This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Stories of Awakening and Wisdom 1 of 4 with Leigh Brasington. It likely contains inaccuracies.
The following talk was given by Leigh Brasington at the Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, California. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.
I appreciate all of your work making these Sati Center events happen. This is great; Sati Center is such an excellent resource. I really appreciate it.
Okay, so for tonight and the next three Tuesdays, I’m going to be telling Buddhist stories found in the Suttas1, the Jātaka tales2, or at least one from the Mahayana3. Hopefully, you’ll find it entertaining and educational.
To kick things off, we’re going to start with a Sutta from the Long Discourses, the Dīgha Nikāya4. This is Sutta number 11, and it’s the Kevatta Sutta. Kevatta means fisherman. This Sutta takes place near Nālandā in Pāvārika’s Mango Grove. It looks like it’s two discourses of the Buddha jammed together to make one Sutta. We find this happens a lot in the Long Discourses and to some extent in the Middle Length Discourses as well. I guess it wasn’t long enough, and they decided they needed to make it longer. The two that are put together here don’t really relate to each other, other than it appears they were given to the same person.
The first one appears to me to be very early material, and the second one is mythological in character. The transition between them is like this: the first one’s going along, and then suddenly, here’s the second one. It just switches, and you’ll probably recognize when it goes by. So what I’ll do is tell you the Sutta, both stories, and then afterwards, I’ll go back through and we can discuss a little bit about what each of these stories means. Then I’ll throw it open for question and answers. So, sit back.
Thus have I heard. Once the Blessed One was staying near Nālandā in Pāvārika’s Mango Grove. Then the householder Kevatta came to the Blessed One, saluted, sat down at one side, and said to the Blessed One, “This Nālandā is a rich and prosperous place. It’s full of people who have faith. What you should do, venerable sir, is send some of your monks into town to perform miracles. When the faithful see these miracles, they will have even more faith, and they will give you even better food and lodgings and robes and medicine if you’re ill.”
And the Buddha says to Kevatta, “Kevatta, this is not how we teach Saddhamma5.” But Kevatta persists and asks a second time for monks to go into Nālandā and perform miracles, and the second time he’s turned down by the Buddha. But he persists and asks a third time.
This time the Buddha says, “Kevatta, there are only three miracles. The first miracle is the supernormal powers. These are things like walking on water as though it were earth, diving into the earth as though it was water, passing through walls and ramparts unimpeded, being one becoming many, being many becoming one, appearing and disappearing at will, flying cross-legged through the sky as though one were a bird, stroking the sun and moon, and wielding mastery over the body as far as the Brahma realms. If I send monks into town to perform any of these miracles, someone who doesn’t have faith, an unbeliever, might see it and say, ‘Oh, they’ve just got a Gandhāran charm.6 Everybody knows if you have a Gandhāran charm, it’s very easy to walk on water or fly through the air.’ And then they would have no more faith than before. Is this not right?”
“Yes, venerable sir, I suppose so.”
“The second miracle is the miracle of knowing the minds of others. I could send monks into town, and they go up to someone and they say, ‘Oh, you think like this, you have these hopes and dreams, this is how your heart is.’ But if an unbeliever were to see this, they would know that there is a Maṇikā charm,7 and if you have a Maṇikā charm, of course, you can read the minds of anyone else, and they wouldn’t be convinced. Isn’t this so?”
“Yes, I guess so, venerable sir.”
“No, there’s only one miracle that really counts. These first two miracles, I despise, reject, and dislike them. They’re worthless. But the miracle that counts is the miracle of instruction. And what is the miracle of instruction? A Tathāgata8 arises in this world, a fully awakened Buddha who teaches a Dhamma9 which is good in the beginning, good in the middle, and good in the end. Someone hears the Dhamma and gains confidence. And then at some later time thinks, ‘Household life is crowded and dusty; going forth is free like the air.’ And then at some point, that householder, a householder’s child, or other person shaves off hair and beard, puts on the ochre robe, and joins the Tathāgata’s order.
When someone joins the Tathāgata’s order, they live restrained by the precepts. The first of these precepts is, ‘I undertake the training to refrain from killing living beings,’ and not just refraining from violence, but actually having compassion for all living beings. The second of these precepts is, ‘I undertake the training to refrain from taking that which is not given,’ but not only not taking what is not given, but to be generous and open-handed when it’s appropriate. The third of these precepts is celibacy; we don’t engage in sexual acts at all. This simplifies life quite a bit. We tell the truth. We don’t use harsh or abusive language. When we speak, we try and be peacemakers rather than cause division. We don’t engage in gossip or idle chatter. We don’t take intoxicants. We only eat in one part of the day. We don’t sleep in high and luxurious beds. We don’t attend singing and dancing shows. We don’t adorn ourselves with perfumes or garlands or scents or jewelry. We don’t handle gold and silver. We don’t earn a living by doing anything that breaks the precepts. There are many rules; this is just a sample.
