Question: A
friend of mine went to practice with a Zen teacher. He asked him, ''When the
Buddha was sitting beneath the Bodhi tree, what was he doing?'' The Zen master
answered, ''He was practicing zazen!'' My friend said, ''I don't believe it.''
The Zen master asked him, ''What do you mean, you don't believe it?'' My friend
said, ''I asked Goenka the same question and he said, 'When the Buddha was
sitting under the Bodhi tree, he was practicingvipassanā!' So everybody
says the Buddha was doing whatever they do.''
Ajahn Chah: When
the Buddha sat out in the open, he was sitting beneath the Bodhi tree. Isn't
that so? When he sat under some other kind of tree, he was sitting beneath the
Bodhi tree. There's nothing wrong with those explanations. 'Bodhi' means the
Buddha himself, the one who knows. It's OK to talk about sitting beneath the
Bodhi tree, but lots of birds sit beneath the Bodhi tree. Lots of people sit
beneath the Bodhi tree. But they are far from such knowledge, from such truth.
Yes, we can say, ''beneath the Bodhi tree.'' Monkeys play in the Bodhi tree.
People sit there beneath the Bodhi tree. But this doesn't mean they have any
profound understanding. Those who have deeper understanding realize that the
true meaning of the 'Bodhi tree' is the absolute Dhamma.
So in this way it's
certainly good for us to try to sit beneath the Bodhi tree. Then we can be
Buddha. But we don't need to argue with others over this question. When one
person says the Buddha was doing one kind of practice beneath the Bodhi tree
and another person disputes that, we needn't get involved. We should be looking
at it from the viewpoint of the ultimate, meaning realizing the truth. There is
also the conventional idea of 'Bodhi tree,' which is what most people talk
about, but when there are two kinds of Bodhi tree, people can end up arguing
and having the most contentious disputes - and then there is no Bodhi tree at
all.
It's talking about paramatthadhamma, the level of ultimate
truth. So in that case, we can also try to get underneath the Bodhi tree.
That's pretty good - then we'll be Buddha. It's not something to be arguing
over. When someone says the Buddha was practicing a certain kind of meditation
beneath the Bodhi tree and someone else says, ''No, that's not right'', we
needn't get involved. We're aiming at paramatthadhamma, meaning
dwelling in full awareness. This ultimate truth pervades everything. Whether
the Buddha was sitting beneath the Bodhi tree or performing other activities in
other postures, never mind. That's just the intellectual analysis people have
developed. One person has one view of the matter, another person has another
idea; we don't have to get involved in disputes over it.
Where did the Buddha enter
Nibbāna? Nibbāna means extinguished without remainder, finished. Being finished
comes from knowledge, knowledge of the way things really are. That's how things
get finished, and that is the paramatthadhamma. There
are explanations according to the levels of convention and liberation. They are
both true, but their truths are different. For example, we say that you are a
person. But the Buddha will say, ''That's not so. There's no such thing as a
person.'' So we have to summarize the various ways of speaking and explanation
into convention and liberation.
We can explain it like
this: previously you were a child. Now you are grown up. Are you a new person
or the same person as before? If you are the same as the old person, how did
you become an adult? If you are a new person, where did you come from? But
talking about an old person and a new person doesn't really get to the point.
This question illustrates the limitations of conventional language and
understanding. If there is something called 'big,' then there is 'small.' If
there is small there is big. We can talk about small and large, young and old,
but there are really no such things in any absolute sense. You can't really say
somebody or something is big. The wise do not accept such designations as real,
but when ordinary people hear about this, that 'big' is not really true and
'small' is not really true, they are confused because they are attached to
concepts of big and small.
You plant a sapling and
watch it grow. After a year it is one meter high. After another year it is two
meters tall. Is it the same tree or a different tree? If it's the same tree,
how did it become bigger? If it's a different tree, how did it grow from the
small tree? From the viewpoint of someone who is enlightened to the Dhamma and
sees correctly, there is no new or old tree, no big or small tree. One person
looks at a tree and thinks it is tall. Another person will say it's not tall.
But there is no 'tall' that really exists independently. You can't say someone
is big and someone is small, someone is grown up and someone else is young.
Things end here and problems are finished with. We don't need to get tied up in
knots over these conventional distinctions and we won't have doubts about
practice.
