas at the peak, realize they are not in heaven, and rush up the mountain to do battle. It is a beautiful analogy for the seductive state of self-righteous anger.

Nāgas²² are serpentine water spirits, often portrayed as both mischievous and protectors of the Dhamma. There are also Bhūmadevas²³, which are earth spirits or tree spirits found in many cultures (like the Sidhe in the Celtic tradition). For more on this, look up Luang Por Punnadhammo²⁴ and his book The Buddhist Cosmos, which draws out these parallels beautifully.

Interestingly, the highest level of the sensual heaven is the "Realm of the Beings that Delight in the Creation of Others." These beings have achieved the apex of saṃsāra, where anything they desire simply manifests for them. Ironically, their life is completely pointless—they are basically zombies of sensual consumption. To see that the apex of the worldly path without a spiritual goal is a place of complete uselessness is striking.

Question: Can you speak to the type of fear where you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, to the gnawing certainty that it will happen, and living in the anticipatory fear state?

If death recollection is bringing up that kind of anxiety, it is not the right recollection. The Buddha said there are five kinds of loss: health, wealth, relatives, right view, and morality. He stated the first three are trivial; only the last two are truly great losses. We will naturally lose our relatives, wealth, and health. Fear of losing those things is not wholesome. We should only be "afraid" of losing our morality and right view—meaning we should be heedful and sober about our situation.

If death contemplation brings up a sense of dread, it is better to cultivate loving-kindness or breath meditation to center yourself. The quality of the heart in meditation should generally feel warm, light, and spacious.

Question: My question is related to the wish for non-existence that can come up with the death contemplation, because it feels so pleasant not to be pulled into attachments, and to get temporary relief. Could you comment on that?

The sequence leading to liberation is often spoken of as seclusion, dispassion, cessation, relinquishment, and awakening. That recollection of death secludes you from worldly worries. It lightens the mind, showing you that there is a place of space and centeredness. When you let go of what you've been holding, you aren't left with nothing; the palm fills with light. If the death recollection leads to a sense of relief, letting go, and putting down a burden, that is highly wholesome.

However, you are right to be watchful of vibhava-taṇhā²⁵—the craving not to become. Holding something close to your chest and holding it at arm's length are both forms of holding. Over time, you become sensitive to the subtle notes of dukkha, constriction, or aversion. If it feels largely wholesome and restful, trust it; you might just need that nourishment in your life. But keep an eye out to ensure it isn't angling towards pure aversion.

[Chanting]

Body Contemplation (Kāyagatāsati)

The final talk we will do is on body contemplation. This is one of my favorites. The Buddha said in the Kāyagatāsati Sutta²⁶ (Mindfulness of the Body Discourse) that anyone who has developed mindfulness of the body includes within themselves all the skillful qualities that play a part in realization, just as the ocean includes all the streams that run down into it.

Body contemplation is rarely spoken of in the West because it's far less romantic to tell people to contemplate their spleens than to tell them to cultivate loving-kindness. But this does a great disservice. If you read through the suttas, and especially the verses of the elder monks and nuns (Theragāthā and Therīgāthā²⁷), so many of their enlightenment experiences were predicated on breaking through the khandha²⁸ (aggregate) of the body. In the Thai Forest Tradition, stream-entry and full enlightenment experiences are constantly based around seeing through this form.

It provides us a vital tool to deal with lust. The Buddha advised monks to look on women as their sisters, mothers, or daughters, and likewise for women viewing men. Ajahn Paññāvaḍḍho²⁹ noted that 90% of what we judge people by when we first meet them is their body. What a kindness to be able to look at someone not for their body. We can say that intellectually, but our attachment is so deep that until we look at the body with a calm mind, we don't realize how attached we are.

To clarify: body contemplation is not cultivating a negative body image. Negative body image involves looking at your body compared to others and seeing yours as less attractive. Asubha³⁰ (body contemplation) just means "not beautiful." It means looking at all bodies as strange constructs of flesh, blood, bone, and calcium. They are all equally just bodies. Appropriately developed, body contemplation actually leads to letting go of negative body image based on comparison. You begin to see through the veil of others' forms—what Christians call the "mantle of clay"—and see their bright hearts shining through.