By keeping these rules, it makes it possible to live with senses guarded. Upon seeing a sight with the eye, one does not grasp at the signs or secondary characteristics, lest evil, unwholesome states such as covetousness or grief overcome one. When one hears a sound with the ear, smells a smell with the nose, tastes a taste with the tongue, touches a texture with the body, or thinks a thought with the mind, one does not grasp at the signs or secondary characteristics, lest evil, unwholesome states such as covetousness or grief overcome one.
By living with senses guarded, it makes it possible to be mindful and clearly aware of all that we do. When going forward and coming back, one is mindful and clearly aware. When looking forward and looking back, one is mindful and clearly aware. When wearing one’s robe and carrying one’s alms bowl, one is mindful and clearly aware. When eating, chewing, swallowing, savoring, and drinking, one is mindful and clearly aware. When going to the toilet, one is mindful and clearly aware. When speaking and keeping silent, one is mindful and clearly aware. When walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, one is mindful and clearly aware. When going to sleep and waking up, one is mindful and clearly aware.
We also are content with little. All we really need is food, clothing, shelter, and medicine if we’re ill. This leaves us free to go wherever we wish, like a bird on the wing. With these noble precepts, this noble guarding of the senses, this noble mindfulness and clear comprehension, and this noble being content with little, it makes it possible to do the work of a recluse.
Upon returning from alms round, having eaten the midday meal, one resorts to a secluded dwelling: the forest, the root of a tree, a heap of straw, a charnel ground, the open air, a hillside cave. One sits down cross-legged, holds one’s body erect, and sets up mindfulness before oneself.
When practicing meditation, there are five states of mind that might arise that can hinder progress on the spiritual path. The first of these is sensual desire. Sensual desire is like being in debt. If someone is in debt, well, they must continually work to pay back that debt. It’s the same with sensual desire; no sense pleasure is ever fully satisfying. It only leads to wanting more sense pleasures. But if someone who is in debt were able to pay back that debt, they would rejoice and become glad. In the same way, if one can overcome sensual desire, even temporarily, one rejoices and becomes glad.
The second of these hindrances is ill will and hatred. Ill will and hatred is like being physically ill. If someone is physically ill, they don’t feel well, they’re hot, they can’t think straight, they can’t do what they want to do. If someone is overcome with ill will and hatred, they don’t feel well, they’re hot, they can’t think straight, they can’t do what they want to do. But if someone were ill and were to take medicine and overcome that illness, they would rejoice and become glad. In the same way, if one can overcome ill will and hatred, even temporarily, one rejoices and becomes glad.
The third of these hindrances is sloth and torpor. Sloth and torpor is like being in a prison. If someone is in prison, they just sit there, missing out on all the good things of life. If someone is overcome with sloth and torpor, they just sit there, missing out on all the good things of the spiritual life. But if a prisoner were to gain their freedom, they would rejoice and become glad. It’s the same if one can overcome sloth and torpor, even temporarily, one rejoices and becomes glad.
The fourth of these hindrances is restlessness and remorse. Restlessness and remorse is like being a slave. A slave is always busy doing what the master commands: ‘Go there, do that, come here, do this,’ never doing what the slave wants to do. It’s the same with restlessness and remorse. One sits down to meditate, and one’s mind is all over the place, one’s body can’t get settled, one can’t do what one wants to do. But if a slave were to gain his freedom, he would rejoice and become glad. In the same way, if one can overcome restlessness and remorse, even temporarily, one rejoices and becomes glad.
The fifth of these hindrances is skeptical doubt. Skeptical doubt is like being on a perilous desert journey where bandits abound and provisions are scarce. First one thinks to go this way, but no, wait, there are sure to be bandits. Maybe we should go this way, but no, there won’t be any water. One does more starting and stopping than actual progressing. It’s the same with skeptical doubt. One thinks first to do this practice, but it’s kind of boring, so maybe find something more colorful to do. But it’s a little too baroque. There are all sorts of things you can try and do, and if you don’t stay with them long enough to see where they lead, you make no progress at all, just like someone on a perilous desert journey is beset by their doubts of where to go. But if someone on a perilous desert journey were to arrive at a place of safety, they would rejoice and become glad. In the same way, if someone can overcome skeptical doubt, even temporarily, they rejoice and become glad.
