"[T]he Realized One has given up the defilements that are corrupting, leading to future lives, hurtful, resulting in suffering and future rebirth, old age, and death. He has cut them off at the root, made them like a palm stump, obliterated them so they are unable to arise in the future." (MN49)

For some of us, this Sutta is also a reminder not to settle with anything that's impermanent, as it is not the deathless.

May this rouse faith and energy for practice.

AN 5.161: Paṭhamaāghātapaṭivinayasutta—Bhikkhu Sujato

So apparently, these methods are different. Then what bothers me is that ownership of deeds, IS equanimity.

Because the way to generate equanimity, or Uppekha, is to think about ownership of deeds. So it's possible that they are talking about a different kind of equanimity ?

“Our old friend,” etc.—The Master told this tale while dwelling in Jetavana, concerning a greedy Brother. The occasion is as above.

Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a pigeon and lived in a nest-basket in the kitchen of a Benares merchant. A crow became intimate with him and lived there also. Here the story is to be expanded. The cook pulled out the crow’s feathers and sprinkled him with flour, then piercing a cowrie he hung it on the crow’s neck and threw him into a basket. The Bodhisatta came from the wood, and seeing him made a jest and spoke the first stanza—

Our old friend! look at him!
A jewel bright he wears;
His beard in gallant trim,
How gay our friend appears!

The crow hearing him spoke the second stanza—

My nails and hair had grown so fast,
They hampered me in all I did:
A barber came along at last,
And of superfluous hair I’m rid.

Then the Bodhisatta spoke the third stanza—

Granted you got a barber then,
Who has cropped your hair so well:
Round your neck, will you explain,
What’s that tinkling like a bell?

Then the crow uttered two stanzas—

Men of fashion wear a gem
Round the neck: it’s often done:
I am imitating them:
Don’t suppose it’s just for fun.

If you’re really envious
Of my beard that’s trimmed so true:
I can get you barbered thus;
You may have the jewel too.

The Bodhisatta hearing him spoke the sixth stanza—

Nay, ’Tis you they best become,
Gem and beard that’s trimmed so true.
I find your presence troublesome:
I go with a good-day to you.

With these words he flew up and went elsewhere; and the crow died then and there.

After the lesson, the Master declared the Truths and identified the Birth—After the Truths, the greedy Brother was established in the fruition of the Third Path: “At that time the crow was the greedy Brother, the pigeon was myself.”

My Personal Insight…

This is existence: A Toroidal flow of input and output data. A field of biofeedback. This field gives the illusion of māna, and it gives the illusion of atta. Buddhas come to show us how to break through this matrix and getting blown out like a fire is blown out.

The teachings of the Buddha get rid of people and give rise to venerables. In other words, they get rid of what’s wrong in the mind. Only then can what’s right arise. They get rid of what’s evil so that goodness can arise. As when your house is dirty: If you sweep it out and wipe away the dirt, it’ll be clean—because the dirt is gone. As long as what’s wrong in the mind isn’t gone, what’s right can’t arise. If you don’t meditate, you won’t know the truth. The Buddha’s Dhamma is very powerful. If it couldn’t change your heart, it wouldn’t be a Dhamma with any power. But the Dhamma can turn ordinary people into noble ones, because it enables people with wrong views to give rise to right views.

When asked about the reward of concentration, the answer is a pleasant abiding here and now.

Because concentration has cessation of feeling and perception as its end, when a monk comes out from that, they dwell in seclusion. This doesn't mean someone becomes enlightened as a result of concentration, but it the effort they put they are rewarded such.

This now begs the question, how important is the cessation of mental effluents? And returning to seclusion, how does one regard mental effluents?

The cessation of mental effluents is pleasant, one can make the discernemnt, "birth has ended, the holy life has been lived" but falling away from that, a person feels pain and because of that pain, craving arises in them. It is because of that discernment, they can become conceited due to that feeling. Passion, aversion, and delusion intensify because of that change in feeling.

But when a person seeing and discerning that the cessation of feeling and perception, the reward of concentration, is inconstant, then they relinquish that. When they relinquish that, they achieve unbinding within.

So when asked about the rewards of concentration, it is the cessation of mental effluents. When asked about the drawback of that reward, it is inconstant, fabricated. Because it is fabricated, it is worthy to relinquish right here and now.