I've heard of people who
worship their deities by sacrificing animals. They kill ducks, chickens and
cows and offer that to their gods, thinking that will be pleasing to them. This
is wrong understanding. They think they are making merits, but it's the exact
opposite: they are actually making a lot of bad kamma. Someone who really looks
into this won't think like that. But have you noticed? I'm afraid people in
Thailand are becoming like that. They're not applying real investigation.
Question: Is that vīmamsā?
Ajahn Chah: It
means understanding cause and result.
Question: Then
the teachings talk about chanda,
satisfaction; viriya,
exertion; citta (the four iddhipāda, 'bases
for accomplishment').
Ajahn Chah: When
there's satisfaction, is it with something that is correct? Is exertion
correct? Vīmamsā has to be present with these other factors.
Question: Are citta and vīmamsā different?
Ajahn Chah: Vīmamsā is
investigation. It means skillfulness or wisdom. It is a factor of the mind. You
can say that chanda is mind,viriya is mind, citta is mind, vīmamsā is mind.
They are all aspects of mind, they all can be summarized as 'mind,' but here
they are distinguished for the purpose of pointing out these different factors
of the mind. If there is satisfaction, we may not know if it is right or wrong.
If there is exertion, we don't know if it's right or wrong. Is what we call
mind the real mind? There has to bevīmamsā to discern these things. Investigating the other factors with wise
discernment, our practice gradually comes to be correct and we can understand
the Dhamma.
But Dhamma doesn't bring
much benefit if we don't practice meditation. We won't really know what it is
all about. These factors are always present in the mind of real practitioners.
Then even if they go astray, they will be aware of that and be able to correct
it. So their path of practice is continuous.
People may look at you and
feel your way of life, your interest in Dhamma, makes no sense. Others may say
that if you want to practice Dhamma, you ought to be ordained as a monk. Being
ordained is not really the crucial point. It's how you practice. As it's said,
one should be one's own witness. Don't take others as your witness. It means
learning to trust yourself. Then there is no loss. People may think you are
crazy, but never mind. They don't know anything about Dhamma.
Others' words can't measure
your practice. And you don't realize the Dhamma because of what others say. I
mean the real Dhamma. The teachings others can give you are to show you the
path, but that isn't real knowledge. When people meet the Dhamma, they realize
it specifically within themselves. So the Buddha said, ''The Tathāgata is
merely one who shows the way.'' When someone is ordained, I tell them, ''Our
responsibility is only this part: The reciting ācariya have done
their chanting. I have given you the Going Forth and vows of ordination. Now
our job is done. The rest is up to you, to do the practice correctly.''
Teachings can be most
profound, but those who listen may not understand. But never mind. Don't be
perplexed over profundity or lack of it. Just do the practice wholeheartedly
and you can arrive at real understanding - it will bring you to the same place
they are talking about. Don't rely on the perceptions of ordinary people. Have
you read the story about the blind men and the elephant? It's a good
illustration.
Suppose there's an elephant
and a bunch of blind people are trying to describe it. One touches the leg and
says it's like a pillar. Another touches the ear and says it's like a fan.
Another touches the tail and says, ''No, it's not a fan; it's like a broom.''
Another touches the shoulder and says it's something else again from what the
others say.
It's like this. There's no
resolution, no end. Each blind person touches part of the elephant and has a
completely different idea of what it is. But it's the same one elephant. It's
like this in practice. With a little understanding or experience, you get
limited ideas. You can go from one teacher to the next seeking explanations and
instructions, trying to figure out if they are teaching correctly or
incorrectly and how their teachings compare to each other. Some monks are
always traveling around with their bowls and umbrellas learning from different
teachers. They try to judge and measure, so when they sit down to meditate they
are constantly in confusion about what is right and what is wrong. ''This
teacher said this, but that teacher said that. One guy teaches in this way, but
the other guy's methods are different. They don't seem to agree'' It can lead
to a lot of doubt.
You might hear that certain
teachers are really good and so you go to receive teachings from Thai Ajahns,
Zen masters and others. It seems to me you've probably had enough teaching, but
the tendency is to always want to hear more, to compare and to end up in doubt
as a result. Then each successive teacher increases your confusion further.
There's a story of a wanderer in the Buddha's time that was in this kind of
situation. He went to one teacher after the next, hearing their different
explanations and learning their methods. He was trying to learn meditation but
was only increasing his perplexity. His travels finally brought him to the
teacher Gotama, and he described his predicament to the Buddha.
