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Of all our preconceptions about ourselves, the most basic is that there is a self. On this assumption we each give highest importance to the self, making it the center of our universe. We do this even though we can see without much difficulty that among all the countless worlds, this is only one; and among all the countless beings of our world, again this is only one. No matter how much we inflate the self, it still remains negligible when measured against the immensity of time and space. Our idea of the self is obviously mistaken. Nevertheless we dedicate our lives to seeking self- fulfillment, considering that to be the way to happiness. The thought of living in a different way seems unnatural or even threatening.

But anyone who has experienced the torture of self-consciousness knows what a great suffering it is. So long as we are preoccupied with our wants and fears, our identities, we are confined within the narrow prison of the self, cut off from the world, from life. Emerging from this self-obsession is truly a release from bondage, enabling us to step forth into the world, to be open to life, to others, to find real fulfillment. What is needed is not self-denial or self- repression, but liberation from our mistaken idea of self. And the way to this release is by realizing that what we call self is in fact ephemeral, a phenomenon in constant change.

Vipassana meditation is a way to gain this insight. So long as one has not personally experienced the transitory nature of body and mind, one is bound to remain trapped in egoism and therefore bound to suffer. But once the illusion of permanence is shattered, the illusion of “I” automatically disappears, and suffering fades away. For the Vipassana meditator, anicca, the realization of the ephemeral nature of the self and the world, is the key that opens the door to liberation.

The importance of understanding impermanence is a theme that runs like a common strand through all the teaching of the Buddha. He said,

Better a single day of life
seeing the reality of arising and passing away
than a hundred years of existence
remaining blind to it.1

He compared the awareness of impermanence to the farmer's plowshare, which cuts through all roots as he plows a field; to the topmost ridge of a roof, higher than all the beams that support it; to a mighty ruler holding sway over vassal princes; to the moon whose brightness dims the stars; to the rising sun dispelling all darkness from the sky.2 The last words that he spoke at the end of his life were, “All saṅkhāras—all created things—are subject to decay. Practise diligently to realize this truth.”3

The truth of anicca must not merely be accepted intellectually. It must not be accepted only out of emotion or devotion. Each of us must experience the reality of anicca within ourselves. The direct understanding of impermanence and, along with it, of the illusory nature of the ego and of suffering, constitutes true insight which leads to liberation. This is right understanding.

The meditator experiences this liberating wisdom as the culmination of the practice of sīla, samādhi, and paññā. Unless one undertakes the three trainings, unless one takes every step along the path, one cannot arrive at real insight and freedom from suffering. But even before beginning the practice one must have some wisdom, perhaps only an intellectual recognition of the truth of suffering. Without such understanding, no matter how superficial, the thought of working to free oneself from suffering would never arise in the mind. “Right understanding comes first,” the Buddha said.4

Thus the first steps of the Noble Eightfold Path are in fact right understanding and right thought. We must see the problem and decide to deal with it. Only then is it possible to undertake the actual practice of Dhamma. We begin to implement the path with training in morality, following the precepts to regulate our actions. With the training of concentration we begin to deal with the mind, developing samādhi by awareness of respiration. And by observing sensations throughout the body, we develop experiential wisdom which frees the mind of conditioning.

And now, when real understanding arises from one's own experience, again right understanding becomes the first step along the path. By realizing one's ever-changing nature through the practice of Vipassana, the meditator frees the mind of craving, aversion, and ignorance. With such a pure mind it is impossible to even think of harming others. Instead one's thoughts are filled only with good will and compassion toward all. In speech, action, and livelihood, one lives a blameless life, serene and peaceful. And with the tranquility resulting from the practice of morality, it becomes easier to develop concentration. And the stronger the concentration, the more penetrating one's wisdom will be. Thus the path is an ascending spiral leading to liberation. Each of the three trainings supports the others, like the three legs of a tripod. The legs must all be present and of equal length or the tripod cannot stand. Similarly, the meditator must practise sīla, samādhi, and paññā together to develop equally all facets of the path. The Buddha said,

From right understanding proceeds right thought;
from right thought proceeds right speech;
from right speech proceeds right action;
from right action proceeds right livelihood;
from right livelihood proceeds right effort;
from right effort proceeds right awareness;
from right awareness proceeds right concentration;
from right concentration proceeds right wisdom;
from right wisdom proceeds right liberation.5

Vipassana meditation also has profound practical value here and now. In daily life innumerable situations arise that threaten the equanimity of the mind. Unexpected difficulties occur; unexpectedly others oppose us. After all, simply learning Vipassana is not a guarantee that we shall have no further problems, any more than learning to pilot a ship means that one will have only smooth voyages. Storms are bound to come; problems are bound to arise. Trying to escape from them is futile and self-defeating. Instead, the proper course is to use whatever training one has to ride out the storm.