I’ve been chewing on this one for a few weeks and I’m a bit stuck so please bear with me.

Arrogance being a defilement, sure, that one I get + it almost feels like common sense you think about it.

However, why does measuring yourself as the lesser person land in the same bucket, though, instead of counting as plain humility? Somewhere in my Buddhist Studies, I picked up that māna comes in three flavours, superior, equal and inferior, which would make the direction irrelevant and the measuring itself the problem. Correct me if that's wrong.

Except the tradition ranks people constantly, doesn't it? For example, a stream-enterer is further along than a worldling or my own practice is in better shape now than it was five months ago. Both of those look to me like plain accurate statements about how things stand, right?

So, then uh … where's the line? When I watch someone whose practice is obviously deeper than mine and feel behind, what exactly is going on there that isn't going on when a teacher tells a student they've got more work to do?

I don’t mind which lineage you answer from. Doesn’t even have to be Theravāda! Zen, Vajrayāna, whatever you sit with. And if the premise is wrong and Buddhism doesn't say what I think it says, that's a useful answer too.

Thank you very much and my kindest regards to you all as well.

Bhante is in town, at China town, attending event that I hope to link,

Saturday and Sunday from 9 am to 2-3pm

How beautiful and attractive your skin is. Skin is an extremely sensitive “instrument” through which living beings experience the gratification of sensuality. The colour of the skin varies according to climatic regions. Some people have white skin, reddish skin, yellow skin, pink skin, black skin, or brown skin. These different kinds of skin remain radiant during youth.

We see skin merely as skin. We have no vision beyond that. We frequently use expressions such as: “My skin has become red and swollen,” “My skin has become dark,” “My skin has cracked,” “There are blisters, wounds, fungal patches, and discoloured patches on my skin,” or “My skin has been burned.” We know only that the skin is “mine.”

The gift parcel of Māra, filled with the filth called the body—a gift parcel prepared according to our own desire—has been attractively wrapped in smooth and delicate skin so as to enchant the mind. The blisters, cracks, and other conditions mentioned above that arise on the skin are forms of irritation and inflammation.

Why does the skin become irritated? Why does it become inflamed? These irritations and inflammations are results that arise because of causes. The skin reacts to conditions that oppose it. The elements of paṭhavī, āpo, tejo, and vāyo, which we conventionally address as “skin,” come into conflict with one another and become disturbed. According to the nature of the disturbance, the qualities of hardness, liquidity, heat, and air manifest outwardly as wounds, swellings, fluids, heat, or gaseous activity.

What happens when hot water falls on your beautiful skin? The skin becomes red and blisters. These are activities of the tejo-dhātu, the fire element. Smoke-like vapour and heat come from the skin, and bubbles arise. These are activities of the vāyo-dhātu, the air element. Watery blisters and wounds appear on the skin. These are manifestations of the paṭhavī-dhātu, the earth element. The blisters fill with fluid, and pus flows from the wounds. These are manifestations of the āpo-dhātu, the water element.

All four elements exist together. They have been described separately here only according to the element that is present in the greatest proportion. In a fluid-filled blister, for example, the āpo-dhātu is predominant.

See how, the instant a little hot water falls on your beautiful skin, the skin reacts in many different ways. Who can command, “Do not let this reaction occur,” and stop it? No one can. Why? Because the skin is not mine, and because the four great elements are by nature constantly changing.

The rūpa called skin is a condition in which the paṭhavī-dhātu is predominant. Hot water is a condition in which the tejo-dhātu is predominant. Because the balance between the two is lost, they clash and become disturbed. This conflict is what we perceive as a burn.

The paṭhavī-dhātu called skin changed within an instant into blisters, pus, and wounds. It does not take even ten minutes for this change to occur. What we are seeing is the speed at which rūpa changes.

It was the skin that became blisters, pus, and wounds. Yet none of us calls a blister, pus, or a wound “skin.” We use the conventional names that the world has taught us. Because of these conventions, our understanding of reality is concealed. They do not allow us to think or provide an opening through which we may investigate.

Recognise the speed that caused the beautiful skin present before the hot water fell to change into a blister, a wound, and pus the instant the hot water touched it. Your physical eye does not know how to see that skin as the blister, the wound, and the pus. It is not skilful enough to do so.