When one sees that these five hindrances are not abandoned, one regards that as being in debt, as being physically ill, as being a prisoner, as being a slave, as a desert road. But when one sees these five hindrances as having been abandoned, one regards that as freedom from debt, good health, release from prison, freedom from slavery, a place of safety.
Thus secluded from sense desire, secluded from unwholesome states of mind, one enters and remains in the first Jhāna10, which is with thinking and examining and filled with rapture and happiness born of seclusion. One drenches, steeps, saturates, and suffuses one’s body with the rapture and happiness born of seclusion, so there is no part of one’s entire body not filled with rapture and happiness. Think of a skilled bath attendant or his apprentice taking a metal basin and pouring in just the right amount of soap flakes and just the right amount of water and mixing the soap flakes and the water together until they have a homogeneous ball of soap. In the same way, one drenches, steeps, saturates, and suffuses one’s body with the rapture and happiness born of seclusion, so there is no part of one’s entire body not filled with rapture and happiness.
Further, with the subsiding of thinking and examining, and by gaining inner tranquility and unification of mind, one can enter and remain in the second Jhāna, which is without thinking and examining and contains rapture and happiness born of concentration. One drenches, steeps, saturates, and suffuses one’s body with the rapture and happiness born of concentration, so there is no part of one’s entire body not filled with rapture and happiness. Imagine a lake far up in the mountains, no streams coming in from the east, the west, the north, or the south, and not even any showers of rain. And yet, at the bottom of the lake is a spring of cool, clear water. That cool, clear water would totally permeate the lake, fill the lake, so there would be no part of that lake not touched by the cool, clear water. In the same way, one drenches, steeps, saturates, and suffuses one’s body with the rapture and happiness born of concentration, so there is no part of one’s body not filled with rapture and happiness.
Further, with the subsiding of pīti11 and by gaining imperturbability, mindfulness, and clear awareness, one enters and remains in the third Jhāna, of which the noble ones declare, ‘Happy is one who is equanimous and mindful.’ One drenches, steeps, saturates, and suffuses one’s body with the happiness free from rapture, so there is no part of one’s body not filled with happiness. Imagine a lotus pond in which there grow blue, white, or red lotuses that come up out of the mud but do not come above the surface of the water. They would lead their whole lives flooded with water from their tips to their roots. In the same way, one drenches, steeps, saturates, and suffuses one’s body with a happiness free from rapture, so there is no part of one’s body not filled with happiness.
Further, with the passing of pleasure and pain, as with the previous passing of joy and grief, one enters and remains in the fourth Jhāna, a state beyond pleasure and pain that contains mindfulness fully purified by equanimity. One sits suffusing one’s body with a pure, bright mind, so there is no part of one’s body not suffused by the pure, bright mind. Imagine a man covered from the head down by a white cloth, a white sheet, such that his body is totally suffused. In the same way, one suffuses one’s body with a pure, bright mind, so there is no part of one’s body not suffused by the pure, bright mind.
When one’s mind is thus concentrated, clear, sharp, bright, malleable, wieldy, and given to imperturbability, one directs it and inclines it to knowing and seeing. One understands thus: ‘This is my body, made of material form, composed of the four great elements, born of mother and father, fed on rice and gruel, impermanent, subject to rubbing and pressing, to dissolution and dispersion. And this is my consciousness, which is supported by it and bound up with it.’
Further, with a mind thus concentrated, clear, sharp, bright, malleable, wieldy, and given to imperturbability, one can incline and direct it to overcoming the āsavas12, the intoxicants. One can understand: ‘This is Dukkha13. This is the origin of Dukkha. This is the cessation of Dukkha. This is the path of practice that leads to the cessation of Dukkha.’ One can understand: ‘These are the āsavas. This is the origin of the āsavas. This is the ceasing of the āsavas. This is the path of practice that leads to the ceasing of the āsavas.’ And one can overcome the āsava, the intoxicant of sensual desire. One can overcome the āsava of becoming. One can overcome the āsava of ignorance. And in so doing, one puts an end to all Dukkha. One understands: ‘Birth is finished, the holy life has been lived, what had to be done has been done, there’s nothing further here.’ This is the miracle of instruction.
Kevatta, once in the Saṅgha14, there was a monk who wanted to know, ‘Where do the four elements—earth, water, fire, and air—cease without remainder?’ So that monk generated enough concentration to be able to ascend to the lowest of the heavens, the retinue of the Four Great Kings. And that monk went up to those devas15 and said to them, ‘Can you tell me where the four elements cease without remainder?’ And they said, ‘We don’t know, but maybe you should ask the Four Great Kings. They might know.’