''Doing as you have been
doing will not bring an end to doubt and confusion'', the Buddha told him. ''At
this time, let go of the past; whatever you may or may not have done, whether
it was right or wrong, let go of that now.
''The future has not yet
come. Do not speculate over it at all, wondering how things may turn out. Let
go of all such disturbing ideas - it is merely thinking.
''Letting go of past and
future, look at the present. Then you will know the Dhamma. You may know the
words spoken by various teachers, but you still do not know your own mind. The
present moment is empty; look only at arising and ceasing of sankhārā(formations). See that they are impermanent, unsatisfactory and
empty of self. See that they really are thus. Then you will not be concerned
with the past or the future. You will clearly understand that the past is gone
and the future has not yet arrived. Contemplating in the present, you will
realize that the present is the result of the past. The results of past actions
are seen in the present.
''The future has not yet
come. Whatever does occur in the future will arise and pass away in the future;
there is no point in worrying over it now, as it has not yet occurred. So
contemplate in the present. The present is the cause of the future. If you want
a good future, create good in the present, increasing your awareness of what
you do in the present. The future is the result of that. The past is the cause
and the future is the result of the present.
''Knowing the present, one
knows the past and the future. Then one lets go of the past and the future,
knowing they are gathered in the present moment.''
Understanding this, that
wanderer made up his mind to practice as the Buddha advised, putting things
down. Seeing ever more clearly, he realized many kinds of knowledge, seeing the
natural order of things with his own wisdom. His doubts ended. He put down the
past and the future and everything appeared in the present. This was eko
dhammo, the one Dhamma. Then it was no longer necessary for him to carry his begging
bowl up mountains and into forests in search of understanding. If he did go
somewhere, he went in a natural way, not out of desire for something. If he
stayed put, he was staying in a natural way, not out of desire.
Practicing in that way, he
became free of doubt. There was nothing to add to his practice, nothing to
remove. He dwelt in peace, without anxiety over past or future. This was the
way the Buddha taught.
But it's not just a story
about something that happened long ago. If we at this time practice correctly,
we can also gain realization. We can know the past and the future because they
are gathered at this one point, the present moment. If we look to the past we
won't know. If we look to the future we won't know, because that is not where the
truth is; it exists here, in the present.
Thus the Buddha said, ''I
am enlightened through my own efforts, without any teacher.'' Have you read
this story? A wanderer of another sect asked him, ''Who is your teacher?'' The
Buddha answered, ''I have no teacher. I attained enlightenment by myself.'' But
that wanderer just shook his head and went away. He thought the Buddha was
making up a story and so he had no interest in what he said. He thought it was
not possible to achieve anything without a teacher and guide.
It's like this: You study
with a spiritual teacher and he tells you to give up greed and anger. He tells
you they are harmful and that you need to get rid of them. Then you may
practice and do that. But getting rid of greed and anger didn't come about just
because he taught you; you had to actually practice and do that. Through
practice you came to realize something for yourself. You see greed in your mind
and give it up. You see anger in your mind and give it up. The teacher doesn't
get rid of them for you. He tells you about getting rid of them, but it doesn't
happen just because he tells you. You do the practice and come to realization.
You understand these things for yourself.
It's like the Buddha is
catching hold of you and bringing you to the beginning of the path, and he
tells you, ''Here is the path - walk on it.'' He doesn't help you walk. You do
that yourself. When you do travel the path and practice Dhamma, you meet the
real Dhamma, which is beyond anything that anyone can explain to you. So one is
enlightened by oneself, understanding past, future and present, understanding
cause and result. Then doubt is finished.
We talk about giving up and
developing, renouncing and cultivating. But when the fruit of practice is
realized, there is nothing to add and nothing to remove. The Buddha taught that
this is the point we want to arrive at, but people don't want to stop there.
Their doubts and attachments keep them on the move, keep them confused and keep
them from stopping there. So when one person has arrived but others are
somewhere else, they won't be able to make any sense of what he may say about
it. They might have some intellectual understanding of the words, but this is
not real understanding or knowledge of the truth.
Usually when we talk about
practice we talk about entering and leaving, increasing the positive and
removing the negative. But the final result is that all of these are done with.