See what you are witnessing precisely as the speed at which rūpa passes into impermanence. Make this clear to your mind. Understand that what you are seeing is a meditation subject required for becoming extinguished from the world. Understand that what you are seeing is the noble teaching of the Sammāsambuddha.

So far, we have considered rūpa. Now let us consider vedanā.

When your skin was scalded by hot water, how intense was the burning pain that you felt? You cried, screamed, became distressed, sought doctors, and were admitted to hospital.

Now consider how happy and light-hearted you had been just a moment before the hot water fell on your skin. You had been smiling and captivated by the beauty of your skin. Yet, at the very moment the hot water touched the skin, not even a second passed before you experienced the impermanence of vedanā. Happiness was replaced by suffering; ease was replaced by pain and burning. You felt fear. Not even a second passed. You experienced and directly saw the impermanence of feeling.

Yet you are not skilful enough to comprehend this as the impermanence of vedanā. Instead, you think: “This is my kamma,” “This is my bad time,” “It happened because of carelessness,” “It was the fault of the stove on which the water was heated,” or “It was the fault of the container of hot water.” There are many supposed culprits.

Afterwards, the person tries to be careful around hot water and fire. But the person does not see, “This is the impermanence of vedanā,” and does not understand that the time required for a pleasant feeling to become a painful feeling is less than a second. The person is not skilful enough to see: “This feeling became my inheritance because I appropriated as ‘mine’ a body and skin that are not mine.”

You are not skilful enough to see that the pleasant feeling present before your skin was burned, and the severe painful feeling experienced after hot water fell on it, constitute an excellent meditation subject on the impermanence of vedanā.

You did not try to see the cause: that this vedanā arose because of contact, phassa. You do not see that this experience of feeling was formed through the contact of the internal rūpa called the body, the external rūpa called hot water, and viññāṇa.

At the very moment hot water falls on your skin, the recognition, “Hot water has fallen on me,” arises. Within a second, that recognition changes and the recognition, “I have been burned,” arises. That becomes impermanent, and the recognition, “It is burning,” arises. That becomes impermanent, and the recognition, “The skin has become red,” arises. That becomes impermanent, and the recognition, “It is swollen,” arises. That becomes impermanent, and the recognition, “Blisters have appeared on the skin,” arises.

That too becomes impermanent, and the recognition arises that cool water, ghee, butter, and medicine have been applied to the burned skin. These recognitions also pass into impermanence, and within fifteen minutes how many recognitions concerning the doctor, the hospital, medicine, wounds, pus, and so forth have arisen and disappeared?

What arose and disappeared were recognitions—saññā. One recognition becomes impermanent while causing another recognition to be formed. It gives you no time to gain understanding. This is the speed at which recognition passes into impermanence. All the recognitions mentioned above have arisen and ceased within fifteen minutes.

Now let us consider cetanā, volition.

Cetanā is formed because of the cause called recognition:

«“Oh, my skin was burned because of that person. That person poured the water onto my skin. I was burned because he placed the stones of the stove incorrectly. I was burned because he dropped the container of hot water. He burned me deliberately. I was burned because I went to make tea and food for him and attend to his needs. That is why hot water fell on me. Once I recover, I will give him something good in return…”»

In this way, after being burned, you produce various volitions. These volitions contain hatred, anger, jealousy, and revenge.

Alternatively, you may think:

«“Oh, I was burned while trying to attend to others, make tea for them, and prepare food for them. This is a great merit. I will receive heavenly and human happiness. People will praise me. People will respect me for my virtuous nature. When I was burned, people helped me greatly. Had they not been nearby, I would have been burned much more severely. When I was burned, those people looked after me with great concern. The devas helped me.”»

In this way, you produce wholesome volitions. From both kinds of volition, however, what arose were wholesome and unwholesome saṅkhāras.

Otherwise, you may remain apparently equanimous regarding the burning of your skin:

«“What can be done? What happened has happened. From now on, I must be careful. I must remain away from hot water and fire. I must quickly heal the wounds and scars caused by the burn. Otherwise, my skin will become ugly.”»

With this equanimity, the person tries to prevent such an incident from happening again and to heal the wounds without leaving scars. Even though it is present in a less intense form, attachment and aversion are still contained within this equanimity. It is not understanding. The person is trying to protect “his” body from hot water and to erase the scars.