In order to do so, first we must understand the true nature of the problem. Ignorance leads us to blame the external event or person, to regard that as the source of the difficulty, and to direct all our energy toward changing the external situation. But practice of Vipassana will bring the realization that no one but ourselves is responsible for our happiness or unhappiness. The problem lies in the habit of blind reaction. Therefore we ought to give attention to the inner storm of conditioned reactions of the mind. Simply resolving not to react will not work. So long as conditioning remains in the unconscious, sooner or later it is bound to arise and overpower the mind, all resolutions to the contrary notwithstanding. The only real solution is to learn to observe and change ourselves.

This much is easy enough to understand, but to implement it is more difficult. The question remains, how is one to observe oneself? A negative reaction has started in the mind—anger, fear, or hatred. Before one can remember to observe it, one is overwhelmed by it and speaks or acts negatively in turn. Later, after the damage is done, one recognizes the mistake and repents, but the next time repeats the same behavior.

Or, suppose that—realizing a reaction of anger has started—one actually tries to observe it. As soon as he tries, the person or situation one is angry at comes to mind. Dwelling on this intensifies the anger. Thus to observe emotion dissociated from any cause or circumstance is far beyond the ability of most.

But by investigating the ultimate reality of mind and matter, the Buddha discovered that whenever a reaction arises in the mind, two types of changes occur at the physical level. One of them is readily apparent: the breath becomes slightly rough. The other is more subtle in nature: a biochemical reaction, a sensation, takes place in the body. With proper training a person of average intelligence can easily develop the ability to observe respiration and sensation. This allows us to use changes in the breath and the sensations as warnings, to alert us to a negative reaction long before it can gather dangerous strength. And if we then continue observing respiration and sensation, we easily emerge from the negativity.

Of course the habit of reaction is deeply ingrained and cannot be removed all at once. However, in daily life, as we perfect our practice of Vipassana meditation, we notice at least a few occasions when instead of reacting involuntarily, we simply observe ourselves. Gradually the moments of observation increase and the moments of reaction become infrequent. Even if we do react negatively, the period and intensity of the reaction diminish. Eventually, even in the most provocative situations, we are able to observe respiration and sensation and to remain balanced and calm.

With this balance, this equanimity at the deepest level of the mind, one becomes capable for the first time of real action—and real action is always positive and creative. Instead of automatically responding in kind to the negativity of others, for example, we can select the response that is most beneficial. When confronted by someone burning with anger, an ignorant person himself becomes angry, and the result is a quarrel that causes unhappiness for both. But if we remain calm and balanced, we can help that person to emerge from anger and to deal constructively with the problem.

Observing our sensations teaches us that whenever we are overwhelmed by negativity, we suffer. Therefore, whenever we see others reacting negatively, we understand that they are suffering. With this understanding we can feel compassion for them and can act to help them free themselves of misery, not make them more miserable. We remain peaceful and happy and help others to be peaceful and happy.

Developing awareness and equanimity does not make us impassive and inert like vegetables, allowing the world to do what it likes with us. Nor do we become indifferent to the suffering of others while remaining absorbed in the pursuit of inner peace. Dhamma teaches us to take responsibility for our own welfare as well as for the welfare of others. We perform whatever actions are needed to help others, but always keeping balance of mind. Seeing a child sinking in quicksand, a foolish person becomes upset, jumps in after the child, and himself is caught. A wise person, remaining calm and balanced, finds a branch with which he can reach the child and drag him to safety. Jumping after others into the quicksand of craving and aversion will not help anyone. We must bring others to the firm ground of mental balance.

Many times in life strong action is necessary. For example, we may have tried to explain in mild, polite language to someone that he is making a mistake, but the person ignores the advice, being unable to understand anything except firm words and actions. Therefore one takes whatever firm action is required. Before acting, however, we must examine ourselves to see whether the mind is balanced, and whether we have only love and compassion for the person who is misbehaving. If so, the action will be helpful; if not, it will not really help anyone. If we act from love and compassion we cannot go wrong.