There is the sekha
puggala, the person who needs to train in these things, and there is the asekha puggala, the person who no longer
needs to train in anything. This is talking about the mind: when the mind has
reached this level of full realization, there is nothing more to practice. Why
is this? It is because such a person doesn't have to make use of any of the
conventions of teaching and practice. It's spoken of as someone who has gotten
rid of the defilements.
The sekha person
has to train in the steps of the path, from the very beginning to the highest
level. When they have completed this they are called asekha, meaning they no longer need to train because everything is
finished. The things to be trained in are finished. Doubts are finished. There
are no qualities to be developed. There are no defilements to remove. Such
people dwell in peace. Whatever good or evil there is will not affect them;
they are unshakeable no matter what they meet. It is talking about the empty
mind. Now you will really be confused.
You don't understand this
at all. ''If my mind is empty, how can I walk?'' Precisely because the mind is
empty. ''If the mind is empty, how can I eat? Will I have desire to eat if my
mind is empty?'' There's not much benefit in talking about emptiness like this
when people haven't trained properly. They won't be able to understand it.
Those who use such terms
have sought ways to give us some feeling that can lead us to understand the
truth. For example, these sankhārā that we have been accumulating and carrying from the time of our
birth until this moment - the Buddha said that in truth they are not ourselves
and they do not belong to us. Why did he say such a thing? There's no other way
to formulate the truth. He spoke in this way for people who have discernment,
so that they could gain wisdom. But this is something to contemplate carefully.
Some people will hear the
words, ''Nothing is mine,'' and they will get the idea they should throw away
all their possessions. With only superficial understanding, people will get
into arguments about what this means and how to apply it. ''This is not my self,''
doesn't mean you should end your life or throw away your possessions. It means
you should give up attachment. There is the level of conventional reality and
the level of ultimate reality - supposition and liberation. On the level of
convention, there is Mr. A, Mrs. B, Mr. M., Mrs. N. and so on. We use these
suppositions for convenience in communicating and functioning in the world. The
Buddha did not teach that we shouldn't use these things, but that we shouldn't
be attached to them. We should realize that they are empty.
It's hard to talk about.
We have to depend on
practice and gain understanding through practice. If you want to get knowledge
and understanding by studying and asking others you won't really understand the
truth. It's something you have to see and know for yourself through practicing.
Turn inwards to know within yourself. Don't always be turning outwards. But
when we talk about practicing people become argumentative. Their minds are
ready to argue, because they have learned this or that approach to practice and
have one-sided attachment to what they have learned. They haven't realized the
truth through practice.
Did you notice the Thai
people we met the other day? They asked irrelevant questions like, ''Why do you
eat out of your almsbowl?'' I could see that they were far from Dhamma. They've
had modern education so I can't tell them much. But I let the American monk
talk to them. They might be willing to listen to him. Thai people these days
don't have much interest in Dhamma and don't understand it. Why do I say that?
If someone hasn't studied something, they are ignorant of it. They've studied
other things, but they are ignorant of Dhamma. I'll admit that I'm ignorant of
the things they have learned. The Western monk has studied Dhamma, so he can
tell them something about it.
Among Thai people in the
present time there is less and less interest in being ordained, studying and
practicing. I don't know why this is, if it's because they are busy with work,
because the country is developing materially, or what the reason might be. I
don't know. In the past when someone was ordained they would stay for at least
a few years, four or five rains. Now it's a week or two. Some are ordained in
the morning and disrobe in the evening. That's the direction it's going in now.
People say things like that fellow that told me, ''If everyone were to be
ordained the way you prefer, for a few rains at least, there would be no
progress in the world. Families wouldn't grow. Nobody would be building
things.''
I said to him, ''Your
thinking is the thinking of an earthworm. An earthworm lives in the ground. It
eats earth for its food. Eating and eating, it starts to worry that it will run
out of dirt to eat. It is surrounded by dirt, the whole earth is covering its head,
but it worries it will run out of dirt.''
That's the thinking of an
earthworm. People worry that the world won't progress, that it will come to an
end. That's an earthworm's view. They aren't earthworms, but they think like
them. That's the wrong understanding of the animal realm. They are really
ignorant.
There's a story I've often
told, about a tortoise and a snake. The forest was on fire and they were trying
to flee. The tortoise was lumbering along, and then it saw the snake slither
by. It felt pity for that snake. Why? The snake had no legs, so the tortoise
figured it wouldn't be able to escape the fire. It wanted to help the snake.