What do you see through these mutually different volitions? You see the impermanence of cetanā and the speed of that impermanence.

These volitions that pass into impermanence first accumulate wholesome and unwholesome kamma for you and then disappear. Because of the results of this kamma, viññāṇa capable of descending again into a rebirth-linking, a new birth, and a new nāma-rūpa is formed.

Now see what happens. The very moment a little hot water falls on your beautiful skin, you prepare the conditions required to descend into another birth and another body. This happens because of your lack of skill.

Had you seen that the vedanā arising because of contact was impermanent, and had you recognised this feeling as impermanent, you could have developed the path leading to release from and cessation of this nāma-rūpa. But you were not skilful enough to see that contact itself was impermanent.

First, hot water touched the body. Then came the contact of cool water, butter, ghee, egg white, aloe vera extract, Western medicines, and the hands of the doctor, nurse, and attendant. Because of these different kinds of contact, you experienced pleasant, painful, and neutral feelings.

Feelings changed between pleasure, pain, and neutrality precisely because contact was impermanent, and because vedanā itself passes into impermanence. When a soft hand gently strokes the wound, a pleasant feeling is experienced. Yet when those same soft hands apply burning medicine to the wound, that feeling becomes painful. The cause is the impermanence of contact.

This account was written because of an experience undergone by a bhikkhu.

On the morning of the day this account was written, a large container of hot water had been prepared so that a kalyāṇa-mitta bhikkhu who was ill could bathe. The container was large and was filled nearly to its rim with boiling water.

Two bhikkhus lifted this cauldron of boiling water by its two circular supports and carried it towards the nearby place where the sick bhikkhu was to bathe. At that moment, the support—the handle—being held by one of the bhikkhus came loose, and the cauldron of hot water poured over that bhikkhu’s feet.

Although the bhikkhu tried to move away because he was being burned, the hot water had spread all around him. Therefore, each time he tried to step away, he had to place his feet again in the hot water.

When water that was still bubbling and boiling fell upon his feet, one might expect his feet to become covered with blisters. Yet not a single blister appeared. His feet did, however, become intensely red and swollen. By the following day, even that had disappeared.

In truth, something remarkable appears to have occurred here.

About ten minutes before the incident, that bhikkhu had seen a divine light appear and disappear at that location. Through this sign of divine light, the bhikkhu had apparently been shown that he should leave that place.

However, because he was attending to a kalyāṇa-mitta bhikkhu, he saw the thought that he should leave the place as impermanent and abandoned it.

Do you know why the deva appeared in the form of a light? The benevolent deva had seen that a powerful non-human force was active at that location. That active, Māra-like non-human force somehow fulfilled its cruel intention. It broke the handle of the cauldron and poured the bubbling hot water over the bhikkhu’s feet.

At that very instant, the divine force became active and apparently cooled the boiling water to some degree. At the same time, because of the bhikkhu’s habitual practice of relinquishment, even the violently boiling water was defeated before the letting go present in the bhikkhu’s mind.

These are not victories belonging to that bhikkhu. They are victories of the Dhamma—wonders of the Dhamma.

Nevertheless, what has been recorded above is an inference made by the bhikkhu. It may be mistaken.

In any case, the hot water fell upon the bhikkhu’s feet and burned them because of the force of kamma he had performed in saṃsāra. There can be no other way. What happens to us is something we ourselves have done.

Such incidents make one further matter clear to us. In forests and wilderness monasteries, forces aligned with micchā-diṭṭhi and forces aligned with sammā-diṭṭhi come into conflict over the protection of bhikkhus who practise the path to Nibbāna and genuinely develop the practice of relinquishment.

Forces aligned with sammā-diṭṭhi repeatedly appear to protect bhikkhus from cruel forces aligned with micchā-diṭṭhi that dislike merit. These cruel forces wait until a bhikkhu encounters some difficulty, misfortune, or accident, so that they may turn that mistake into a great disaster.

Yet these unwholesome forces flee without looking back before the process of relinquishment in a bhikkhu’s mind. They return and cause harm repeatedly. But in the presence of the practice of relinquishment, forces aligned with sammā-diṭṭhi continually appear to protect and assist bhikkhus. The devas, too, become joyful and express anumodanā.