So that monk increased his concentration until he had access to the Four Great Kings, and he went up to them and he asked them, ‘Can you guys tell me where the four elements cease without remainder?’ And the Four Great Kings said, ‘We don’t know, but maybe you should ask the gods of the Thirty-three in the next heaven up.’
So that monk increased his concentration until he could arrive in the heaven of the gods of the Thirty-three, and he went up to those devas and he said, ‘Excuse me, can you tell me where the four elements cease without remainder?’ And they said, ‘We don’t know, but maybe you should ask the devas in the Tushita heaven.’
And so that monk… you get the picture. He’s going up, up, up through the heavens, and everywhere he goes, the devas say, ‘We don’t know, ask the guys upstairs.’ Until finally, he makes it to the retinue of Brahma. And he goes up to those devas and he says, ‘Excuse me, please, can you tell me where the four elements cease without remainder?’ And those devas said, ‘We don’t know, but you should ask Brahma. Brahma knows everything.’
‘Oh, where can I find Brahma?’
‘Oh, nobody knows where to find Brahma.’
‘Well, how am I going to ask him?’
‘Oh, if you’re patient, he’ll probably show up.’
‘Well, how will I know when he shows up?’
‘Oh, don’t worry, there will be a very bright light, and Brahma will announce himself.’
And so that monk went, sat in the corner, meditated for a while, and soon there was a very bright light, and this being appeared and he announced, ‘I am Brahma! I am Great Brahma, creator of the universe, Lord of all! I know everything, I see everything!’
And so that monk went up to him and said, ‘Excuse me, sir, can you please tell me where the four elements cease without remainder?’
And Brahma replied, ‘I am Brahma! I am Great Brahma, creator of the universe, Lord of all! I know everything, I see everything!’
And the monk said, ‘You already told me who you were. I just want to know where the four elements cease without remainder.’
And Brahma replied, ‘I am Brahma, Great Brahma, creator of the universe, Lord of all! I know everything, I see everything!’
‘Could you just please stop repeating yourself and tell me where the four elements cease without remainder?’
And then Brahma took that monk, led him by the shoulder away from all the devas. When they were far enough away, Brahma said, ‘I don’t know where the four elements cease without remainder. These guys think I know everything. I don’t know that. But by the looks of you, you’re a Buddhist monk. You should go ask the Buddha about this matter. He probably would know.’
So just as quickly as a strong man could extend his arm or draw it back, that monk disappeared from the Brahma realms and reappeared on Earth and went to see the Buddha. And he saluted, sat down at one side, and said, ‘Please, venerable sir, where do the four elements cease without remainder?’
And the Buddha said, ‘You’ve been as far as the Brahma realms looking for the answer to this question, and now you’ve come back to me. This is like a land-finding crow. When a ship goes out on the ocean and is maybe going to be blown out of sight of land, they take some crows with them. And if there’s a storm and they don’t know which way land is, they’ll release a crow, and the crow will fly up and up and up until it sees land, and it’ll go in that direction, and the sailors know which way to go. But if it doesn’t see land, it comes back and lands where it started. You’ve been like a land-finding crow, searching through the Brahma realms for the answer to this question, and now you’ve come back to me. But you’ve asked your question wrong. It should not be phrased in this way: ‘Where do the four elements cease without remainder?’ Really, what you want to ask is: ‘Where do the four elements—earth, water, fire, and air—find no footing? Where do long and short, small and great, beautiful and ugly, name and form all come to an end?’
And the answer is: ‘Where consciousness is signless, limitless, and all-illuminating, that’s where earth, water, fire, and air find no footing. There, long and short, small and great, beautiful and ugly, name and form totally come to an end. With the cessation of consciousness, all this comes to an end.’
Just like the Sutta comes to an end here.
Okay, so two stories. I assume you saw when it switched from the first story to the second story; it was kind of obvious. I suspect that both stories were given to Kevatta, but I also suspect the first one is a much older story than this mythical one at the end, although I do suspect that the verses at the end of the monk going through the heavens are early.
So, the first story. The first thing to notice about it: Nālandā was a rich and prosperous place. It was also the home of Sāriputta, the Buddha’s chief disciple. Sāriputta was born in Nālandā, and he later died in Nālandā, and so the Buddha visited it fairly regularly since it was just north of Rājagaha, which was one of the principal main cities in India at that time.