But as the fire kept spreading the snake fled easily, while the tortoise
couldn't make it, even with its four legs, and it died there.
That was the tortoise's
ignorance. It thought, if you have legs you can move. If you don't have legs,
you can't go anywhere. So it was worried about the snake. It thought the snake
would die because it didn't have legs. But the snake wasn't worried; it knew it
could easily escape the danger.
This is one way to talk to
people with their confused ideas. They will feel pity for you if you aren't
like them and don't have their views and their knowledge. So who is ignorant?
I'm ignorant in my own way; there are things I don't know about, so I'm
ignorant on that account.
Meeting different
situations can be a cause for tranquility. But I didn't understand how foolish
and mistaken I was. Whenever something disturbed my mind, I tried to get away
from it, to escape. What I was doing was escaping from peace. I was continually
running away from peace. I didn't want to see this or know about that; I didn't
want to think about or experience various things. I didn't realize that this
was defilement. I only thought that I needed to remove myself and get far away
from people and situations, so that I wouldn't meet anything disturbing or hear
speech that was displeasing. The farther away I could get, the better.
After many years had
passed, I was forced by the natural progression of events to change my ways.
Having been ordained for some time, I ended up with more and more disciples,
more people seeking me out. Living and practicing in the forest was something
that attracted people to come and pay respects. So as the number of followers
increased, I was forced to start facing things. I couldn't run away anymore. My
ears had to hear sounds, my eyes to see. And it was then, as an Ajahn, that I
started gaining more knowledge. It led to a lot of wisdom and a lot of letting
go. There was a lot of everything going on and I learned not to grasp and hold
on, but to keep letting go. It made me a lot more skillful than before.
When some suffering came
about, it was OK; I didn't add on to it by trying to escape it. Previously, in
my meditation, I had only desired tranquility. I thought that the external
environment was only useful insofar as it could be a cause to help me attain
tranquility. I didn't think that having right view would be the cause for
realizing tranquility.
I've often said that there
are two kinds of tranquility. The wise have divided it into peace through
wisdom and peace throughsamatha. In peace through samatha, the eye has to be far from sights, the ear far from sounds, the
nose far from smells and so on. Then not hearing, not knowing and so forth, one
can become tranquil. This kind of peacefulness is good in its way. Is it of
value? Yes, it is, but it is not supreme. It is short-lived. It doesn't have a
reliable foundation. When the senses meet objects that are displeasing, it
changes, because it doesn't want those things to be present. So the mind always
has to struggle with these objects and no wisdom is born, since the person
always feels that he is not at peace because of those external factors.
On the other hand, if you
determine not to run away but to look directly at things, you come to realize
that lack of tranquility is not due to external objects or situations, but only
happens because of wrong understanding. I often teach my disciples about this.
I tell them, when you are intently devoted to finding tranquility in your
meditation, you can seek out the quietest, most remote place, where you won't
meet with sights or sounds, where there is nothing going on that will disturb
you. There the mind can settle down and become calm because there is nothing to
provoke it. Then, when you experience this, examine it to see how much strength
it has: when you come out of that place and start experiencing sense contact,
notice how you become pleased and displeased, gladdened and dejected, and how
the mind becomes disturbed. Then you will understand that this kind of
tranquility is not genuine.
Whatever occurs in your
field of experience is merely what it is. When something pleases us, we decide
that it is good and when something displeases us, we say it isn't good. That is
only our own discriminating minds giving meaning to external objects.
Understanding this, then we have a basis for investigating these things and
seeing them as they really are. When there is tranquility in meditation, it's
not necessary to do a lot of thinking. This sensitivity has a certain knowing
quality that is born of the tranquil mind. This isn't thinking; it is dhammavicaya, the factor of
investigating Dhamma.
This sort of tranquility
does not get disturbed by experience and sense contact. But then there is the
question, ''If it is tranquility, why is there still something going on?''
There is something happening within tranquility; it's not something happening
in the ordinary, afflicted way, where we make more out of it than it really is.
When something happens within tranquility the mind knows it extremely clearly.