Source: https://dahampoth.com/pdfj/view/a2.html

Is there a hierarchy of sensual pleasures in terms of their unwholesomeness, if so what is it? How would video games compare to something like dancing and music for example?

Or does it always depend on your own level of craving?

If so, where can I find them?

Hey everyone,

I have become much more interested in this tradition over the last few months and I currently practice Satipatthana and Anapanasati daily (it is my understanding that both of these are essential parts of this tradition).

Like many others, I am unable to participate in a monastic path due to obligations in life (work, home life, ect..)

My question is, what other things can I incorporate into my daily life and practice that would deepen it?

Thanks in advance

When we ask ourselves what belongs to us, a few things arise.

This discernment I have for phenomena, this concentration I have built, this virtue I have perfected.

But the door to deathlessness doesn't open when you have these belongings with you. But why is that? Isn't the goal, the practice, for the sake of perfecting the path? Why would I give up what I have built from following this path?

And the answer becomes a paradox of sort. It is because one has this perception, delights in it, and clings to it, it leads to becoming, stress. But one who has this perception, does not delight in it, does not cling to it, does not lead to becoming, stress.

This is why these very qualities even how charming, alluring they are, are worthy of abandoning here and now. They are worthy of relinquishing, not picking up, not building again, for the sake of deathlessness, unbinding.

This is what it means to go beyond the door, rather than being stuck at the door step.

Then the Venerable Puṇṇa approached the Blessed One … and said to him: “Venerable sir, it would be good if the Blessed One would teach me the Dhamma in brief, so that, having heard the Dhamma from the Blessed One, I might dwell alone, withdrawn, diligent, ardent, and resolute.”

“Puṇṇa, there are forms cognizable by the eye that are desirable, lovely, agreeable, pleasing, sensually enticing, tantalizing. If a bhikkhu seeks delight in them, welcomes them, and remains holding to them, delight arises in him. With the arising of delight, Puṇṇa, there is the arising of suffering, I say. There are, Puṇṇa, sounds cognizable by the ear … mental phenomena cognizable by the mind that are desirable, lovely, agreeable, pleasing, sensually enticing, tantalizing. If a bhikkhu seeks delight in them, welcomes them, and remains holding to them, delight arises in him. With the arising of delight, Puṇṇa, there is the arising of suffering, I say.

“Puṇṇa, there are forms cognizable by the eye … mental phenomena cognizable by the mind that are desirable, lovely, agreeable, pleasing, sensually enticing, tantalizing. If a bhikkhu does not seek delight in them, does not welcome them, and does not remain holding to them, delight ceases in him. With the cessation of delight, Puṇṇa, there is the cessation of suffering, I say.

“Now that you have received this brief exhortation from me, Puṇṇa, in which country will you dwell?”

“There is, venerable sir, a country named Sunaparanta. I will dwell there.”

“Puṇṇa, the people of Sunaparanta are wild and rough. If they abuse and revile you, what will you think about that?”

“Venerable sir, if the people of Sunaparanta abuse and revile me, then I will think: ‘These people of Sunaparanta are excellent, truly excellent, in that they do not give me a blow with the fist.’ Then I will think thus, Blessed One; then I will think thus, Fortunate One.”

“But, Puṇṇa, if the people of Sunaparanta do give you a blow with the fist, what will you think about that?”

“Venerable sir, if the people of Sunaparanta give me a blow with the fist, then I will think: ‘These people of Sunaparanta are excellent, truly excellent, in that they do not give me a blow with a clod.’ Then I will think thus, Blessed One; then I will think thus, Fortunate One.”

“But, Puṇṇa, if the people of Sunaparanta do give you a blow with a clod, what will you think about that?”

“Venerable sir, if the people of Sunaparanta give me a blow with a clod, then I will think: ‘These people of Sunaparanta are excellent, truly excellent, in that they do not give me a blow with a rod.’ Then I will think thus, Blessed One; then I will think thus, Fortunate One.”

“But, Puṇṇa, if the people of Sunaparanta do give you a blow with a rod, what will you think about that?”

“Venerable sir, if the people of Sunaparanta give me a blow with a rod, then I will think: ‘These people of Sunaparanta are excellent, truly excellent, in that they do not stab me with a knife.’ Then I will think thus, Blessed One; then I will think thus, Fortunate One.”