It’s also interesting that the supernormal powers and mind-reading, the Buddha said he despises, rejects, and doesn’t like these. Now, this may be at odds with things you’ve heard about the Buddha having fire and water coming out of his hands and doing all sorts of stuff. It’s interesting to take a look at the Suttas from an archaeological standpoint and try and see what the scholars say is early material. In the early material, we don’t tend to find such supernormal powers or psychic powers. So this is a hint that this is one of the earlier Suttas, since the Buddha is actually rejecting these. This is not the only Sutta in which he rejects them. You might take a look at Aṅguttara Nikāya 3.60. The Buddha says the only miracle that counts is the miracle of instruction.
And what is the miracle of instruction? The Buddha teaches the gradual training. The gradual training appears to be the curriculum for the monks and nuns. Somehow you decided, “This Buddha guy, he seems to know what he’s talking about. I’m going to go practice with him.” For us laypeople, it’s like we hear the Dhamma and we commit to practicing it. The first thing is to keep the precepts. The monks had 227 precepts, and nuns had 311 or some outrageous number like that, but for laypeople, there are only five. But this is the foundation of all spiritual practice: don’t cause any harm to yourself or to others. That’s basically it.
The next thing is guarding the senses. Guarding the senses doesn’t mean you don’t see or you don’t hear, although sometimes there are certain things that it’s probably better to avoid—certain movies, TV shows, books, websites. You probably know the list. The whole idea is when you see something or hear something, you recognize what it is and you don’t get lost in what’s going on. You might know the Pāli word papañca16—mental proliferation. There’s a Sutta, Majjhima Nikāya 18, called the Honeyball Sutta. In that Sutta, the Buddha discusses how we get sense contacts, and if we aren’t guarding our senses, it can spiral out into papañca and all sorts of unwholesome stuff. So you might want to take a look at that Sutta.
The next is being mindful of all that you do. Mindfulness is extremely important in the Buddhist teachings. You probably are aware of this. It shows up in over 900 Suttas. Mindfulness is talked about, so obviously it’s very important. And the mindfulness practice that seems to show up maybe more than any other is mindfulness of all that you do. So there are definitely teachings on how to be mindful whenever you’re doing anything. The best I heard was from Kamala Masters, and what she taught was to find things that you do regularly but not all the time and use them as a mindfulness signal. The first thing she suggested was doors. Every time you encounter a door, it’s a reminder, “Oh, I should be mindful.” You can feel the hardness of the door handle and the heaviness of the door, etc. If you get good at that, maybe you go to faucets and doors—things to trigger you to drop back into mindfulness. You’re probably not going to be mindful 24/7, not even 16/7, but we want to return to mindfulness as much as we can.
And then being content with little. We live on a planet where we’re using up the resources at about twice the sustainable rate, and it’s causing a great deal of problems. You might have heard of climate change; that’s part of using up the resources at an unsustainable rate. We live in a culture that says basically, “You got a problem? Buy this, acquire something more.” The spiritual path is about letting go, not acquiring. And so this is a practice: be content with little.
And then we have the five hindrances, which you’re probably familiar with. And what’s given in the Sutta is the simile: being in debt. We’re in debt to our senses in the sense that no sensual pleasure is ultimately satisfying; it only leads to wanting more. Ill will and hatred is like being physically ill; that’s pretty obvious. Sloth and torpor, you can’t do anything; that’s like being in prison. Restlessness and worry, or restlessness and remorse, is like being a slave—too much energy. And doubt can be paralyzing; you’re not sure what to do. I’ve heard it said that you should follow a path of practice for five years to see where it really goes. If you’re changing paths of practice more often than that, maybe you’re not taking any path deeply enough. Now, this doesn’t mean if you start down a path and you’re quite aware this is not working for me, you have to stick with it for five years before you can change. But if you find yourself changing frequently, that’s not going to work either.
And then the Jhānas, these four altered states of consciousness that generate deep concentration. And one moves from one to the next, and then upon exiting the fourth, one has a mind that’s very concentrated, clear, sharp, bright, malleable, wieldy, and given to imperturbability, which is the perfect mind state to have for doing your insight practice. It’s like if you wanted to cut a wooden table in two and you had a butter knife, it would go a lot quicker if you could sharpen it up, right? Same thing with your mind. Getting enlightened is really hard work. It works much better if you have a sharp mind. The Jhānas are a method for sharpening your mind.