When we see a strong person attacking a weaker one, we have a responsibility to try to stop this unwholesome action. Any reasonable person will try to do so, although probably out of pity for the victim and anger toward the aggressor. Vipassana meditators will have equal compassion for both, knowing that the victim must be protected from harm, and the aggressor from harming himself by his unwholesome actions.

Examining one's mind before taking any strong action is extremely important; it is not sufficient merely to justify the action in retrospect. If we ourselves are not experiencing peace and harmony within, we cannot foster peace and harmony in anyone else. As Vipassana meditators we learn to practise committed detachment, to be both compassionate and dispassionate. We work for the good of all by working to develop awareness and equanimity. If we do nothing else but refrain from adding to the sum total of tensions in the world, we have performed a wholesome deed. But in truth the act of equanimity is loud by its very silence, with far- reaching reverberations that are bound to have a positive influence on many.

After all, mental negativity—our own and others'—is the root cause of the sufferings of the world. When the mind has become pure, the infinite range of life opens before us, and we can enjoy and share with others real happiness.

Questions and Answers

QUESTION: May we tell others about the meditation?

S. N. GOENKA: Certainly. There is no secrecy in Dhamma. You may tell anyone about what you have done here. But guiding people to practise is something totally different, which should not be done at this stage. Wait until you are firmly established in the technique and trained to guide others. If someone whom you tell about Vipassana is interested in practising, it, advise that person to come to a course. At least the first experience of Vipassana must be in an organized ten-day course, under the guidance of a qualified teacher. After that one can practise on one's own.

I practise yoga. How can I integrate this with Vipassana?

Here at a course, yoga is not permitted because it will disturb others by drawing their attention. But after you return home, you may practise both Vipassana and yoga—that is, the physical exercises of yogic postures and breath control. Yoga is very beneficial for physical health. You may even combine it with Vipassana. For example, you assume a posture and then observe sensations throughout the body; this will give still greater benefit than the practice of yoga alone. But the yogic meditation techniques using mantra and visualization are totally opposed to Vipassana. Do not mix them with this technique.

How about the different yogic breathing exercises?

They are helpful as physical exercise, but do not mix these techniques with ānāpāna. In ānāpāna you must observe natural breath at it is, without controlling it. Practise breath control as a physical exercise, and practise ānāpāna for meditation.

Am I—is not this bubble—becoming attached to enlightenment?

If so, you are running in the opposite direction from it. You can never experience enlightenment so long as you have attachments. Simply understand what enlightenment is. Then keep on observing the reality of this moment, and let enlightenment come. If it does not come, don't be upset. You just do your job and leave the result to Dhamma. If you work in this way, you are not attached to enlightenment and it will certainly come.

Then I meditate just to do my work?

Yes. It is your responsibility to cleanse your own mind. Take it as a responsibility, but do it without attachment.

It's not to achieve anything?

No. Whatever comes will come by itself. Let it happen naturally.

What is your feeling about teaching Dhamma to children?

The best time for that is before birth. During pregnancy the mother should practise Vipassana, so that the child also receives it and is born a Dhamma child. But if you already have children, you can still share Dhamma with them. For example, as the conclusion of your practice of Vipassana you have learned the technique of mettā- bhāvanā, sharing your peace and harmony with others. If your children are very young, direct your mettā to them after every meditation and at their bedtime; in this way they also benefit from your practice of Dhamma. And when they are older, explain a little about Dhamma to them in a way that they can understand and accept. If they can understand a little more, then teach them to practise ānāpāna for a few minutes. Don't pressure the children in any way. Just let them sit with you, observe their breath for a few minutes, and then go and play. The meditation will be like play for them; they will enjoy doing it. And most important is that you must live a healthy Dhamma life yourself, you must set a good example for your children. In your home you must establish a peaceful and harmonious atmosphere which will help them grow into healthy and happy people. This is the best thing you can do for your children.

Thank you very much for the wonderful Dhamma.

Thank Dhamma! Dhamma is great. I am only a vehicle. And also thank yourself. You worked hard, so you grasped the technique. A teacher keeps talking, talking, but if you do not work, you don't get anything. Be happy, and work hard, work hard!