Wisdom is born there and the mind contemplates ever more clearly. We see the
way that things actually happen; when we know the truth of them then
tranquility becomes all-inclusive. When the eye sees forms or the ear hears
sounds, we recognize them for what they are. In this latter form of
tranquility, when the eye sees forms, the mind is peaceful. When the ear hears
sounds, the mind is peaceful. The mind does not waver. Whatever we experience,
the mind is not shaken.
So where does this sort of
tranquility come from? It comes from that other kind of tranquility, that
ignorant samatha. That is
a cause that enables it to come about. It is taught that wisdom comes from
tranquility. Knowing comes from unknowing; the mind comes to know from that
state of unknowing, from learning to investigate like this. There will be both
tranquility and wisdom. Then, wherever we are, whatever we are doing, we see
the truth of things. We know that the arising and ceasing of experience in the
mind is just like that. Then there is nothing more to do, nothing to correct or
solve. There is no more speculation. There is nowhere to go, no escape. We can only
escape through wisdom, through knowing things as they are and transcending
them.
In the past, when I first
established Wat Pah Pong and people started coming to see me, some disciples
said, ''Luang Por is always socializing with people. This isn't a proper place
to stay anymore.'' But it wasn't that I had gone in search of people; we
established a monastery and they were coming to pay respects to our way of
life. Well, I couldn't deny what they were saying, but actually I was gaining a
lot of wisdom and coming to know a lot of things. But the disciples had no
idea. They could only look at me and think my practice was degenerating - so
many people were coming, so much disturbance. I didn't have any way to convince
them otherwise, but as time passed, I overcame the various obstacles and I
finally came to believe that real tranquility is born of correct view. If we
don't have right view, then it doesn't matter where we stay, we won't be at
peace and wisdom won't arise.
People are trying to
practice here in the West, I'm not criticizing anyone, but from what I can see, sīla (morality)
is not very well developed. Well, this is a convention. You can start by
practicingsamādhi (concentration)
first. It's like walking along and coming across a long piece of wood. One
person can take hold of it at one end. Another person can pick up the other
end. But it's the same one piece of wood, and taking hold of either end, you
can move it. When there is some calm from samādhi practice, then the mind can see things clearly and gain wisdom and
see the harm in certain types of behavior, and the person will have restraint
and caution. You can move the log from either end, but the main point is to
have firm determination in your practice. If you start withsīla, this
restraint will bring calm. That is samādhi and it becomes a cause for wisdom. When there is wisdom, it helps
develop samādhifurther.
And samādhi keeps refining sīla. They
are actually synonymous, developing together. In the end, the final result is
that they are one and the same; they are inseparable.
We can't distinguish samādhi and
classify it separately. We can't classify wisdom as something separate. We
can't distinguish sīla as something separate. At first we do distinguish among them.
There is the level of convention, and the level of liberation. On the level of
liberation, we don't attach to good and bad. Using convention, we distinguish
good and bad and different aspects of practice. This is necessary to do, but it
isn't yet supreme. If we understand the use of convention, we can come to
understand liberation. Then we can understand the ways in which different terms
are used to bring people to the same thing.
So in those days, I learned
to deal with people, with all sorts of situations. Coming into contact with all
these things, I had to make my mind firm. Relying on wisdom, I was able to see
clearly and abide without being affected by whatever I met with. Whatever
others might be saying, I wasn't bothered because I had firm conviction. Those
who will be teachers need this firm conviction in what they are doing, without
being affected by what people say. It requires some wisdom, and whatever wisdom
one has can increase. We take stock of all our old ways as they are revealed to
us and keep cleaning them up.
You really have to make
your mind firm. Sometimes there is no ease of body or mind. It happens when we
live together; it's something natural. Sometimes we have to face illness, for
example. I went through a lot of that. How would you deal with it? Well,
everyone wants to live comfortably, to have good food and plenty of rest. But
we can't always have that. We can't just indulge our wishes. But we create some
benefit in this world through the virtuous efforts we make. We create benefit
for ourselves and for others, for this life and the next. This is the result of
making the mind peaceful.
Coming here to England and
the US is the same. It's a short visit, but I'll try to help as I can and offer
teaching and guidance. There are Ajahns and students here, so I'll try to help
them out. Even though monks haven't come to live here yet, this is pretty good.
This visit can prepare people for having monks here. If they come too soon, it
will be difficult. Little by little people can become familiar with the
practice and with the ways of the bhikkhusangha. Then
the sāsana can flourish here. So for now you have to take care of your own
mind and make it right.
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