And what are you to do with your sharpened mind? Investigate the reality of mind and body. If you’re familiar with the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta17 and the practices given in there and the four establishments or foundations of mindfulness, the first one is body. The second one is vedanā18; that’s part of the mind. The third one is mind states; oh yeah, that’s definitely part of the mind. And the fourth one is phenomena, but most of the phenomena are mind, except for the ones that are body. So the Jhānas are to give you a mind that can investigate mind and body—yours and others—to understand what’s really happening. It’s usually translated as “things as they are,” but I prefer to translate it as “what’s actually happening,” because it’s a happening world as opposed to a static world.
And then the overcoming of the āsavas, the intoxicants. If your mind is sharp enough, you deeply penetrate the Four Noble Truths, which gives you the ability to deeply penetrate the āsavas, the intoxicants, sometimes translated as defilements. The first of these is sensual desire. You’re probably aware of people getting lost in that; perhaps you’ve been there yourself. Becoming: becoming could be in this life, “I want to become rich and famous,” or in the next life, “I want to be born into a family with a Mercedes-Benz,” or “I want to be born as a deva,” or whatever. All the becoming is not useful. And ignorance. I heard a talk by Eric Kolvig once. He said, “Saṃsāra is not a wheel; it’s a drunken party in a casino. Our job is to sober up, find the exits, and get out.” And what are they serving in those drinks? Sense desire, becoming, and ignorance.
So that’s the first of the discourses in this Sutta. The gradual training is very important. It shows up in about 30 different Suttas. Not all the Suttas have all the stuff in it. I actually wrote a book on the gradual training. It’s a free book you can download. I talk about the gradual training and go into all the steps and bits and pieces of it in pretty good detail.
Then the second story, about the monk who wants to know where the four elements cease without remainder and he goes up through the heavens. Stories that have lots of cosmology in them—and Buddhism does have lots of cosmology—I figure those are much later. It’s true the Buddha didn’t try and change the cosmology of the time. I mean, can you imagine the Buddha going, “Yeah, all these heavens, yeah, forget about that. Let me tell you about quantum physics.” Nobody would have paid any attention to him. He was quite shrewd. He said, “Yeah, yeah, all these heavens exist, but if you get reborn in one of them, it’s not permanent. You’re going to fall away from there, and if you’re lucky, you’ll wind up back here where you can actually do practice. You can’t practice in the heavens; it’s too nice. You’re not motivated.” Of course, if you screw up in the heaven, you might fall even lower to the animal realms or even to hell or something. You’re here now, you should practice now. You can see where you could use that as a motivation for practice.
And then we get to the end where the Buddha says, “No, it’s not where the four elements cease without remainder, it’s where they find no footing.” So the question is, where do the four elements find no footing? Where are the dualities of long and short, small and great, beautiful and ugly, name and form—where do they all come to an end? So this is a question about non-dual practice. How does one do non-dual practice? And the Buddha says it’s where consciousness is signless, limitless, and all-illuminating.
This is quite interesting. Signless. Do you know what this is? [Holds up phone] You figured out what it is. How did you know what it was? You look at it, you go, “It’s a cell phone,” right? It’s got a camera on the back, a screen on the front, it’s got buttons on the side. Those are the signs of a cell phone. Remember from guarding the senses: “one does not grasp at the signs or secondary characteristics.” The secondary characteristics of my cell phone would be: is it Android or iPhone? What apps do I have loaded? How much memory does it have? That sort of stuff.
And so, consciousness that is signless is consciousness that is just seeing, but not conceptualizing. In the Honeyball Sutta, the Buddha talks about how we have a sense organ, a sense object, and sense consciousness. The three come together. That’s followed by vedanā, the automatic process of determining pleasant, unpleasant, or neither. And then saññā.19 Saññā is usually translated as perception; I think it’s better translated as conceptualization. And consciousness that is signless would be consciousness that’s not conceptualizing what it’s experiencing.
If you’re familiar with the instructions to Bāhiya: “In seeing, there’s just seeing. In hearing, just hearing. In sensing, just sensing. In cognizing, just cognizing. When you can do that, Bāhiya, there’s no you in that, no you in this, no you in between. Just this is the end of Dukkha.” These are the instructions of how to practice such that you can experience the signless consciousness. So instead of seeing objects—seeing house and tree and car—can you just see the visual field? And step back a little further, and can you just see seeing? And can you step back just a little further, and there is just seeing? You drop out of the duality of the objects.
When you can do that, it’s limitless because you realize that all of the objects of the world are in your mind. There’s no saññā out there. There is sensory input out there, but in here, we conceptualize the sensory input, and we believe our concepts. I mean, sometimes they’re accurate, and sometimes they’re not. Think about the political situation in this country. It’s people who have different concepts. They’re looking at the same thing, and they’re conceptualizing what’s going on in different ways, and this is leading to all sorts of problems. We generally interact with our concepts rather than with reality. I mean, we assume our concepts match reality, but given the range of possible conflicting concepts, that’s not always the case.