The Striking of the Clock

I feel very fortunate that I was born in Burma, the land of Dhamma, where this wonderful technique was preserved through the centuries in its original form. About one hundred years ago my grandfather came from India and settled there, and so I was born in that country. And I feel very fortunate that I was born into a family of businessmen, and that from my teens I started working to gain money. Amassing money was my chief purpose in life. I am fortunate that from an early age I succeeded in earning a lot of money. If I had not myself known the life of riches, I would not have had the personal experience of the hollowness of such an existence. And had I not experienced this, some thought might always have lingered in a corner of my mind that true happiness lies in wealth. When people become rich, they are given special status and high positions in society. They become officers of many different organizations. From my early twenties I began this madness of seeking social prestige. And naturally all these tensions in my life gave rise to a psychosomatic disease, severe migraine headaches. Every fortnight I suffered an attack of this disease, for which there was no cure. I feel very fortunate that I developed this disease.

Even the best doctors in Burma could not cure my sickness. The only treatment that they had to offer was an injection of morphine to relieve an attack. Every fortnight I required an injection of morphine, and then I faced its after-effects: nausea, vomiting, misery.

After a few years of this affliction the doctors began to warn me, “Now you are taking morphine to relieve the attacks of your disease, but if you continue, soon you will become addicted to morphine, and you will have to take it every day.” I was shocked at the prospect; life would be horrible. The doctors advised, “You often travel abroad on business; for once make a trip for the sake of your health. We have no cure for your disease, and neither, we know, have doctors in other countries. But perhaps they have some other pain-killer to relieve your attacks, which would free you from the danger of morphine dependence.”

Heeding their advice I travelled to Switzerland, Germany, England, America, and Japan. I was treated by the best doctors of these countries. And I am very fortunate that all of them failed. I returned home worse than when I had left.

After my return from this unsuccessful trip, a kind friend came and suggested to me, “Why not try one of these ten-day courses in Vipassana meditation? They are conducted by U Ba Khin, a very saintly man, a government officer, a family man like yourself. To me it seems that the basis of your disease is actually mental, and here is a technique that is said to free the mind of tensions. Perhaps by practising it you can cure yourself of the disease.” Having failed everywhere else I decided at least to go to meet this teacher of meditation. After all, I had nothing to lose.

I went to his meditation centre and talked with this extraordinary man. Deeply impressed by the calm and peaceful atmosphere of the place and by his own peaceful presence, I said, “Sir, I want to join one of your courses. Will you please accept me?”

“Certainly, this technique is for one and all. You are welcome to join a course.”

I continued, “For a number of years I have suffered from an incurable disease, severe migraine headaches. I hope that by this technique I may be cured of the disease.”

“No,” he suddenly said, “don't come to me. You may not join a course.” I could not understand how I had offended him; but then with compassion he explained, “The purpose of Dhamma is not to cure physical diseases. If that is what you seek, you had better go to a hospital. The purpose of Dhamma is to cure all the miseries of life. This disease of yours is really a very minor part of your suffering. It will pass away, but only as a by-product in the process of mental purification. If you make the by-product your primary goal, then you devalue Dhamma. Come not for physical cures, but to liberate the mind.”

He had convinced me. “Yes, sir,” I said, “now I understand. I shall come only for the purification of my mind. Whether or not my disease may be cured, I should like to experience the peace that I see here.” And giving him my promise, I returned home.

But still I postponed joining a course. Being born in a staunch, conservative Hindu family, from my childhood I had learned to recite the verse, “Better to die in your own religion, your own dharma*; never go to another religion.” I said to myself, “Look, this is another religion, Buddhism. And these people are atheists, they don’t believe in God or in the existence of a soul!” (As if simply believing in God or in the soul will solve all our problems!) “If I become an atheist, then what will happen to me? Oh no, I had better die in my own religion, I will never go near them.”

For months I hesitated in this way. But I am very fortunate that at last I decided to give this technique a try, to see what would happen. I joined the next course and passed through the ten days. I am very fortunate that I benefited greatly. Now I could understand one’s own dharma, one’s own path, and the dharma of others. The dharma of human beings is one’s own dharma. Only a human being has the ability to observe himself in order to come out of suffering. No lower creature has this faculty. Observing the reality within oneself is the dharma of human beings. If we do not make use of this ability, then we live the life of lower beings, we waste our lives, which is certainly dangerous.