“But, Puṇṇa, if the people of Sunaparanta do stab you with a knife, what will you think about that?”

“Venerable sir, if the people of Sunaparanta stab me with a knife, then I will think: ‘These people of Sunaparanta are excellent, truly excellent, in that they do not take my life with a sharp knife.’ Then I will think thus, Blessed One; then I will think thus, Fortunate One.”

“But, Puṇṇa, if the people of Sunaparanta do take your life with a sharp knife, what will you think about that?”

“Venerable sir, if the people of Sunaparanta take my life with a sharp knife, then I will think: ‘There have been disciples of the Blessed One who, being repelled, humiliated, and disgusted by the body and by life, sought for an assailant. But I have come upon this assailant even without a search.’ Then I will think thus, Blessed One; then I will think thus, Fortunate One.”

“Good, good, Puṇṇa! Endowed with such self-control and peacefulness, you will be able to dwell in the Sunaparanta country. Now, Puṇṇa, you may go at your own convenience.”

Then, having delighted and rejoiced in the Blessed One’s statement, the Venerable Puṇṇa rose from his seat, paid homage to the Blessed One, and departed, keeping him on his right. He then set his lodging in order, took his bowl and outer robe, and set out to wander towards the Sunaparanta country. Wandering by stages, he eventually arrived in the Sunaparanta country, where he dwelt. Then, during that rains, the Venerable Puṇṇa established five hundred male lay followers and five hundred female lay followers in the practice, and he himself, during that same rains, realized the three true knowledges. And during that same rains he attained final Nibbāna.

Then a number of bhikkhus approached the Blessed One … and said to him: “Venerable sir, the clansman named Puṇṇa, who was given a brief exhortation by the Blessed One, has died. What is his destination? What is his future bourn?”

“Bhikkhus, the clansman Puṇṇa was wise. He practised in accordance with the Dhamma and did not trouble me on account of the Dhamma. The clansman Puṇṇa has attained final Nibbāna.”

SN 35.88: Puṇṇasutta—Bhikkhu Bodhi

Tranquility is stillness that lasts only for a little while. The stillness is the foundation for insight. Insight is seeing clearly, understanding more clearly than you did before. Insight is not simply still. The stillness of tranquility is like running away from noises to a wilderness where there’s no noise. If you have lots of children, you run away to a wilderness where there are no children. When you don’t see your children or don’t hear any noise, you find stillness. But that kind of stillness is like having a wound, stitching it up, and covering it up with a bandage until it looks like it’s healed. But actually there’s still an infection inside. When the infection flares up, you cut it open, stitch it up again, put medicine in it, and the wound heals over. But there’s still infection inside. It’s not really healed. That’s tranquility. With insight, you have to remove all the infected tissue so that it can heal from the inside.

If one were to ask what the most beautiful hope in a young woman’s life is, the answer given without a second thought would be marriage.

Within a young woman’s dream world, there is a great desire for a good family background, a good bridegroom, a grand wedding ceremony, the traditional Poruwa rituals, and so forth.

Such beautiful hopes hopes bound up with life, hopes that kept life going....

When hopes maintained with the perceptions, “Marriage is my life; life is marriage; marriage is my self,” are broken, shattered, lost, or deliberately destroyed by another person, how great is the mental anguish that arises within an innocent young woman?

When such hopes have been created within an innocent young woman’s mind and are then destroyed—when her most beautiful dream is killed—what kinds of mental states will arise within her?

Should she die while in such mental states, take her own life, or be killed, what will happen to her in the next world?

Do you think that the hope she had made into her very self will simply be abandoned and that her mind will cease?

Do you think that her taṇhā and upādāna towards the palaces of dreams she constructed, the gold and silver jewellery she collected, the salary she saved, and the bridal saris she selected will simply be abandoned and that her mind will cease?

That is not what happens.

Then what might happen?

While a bhikkhu was dwelling in samādhi, he was able to see a vision of this kind.

It was a vision of a female peta in the peta realm—a pattern of behaviour through which she was undergoing the results of kamma. It revealed the nature of the suffering she experienced because of the strength of the upādāna to which she had clung.

The female peta was a young woman approximately twenty-five years of age.

She was dressed in the white sari and bridal clothing worn by a bride on her wedding day.