So, consciousness that isn’t conceptualizing what’s going on and realizes it’s like that everywhere—there are no concepts out there. There’s reality out there that meets our senses, but all we know is our conceptualizing of it. You’ve never seen anything in your life except neurological activity in your visual cortex. You’ve never heard anything in your life except your eardrum vibrating and those little bones wiggling. That’s it. We take these and we conceptualize them. When you realize it’s like that everywhere, you’ve seen all of it. It’s all-illuminating. So, consciousness that is signless, limitless, and all-illuminating.
And then there’s a very strange thing at the end. It says, “With the cessation of consciousness, all this comes to an end.” Now, most scholars say that “consciousness that is signless, limitless, and all-illuminating” is a description of Nibbāna20. So is Nibbāna not being conscious? I don’t think so. That’s an understanding that is given in the commentaries because the commentaries think that each path moment, each advance on the path, is a blink out of consciousness, and they think that’s what’s being referred to here. But that’s from the commentaries, centuries after the Buddha.
I think what the Buddha is doing here is going back to the literal meaning of viññāṇa,21 which we usually translate as consciousness. The literal meaning is “divided knowing.” With the cessation of divided knowing, all dualities come to an end. For an example of divided knowing, think of the pressure on your left foot right now. Oh, you weren’t even noticing it until I said something, right? You divided that sensory input out from all the other sensory input, and you became conscious of it. So with the end of dividing the universe up into a whole bunch of concepts, all this comes to an end. All the dualities come to an end. This is what the Buddha is teaching as part of the way to awakening: to overcome getting lost in duality. And the method which gives the most detail, which isn’t much, is the Bāhiya Sutta, which can be found in Udāna 1.10.
This is about the miracle of instruction, then about non-duality. Instruction is a miracle. I mean, think about it. I’m sitting here in Oakland, California. I’m exhaling, flapping something in my throat, making air pressure waves that hit the microphone, get turned into digits, get sent over the internet, come out of the speaker on your computer, and you hear what I’m saying. Hopefully, the concepts that you come up with match the concepts I had in my mind when I say the word “microphone” or “internet.” Probably a similar conceptualization, maybe a little different. But I have a thought, I bust it into concepts, I throw the concepts at my computer by making pressure waves, they show up in your ear, you interpret, you conceptualize what those sounds are, and you put together a thought that hopefully matches my thought. That’s more miraculous than walking on water. And then we have somebody like the Buddha who can do that in a way that leads to a reduction, and hopefully a total end, in Dukkha. That’s the miracle that really counts.
Okay, questions, comments?
(The following is a paraphrased summary of the Q&A session)
A participant noted the teachings sounded very Zen-like and asked for practical advice for laypeople on guarding the senses without self-criticism. Leigh responded that while it may sound like Zen or Tibetan teachings, the source is the early Suttas. For dealing with sensual desire, he recommended seeing the limitations of the desired object—its impermanence and imperfection. He shared personal anecdotes about childhood toys and Hostess cupcakes never living up to the fantasy, emphasizing that the problem isn’t pleasure itself, but the craving and clinging that result from it.
Another participant brought up a quote from a Zen master about seeing only “Buddha nature” in everyone and everything, and asked for an explanation. Leigh clarified that “Buddha nature” is a Mahayana concept, not found in the Theravāda Suttas, which posits that all beings have the innate capacity to awaken. He interpreted the master’s statement as seeing this potential for awakening in all beings, a perspective likely only fully available to someone who is themselves fully awakened.
This led to a discussion about the four elements (earth, water, fire, air) and why they are so foundational across cultures. Leigh suggested they represent fundamental aspects of materiality: solidity (earth), liquidity (water), gaseousness (air), and energy (fire). He noted that the Pāli word dhātu, translated as “element,” could also mean “aspect” or “characteristic.” The discussion expanded to include the six elements in early Buddhism: the four material elements, plus space and consciousness, which were used as a practical way to categorize experience, not as a metaphysical system.
A participant shared a powerful personal experience of moving from conceptual thought to the “field of just seeing” while listening to the talk, and asked what consciousness one connects to in that state and what is aware of that consciousness. Leigh clarified a common misunderstanding, explaining from Majjhima Nikāya 38 that the Buddha taught there is one consciousness that is simply named according to the sense door through which it arises (e.g., eye-consciousness, ear-consciousness), not six separate consciousnesses. He emphasized that the Buddha’s teachings were pragmatic and aimed at ending suffering, not creating a consistent metaphysical system.