I had always considered myself to be a very religious person. After all, I performed all the necessary religious duties, I followed the rules of morality, and I gave a lot to charity. And if I was not in fact a religious person, then why had I been made the head of so many religious organizations? Certainly, I thought, I must be very religious. But no matter how much charity or service I had given, no matter how careful I had been of my speech and actions, still when I started observing the dark chamber of the mind within, I found it to be full of snakes and scorpions and centipedes, because of which I had had to endure so much suffering. Now, as the impurities were gradually eradicated, I began to enjoy real peace. I realized how fortunate I was to receive this wonderful technique, the jewel of the Dhamma.

For fourteen years I was very fortunate to be able to practise this technique in Burma under the close guidance of my teacher.Of course I fulfilled all my worldly responsibilities as a family man, and at the same time, every morning and evening, I continued meditating, every weekend I went to the center of my teacher, and every year I undertook a retreat of ten days or longer.

In early 1969 I had to make a trip to India. My parents had gone there a few years earlier and my mother had developed a nervous disease which I knew could be cured by the practice of Vipassana. But there was no one in India who could teach her. The technique of Vipassana had long been lost in that country, the land of its origin. Even the name had been forgotten. I am grateful to the government of Burma for allowing me to go to India; in those days they did not commonly permit their citizens to travel abroad. I am grateful to the government of India for allowing me to come to their country. In July of 1969, the first course was held in Bombay, in which my parents and twelve others participated. I am fortunate that I was able to serve my parents. By teaching them Dhamma I was able to repay my deep debt of gratitude to them.

Having fulfilled my purpose in coming to India, I was ready to return home to Burma. But I found that those who had participated in the course started pressing me to give another, and another. They wanted courses for their fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, children, and friends. So then the second course was held, and the third, and the fourth, and in this way the teaching of Dhamma began to spread.

In 1971, while I was giving a course in Bodh Gaya, I received a cable from Rangoon announcing that my teacher had passed away. Of course the news was shocking, being completely unexpected, and certainly it was very saddening. But with the help of the Dhamma he had given me, my mind remained balanced.

Now I had to decide how to pay back my debt of gratitude to this saintly person, Sayagyi U Ba Khin. My parents had given me birth as a human being, but one still enclosed in the shell of ignorance. It was only with the help of this wonderful person that I was able to break the shell, to discover truth by observing the reality within. And not only that, but for fourteen years he had strengthened and nurtured me in Dhamma. How could I repay the debt of gratitude to my Dhamma father? The only way that I could see was to practise what he had taught, to live the life of Dhamma; this is the proper way to honor him. And with as much purity of mind, as much love and compassion as I could develop, I resolved to devote the rest of my life to serving others, since this is what he wished me to do.

He often used to refer to the traditional belief in Burma that twenty five centuries after the time of the Buddha, the Dhamma would return to the country of its origin, from there to spread around the world. It was his wish to help this prediction come to pass by going to India and teaching Vipassana meditation there. “Twenty five centuries are over,” he used to say, “the clock of Vipassana has struck!” Unfortunately, political conditions in his later years did not allow him to travel abroad. When I received permission to go to India in 1969, he was deeply pleased and told me, “Goenka, you are not going; I am going!”

At first I thought that this prediction was merely a sectarian belief. After all, why should something special happen after twenty five centuries if it could not happen sooner? But when I came to India I was amazed to find that, although I did not know even one hundred people in that vast country, thousands started coming to courses, from every background, from every religion, from every community. Not only Indians, but thousands started coming from many different countries.

It became clear that nothing happens without a cause. No one comes to a course accidentally. Some perhaps have performed a wholesome act in the past, as a result of which they now have the opportunity to receive the seed of Dhamma. Others have already received the seed, and now they have come to help it grow. Whether you have come to get the seed or to develop the seed that you already have, keep growing in Dhamma for your own good, for your own benefit, for your own liberation, and you will find how it starts helping others too. Dhamma is beneficial for one and all.

May suffering people everywhere find this path of peace.
May they all be released from their misery, their shackles, their bondage.
May they free their minds of all defilements, all impurities.

My all beings throughout the universe be happy.
May all beings be peaceful.
May all beings be liberated.

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