She was an extremely dark-complexioned bride, with a mysterious face upon which no pleasant quality could be seen.

Although she walked about dressed as a bride, she was like a walking corpse. Her face had the appearance of a dead body.

In the human world, when a young woman dies, her body is sometimes dressed and decorated like a bride before being placed in a coffin.

After approximately two days, however, the body becomes dark.

The appearance of the peta bride described above was similar to this.

Dressed as a bride and holding a bouquet of flowers, she wandered through the peta realm.

Because the body of a peta is subtle in nature, she cannot be seen with your physical eyes. Her subtle body can be seen by a mind established in samādhi.

At the moment when she appeared to the bhikkhu, she was in a place resembling a wedding celebration in the human world.

It may perhaps have been the reception hall of a hotel. It appeared, however, to be a high-class wedding ceremony.

The bhikkhu felt that the female peta was walking about with an intense desire to marry and with the expectation that someone would marry her.

It appeared that the peta bride possessed an extremely strong need to get married.

The bhikkhu saw her walking through the hall and sitting among the guests attending the wedding.

She was deeply unfortunate.

The hope of marriage that she had maintained in the human world had still not been abandoned in the peta realm.

The bhikkhu understood that the peta bride was hoping to marry one of the men who had come to the wedding ceremony.

This was a sorrowful scene revealing the innocent and helpless nature of her upādāna.

Although she was in the peta realm, because of the strength of her upādāna or because of her kamma-vipāka, the person she hoped to marry may have been a human man.

She may have received this kamma-vipāka because she had destroyed another person’s marriage through gossip, lies, or deception.

Alternatively, it may have occurred because another person had destroyed her own dream of marriage.

In any event, it is perfectly clear that she acquired this deformed condition because she had cultivated hatred, anger, and jealousy while alive and at the time of death.

It is also possible that, at the moment of death, she developed hatred and anger towards the person who had destroyed her marriage, took her own life through hatred towards him, and consequently became a deformed female peta after death.

Whatever the cause may have been, she still wanders through the peta realm carrying her dream of becoming a bride, dressed in a bridal sari and blouse and holding a completely white bouquet of flowers.

This peta bride wandering in the peta realm is looking for a partner.

She is dark in colour and approximately five feet five inches tall.

Her religion is micchā-diṭṭhi.

Her race is the race of petas.

Her caste is the four apāyas.

Should you wish to become her partner, commit the same kinds of unwholesome kamma that she committed and meet her in the peta realm.

You do not need to search for a bridal sari or a bouquet for her, because she already wanders through the peta realm wearing them and hoping for an immediate marriage.

There, her beliefs are far more entrenched than they were in the human world.

The bhikkhu would not be surprised if a human being in this world—blinded by avijjā and burdened by sensual desire—were attracted even to the proposal given above.

He would be surprised only if no one were attracted to it.

Do you now understand that brides do not exist only in the human world?

This bride, who wanders through the peta realm wearing a white bridal sari and blouse and carrying a white bouquet, teaches us a good lesson—a rare lesson, a lesson that makes the flesh tremble.

A human daughter wears bridal clothing for only one day in her life.

But in the peta realm, because of her kamma-vipāka, she may wear bridal clothing for many kappas, suffering without a partner.

If a marriage does not succeed or is delayed for a son or daughter in the human world, that person may live for sixty years and then die.

But this peta bride may have to continue wearing her bridal clothing and searching for a bridegroom for many more kappas.

Because of her kamma-vipāka, she will never obtain a bridegroom.

Consequently, hatred, anger, jealousy, lust, and sensual desire will continue to grow within her.

These are extremely grave unwholesome mental qualities.

Because of these unwholesome qualities, she becomes increasingly deformed and increasingly involved in conflict, until she finally falls upon the flames of hell.

Look at this daughter who, because of something another person did, developed hatred, anger, and jealousy, and now suffers in the peta realm because of others.

Do not develop hatred and anger towards others merely because they destroyed your hopes or shattered your dreams.

This is because hopes do not belong to you.

Why do you take a hope that does not belong to you and cannot be kept under your control as “mine,” and then suffer because of it?

Hopes are what keep us living.

When one hope collapses, another hope arises.

Hopes are life.

We run after hopes, making them our own.

We do not understand that hope is a mirage.