The Q&A concluded with a participant sharing a fond memory of reading Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha and how it sparked a questing spirit, a sentiment Leigh shared from his own experience with the book.
We’ve got a couple of minutes left, we could do a really quick metta here. So put your attention on your breath for just a moment.
Do you like to be happy? I mean, if you’re happy, you find that to be a good thing. It’s nice when you’re happy. May we all be happy.
You like it when your family’s happy? You go visit your family, everybody’s happy. Is that cool? You like that? May my family be happy.
You like it when your friends are happy? You go see your friends, they’re all happy. Friends come over, they’re all happy. Yeah, it’s a good thing. May my friends all be happy.
What if all your acquaintances were happy? All the neighbors are happy, everybody at work is happy. You go into a store, customers are happy, the clerks are happy. Wouldn’t that be nice?
What if everybody in your town, your city, was happy? Oh man, that would really be nice.
What if everybody on the planet was happy? Oh, that’s where I want to live. Happiness everywhere.
May all beings be happy.
Thank you. A week from tonight, we’ll do a Jātaka tale, somewhat less heady, more in the heart than tonight, but hopefully, it’ll also be as interesting. Thank you very much. May any merit from this sharing of the Dhamma be for the benefit and liberation of all beings everywhere.
Suttas: The discourses or sermons of the Buddha. They are collected in the Sutta Piṭaka, one of the three “baskets” of the Pāli Canon. ↩
Jātaka tales: A voluminous body of literature native to India concerning the previous births of Gautama Buddha in both human and animal form. ↩
Mahayana: One of two main existing branches of Buddhism and a term for classification of Buddhist philosophies and practice. ↩
Dīgha Nikāya: The “Collection of Long Discourses,” the first of the five nikāyas, or collections, in the Sutta Piṭaka. ↩
Saddhamma: The “true Dhamma” or the authentic teachings of the Buddha. ↩
Gandhāran charm: A type of magic or sorcery associated with the ancient region of Gandhāra, believed to enable feats like levitation. ↩
Maṇikā charm: A type of gem-related magic believed to grant the power of telepathy or mind-reading. ↩
Tathāgata: An epithet for the Buddha, meaning “one who has thus gone” or “one who has thus come.” It signifies one who has attained the ultimate reality. ↩
Dhamma (Pāli) / Dharma (Sanskrit): The teachings of the Buddha; the universal truth or law. ↩
Jhāna: A state of deep meditative absorption, characterized by profound stillness and concentration. There are traditionally four material jhānas and four immaterial jhānas. ↩
Pīti: A Pāli word often translated as “rapture,” “joy,” or “bliss.” It is one of the factors of the first and second jhānas. ↩
Āsavas: Often translated as “cankers,” “taints,” “intoxicants,” or “defilements.” They are deep-seated mental biases that keep beings bound to saṃsāra. The three primary āsavas are sensual desire, the desire for existence (becoming), and ignorance. ↩
Dukkha: A core Buddhist concept, often translated as “suffering,” “stress,” “dissatisfaction,” or “unease.” ↩
Saṅgha: The community of Buddhist monks, nuns, and lay followers. ↩
Deva: A celestial being or god in Buddhist cosmology. They inhabit heavenly realms but are still subject to karma and rebirth. ↩
Papañca: Mental proliferation, conceptual elaboration, or the tendency of the mind to complicate and elaborate on sensory experience, often leading to craving, conceit, and wrong views. ↩
Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta: The “Discourse on the Foundations of Mindfulness,” a key Buddhist text that provides detailed instructions on the practice of mindfulness meditation. ↩
Vedanā: The Pāli word for “feeling tone,” one of the five aggregates (khandhas). It refers to the immediate, pre-cognitive quality of an experience as pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. ↩
Saññā: The Pāli word for “perception” or “cognition,” one of the five aggregates. It refers to the mental process of recognizing, labeling, and conceptualizing sensory input. ↩
Nibbāna (Pāli) / Nirvana (Sanskrit): The ultimate goal of the Buddhist path, meaning “to extinguish” or “to blow out.” It refers to the cessation of suffering and the cycle of rebirth. ↩
Viññāṇa: The Pāli word for “consciousness,” one of the five aggregates. In this context, Leigh Brasington translates its literal meaning as “divided knowing,” referring to the way consciousness separates the world into subject and object, and into distinct concepts. ↩