It is a powerful practice, but it must be held carefully. The commentaries describe different personality types. If you are a greed type (the first thing you notice in a room is what you like), body contemplation is highly effective. But if you are an aversive type, it can be overwhelming and you might wake up grumpy. If that happens, stick with mettā or breath meditation.

When the mind is calm, it sees clearly. The traditional way to approach this is to bring the mind to a place of deep calm and tranquility (samatha³¹). Once the mind has gathered powerful energy and begins to move—not in a distracted way, but because it is unstoppable—you direct it to contemplate the body. The rested mind is like a train that has stopped, suddenly allowing you to see the landscape clearly. With that afterglow of calm, you will see clearly that this body is not what you thought it was. It is a profound moment of bhāvanā-mayā paññā³² (wisdom resulting from insight).

The Buddha recommended contemplating the body in several ways: reviewing the 32 parts, examining the elements (earth, air, fire, water), and charnel ground contemplations (imagining bodies in various states of decay).

For the 32 parts, once your mind is calm, bring to mind different parts (hair, nails, teeth, skin, bones) and see which one catches the mind's attention. The bones almost always work for people. You can imagine the bones in your arm crumbling into dust, repeating a phrase like, "Bones, stone. Bones, stone. It's just calcium." You can imagine your vertebrae as a set of river rocks. You can clack your teeth together and feel the skeleton. It should not lead to a darkening of the mind, but a lightening and a letting go. You can also contemplate the hair and skin—we constantly ooze oil; if we don't wash for a week, we smell. The skin we see on the outside is entirely dead cells. If one of our own hairs falls into our soup, we suddenly find the soup disgusting. Looking at this with a calm mind, you suddenly see clearly: "This is not me." It undercuts defilements because they are bound into the body in ways we don't even realize.

For the elements, you recognize the solidity (earth), liquidity (water), heat (fire), and movement (air). The earth in you is no different than the earth outside. Your body has grown out of the earth and replaces its cells via the earth constantly. The blood is rain water and ocean water. Imagine the body fading in death in a forest grove, giving the earth element back to the earth and the water back to the rain. There is a profound sense of peace because you realize you are no different from the natural world, and this body was never yours to begin with.

Q&A: Body Contemplation and Charnel Grounds

Question: Have you had the opportunity to practice charnel ground meditation, and what are your thoughts on how we could duplicate such a practice here in the "clean" West?

In Thailand, at my first monastery, Wat Pah Nanachat³³, they burn the bodies out at a funeral pyre in the forest. All the monks gather and watch the body go up in flame. They have a very wholesome relationship to the body and death. The people gather, cremate the body, and remember the person.

In the West, we have such a strange relationship to death. We pump the body full of chemicals, dress it up, and put it in a sealed box so it won't decay. (Though I know there are now green composting options becoming legal, which is wonderful). In Thailand, monks also regularly attend autopsies. It is much harder in the West. If you come across roadkill, you can observe that. You can also find medical pictures of bodies and look at them when your mind is calm to see what happens. There is a great PDF resource online called Bag of Bones which has excellent phrases and contemplations to read through.

Question: I want to use body contemplation to deal with lust. Should I start with concentration or go straight to the guts?

It couldn't hurt to go straight to the guts and give it a try in a meditation. It's useful to have some simple phrases or imaginings available as a "break-the-glass" tool in daily life. If lust comes up toward someone inappropriate, or you find yourself looking at someone as a sexual object rather than a person, consider visualizing their skull or skeleton. The skull looks exactly the same on men and women. It's just a veil of skin. Seeing through it lets you see people's hearts. However, for deep insight, I would try to cultivate it during meditation when the mind is fully concentrated. For greed types, the simple word "bones" can actually be a very powerful calming object for concentration on its own.

Remember, the Buddha praised taking care of the body as a vehicle for our practice. We use the subtle body to develop pleasure and insight, we just shouldn't become attached to the form itself. It's just a vehicle.