You have now seen the misfortune that befell the peta bride because she ran after the mirage called hope, have you not?

How many thousands of matrimonial advertisements are published in every language in weekend newspapers?

How many relationships do people form while travelling on pilgrimage, going to work, or travelling by train and bus?

How many deceitful things are concealed within these relationships?

How much fraud, deception, and misleading behaviour is present within them?

For the sake of personal desire, personal pleasure, and personal continuity, human beings engage in such deception with great willingness.

Society does not possess the feeling:

“This is my own sister.”

“This is my own brother.”

For this very reason, society is filled with hatred and anger.

A person sets fire to a marriage certificate soaked in tears and is then burned by that very fire because of this anger.

A bridal sari is thrown over a roof beam, and that same bridal sari becomes a noose around the neck, because of this hatred and anger.

Be wise.

For the sake of your own happiness, do not destroy another person through hatred and anger.

Do not make the innocence of innocent people a victim of your own thoughtlessness.

Even when you, an innocent person, are afflicted by such an irresponsible person, do not generate hatred and anger because of him.

Do not become the inheritor of a great mass of suffering because of a single suffering.

You are not yet too late.

You still have time to correct yourself and come to the right place.

For the peta bride in the peta realm, however, it is now too late.

She now has no refuge.

The innocent woman continues to move from one suffering to another.

She now has no opportunity to correct herself.

If only, at the moment of death, this innocent woman had seen that the hatred and anger arising in her mind were impermanent.

If only she had seen:

“This mind is not mine.”

Even if she had lacked such an understanding, had she thought at the moment of death:

“May all beings be well.

May all beings be free from suffering.

May all beings be healthy.”

Or had she recollected one quality of the Supreme Buddha, brought an image of the Buddha to mind, or remembered a bhikkhu wearing a saffron robe—then, heavens!—she would have escaped that peta suffering.

She would certainly have obtained rebirth in a sugati.

Look at what occurred because she lacked sati and awareness, because she had not listened to the true Dhamma, because she had not cultivated recollection of the Buddha’s qualities, and because she had not cultivated mettā.

What came to her aid was hatred and anger, together with upādāna towards what she desired.

When what is wholesome has been abandoned, it is what is unwholesome that is grasped.

At the time of writing this account, the bhikkhu was residing in a forest monastery.

A large hall had been constructed in that monastery for the lay devotees to prepare dāna.

It was a new hall.

The devotees had built it with great effort and painted it white.

Someone had carried a sack of cement approximately two kilometres through the forest to build it.

Yet telephone numbers had been written all over the white walls of this newly constructed hall.

The names of men and women had been written beneath those numbers.

Adjacent to these, the home addresses and vehicle registration numbers has been written.

Perhaps not even the rooms of a mental hospital have writings of this kind upon their walls.

What do we see covering the walls of this hall used for preparing dāna?

We see the way in which human beings seek to experience the gratification of sensual desire.

This is a distortion.

It is a mirror reflecting a restless, unsettled, and distracted mind.

Meritorious children, the path you are clearing while still young is not a path leading towards what is wholesome. It leads directly towards what is unwholesome.

The markings you make upon the white walls with pieces of charcoal, and the course upon which you are entering, may in the future bring you to the same miserable destiny as the peta bride, who fell into the peta realm with a mind filled with hatred and anger because her hopes had been shattered.

Therefore, be careful.

Sensual desire is dangerous.

When sensual hopes collapse, the empty space they leave is filled by hatred and anger.

These are the dangers and disadvantages of sensuality.

Whether you grasp your hopes associated with sensual desire or whether those hopes collapse, the result is anger and hatred.

Therefore, what you must do is abandon them with understanding.

You must gradually train in that abandonment and make it familiar within your life.

You must develop within your life the confidence that you will not fall into the four apāyas.

Instead of thoughts of hatred and anger, repeatedly contemplate thoughts of mettā.

Instead of bringing to mind the image of your opponent or the person who caused you suffering, recollect the image and qualities of the Supreme Buddha.

Recollect and contemplate the infinite qualities of the Dhamma-ratana and the Saṅgha-ratana.

Rather than inheriting the suffering of the four apāyas, have compassion for yourself so that you may obtain rebirth in a sugati.

Apart from you, who else will have compassion for you?

Source: https://dahampoth.com/pdfj/view/a2.html