Introduction
"Feeling... is not an enemy of mental cultivation, but a master tool for training the mind."
Welcome to The Abandoned Forest Temple... a tranquil space where the timeless teachings of the Thai Forest Tradition masters are shared with the world in English and Spanish.
This statement is a precious perspective from Luang Pu Mun Bhuridatto, intended to guide practitioners of mental cultivation (Bhāvanā) out of dead ends. Many times, we begin with good intentions only to surrender to physical pain and restless thoughts, concluding that this path is perhaps not for us.
Luang Pu Mun pointed to a way that transforms obstacles into opportunities. He taught that all suffering does not arise from the pain itself, but from our identification with it, from becoming 'the one who is in pain.' This Dhamma discourse, therefore, does not merely teach endurance, but invites us to step back and become 'the knower,' observing the reality of body and mind, so that the purified Mind (Citta) may reveal itself.
This reading is an arrangement of Luang Pu Mun's teachings, structured to make the core of the Dhamma more accessible. Please find a quiet moment, let your mind be at ease, and allow these teachings to be your guide.
Chapter 1: Vedanā – The Gateway to Wisdom
The very first step on the path of becoming 'the knower' is to confront one of the most significant challenges that nearly every practitioner will inevitably face: that is, Feeling (Vedanā). In this context, it refers to physical sensations that cause suffering, especially the pain, numbness, or fatigue that intensifies the longer one remains in a single posture. This Feeling is like the first great wall that seems to block the practitioner from tranquility. It is the test that filters those with true determination from those who give up prematurely. Lacking correct understanding, the mind becomes overwhelmed by feelings of resistance, struggle, and instinctive aversion. A storm of distracting, irritated thoughts arises, leading to the simplest conclusion: "My body can't take it," or "I must not have enough merit to practice," and the resolve is ultimately abandoned.
Luang Pu Mun pointed out that such an attitude is a grave misunderstanding. These feelings are not adversaries to meditation practice; they are an invaluable tool for training the mind. If we learn to shift our perspective and apply them skillfully, the pain that was once a hindrance will transform into an exceptional instrument for honing penetrating wisdom (Paññā). He taught that when Feeling appears, do not be quick to surrender to the body. Do not let the mind follow the habitual stream of thought that commands us to move to escape the discomfort. Instead, gather your courage, establish mindfulness as firm as a mountain, and turn to face it directly.
This is the point where true mental cultivation fully begins. Instead of fabricating thoughts like "I am in pain" or "I hurt so much," which merge "our self" with the pain, one should practice viewing it with skillful wisdom: "There is only the state of pain arising." Practice separating the state of the body (Rūpa) from the state of the mind (Nāma) with absolute decisiveness. Let the mind function merely as 'the knower' or 'the observer'—calm, still, and impartial—watching the characteristics of the Feeling as it arises, persists, and eventually displays its impermanence by fluctuating and ceasing according to the law of the Three Characteristics of Existence (Tilakkhaṇa).
While observing, use wisdom to investigate this body deeply. See that this body, which we mistakenly cling to as our "true self," is devoid of any real substance. Inside this form, wrapped in a layer of skin, is in truth a collection of that which is unattractive (Asubha), a repository of organs destined to decay over time. Try contemplating the components of this body, breaking them down into the four basic elements (Dhātu):
Earth Element: The solid and dense parts, such as hair, nails, teeth, skin, bones, sinews, and the various internal organs we hold to be ours.
Water Element: The liquid and cohesive parts that bind the earth element together, such as blood, lymph, pus, saliva, sweat, and urine.
Wind Element: The gaseous and mobile parts that sustain the body, such as the in-and-out breath, the winds moving through the abdomen, and the wind that supports the body's movements.
Fire Element: The parts that provide warmth and energy, preventing the body from immediately putrefying, such as the body's heat and the energy used for digestion.
By contemplating in this way again and again, the mind will gradually loosen its grip on the idea that "this is our body," moving toward the understanding that "this is merely a temporary meeting of the four elements." This practice is like rehearsing death every day. The mind becomes familiar with the reality of life. When the final moment truly arrives, a well-trained mind will not panic or be terrified but will be able to unify and let go of this conditioned body (Saṅkhāra) peacefully, because it has clearly seen that this body is merely something borrowed for temporary use, and not a single part of it can be taken with us to the next life. For when the time of death truly draws near, the mind knows full well that it cannot take this body along. At that point, there's no need to sit and contemplate anymore... Why bother contemplating, when reality is staring you right in the face?
Chapter 2: The Fivefold Meditation Subject – The First Key to Uprooting Delusion
Once wisdom has begun to see that this body is not truly ours, the next question is: what tool can we use to dig up and eradicate this attachment at its root?
In the approach to teaching meditation subjects, a thought-provoking question arises: Why did the great masters, beginning with the Buddha, always choose to teach the Fivefold Meditation Subject (Pañcakakammaṭṭhāna) first?
The answer reveals His profound wisdom. Upon contemplation, He saw that all beings, whether human or animal, are slaves to the sensual delight for forms seen through the eye. This infatuation does not arise from the form itself but from the mind's act of embellishing and assigning meaning to what it sees, with these five components serving as a primary source of this attachment... especially the 'skin,' which is the first point of contact for our sight.
When the eye sees another person's body, the mind assigns value to the complexion of the skin—be it white, yellow, or rosy. The mind then elaborates, thinking "beautiful" or "lovely," and from there, affection and pleasure arise. We are not just deluded by what the eye sees, but also by scents (Gandha) experienced through contact, by the softness of physical touch (Ojā), and by the shape and proportions of the form (Santhāna). This is the entire mechanism of delusion that the mind has been conditioned to follow for countless lifetimes.
Contemplating the reality of the body in this way is for the very purpose of resolving this lustful nature (Rāga-carita). And it must be understood that other defilements also emerge from this same lustful nature. It can be observed that a person who has a great deal of love and affection also has a great deal of anger... because things do not go according to our desires. We want others to please us, to meet our needs. But when things don't go according to our wants... anger arises from this very love.
In reality, it is just a physical condition, but we become infatuated with it because we do not see things as they truly are. If we were to use a simile, it would be like taking a beautifully patterned cloth to wrap a corpse. Once wrapped, it looks beautiful from the outside, but inside, it is a corpse—something foul and impure.
Luang Pu Mun thus pointed out the strategy for breaking this cycle of delusion: we must attack the most crucial source, which is the "skin." He offered a skillful means: try to imagine what we would see if this body were devoid of the skin that envelops it. It would be layers of fat, fascia, red muscle, and a web of blood vessels. Without the skin, could the thought "beautiful" or "pleasing" still arise? The answer is "no." Sensual delight in the physical form could not possibly stand.
To illustrate the power of this practice, there is the story of an elder monk who had mastered the contemplation of the body, especially the contemplation of bones (Aṭṭhikammaṭṭhāna), until the image became fixed in his mind. One day, while he was walking, a young woman who had just had a severe argument with her husband stormed out of her house in anger and crossed his path. When she saw the elder looking at her and smiling, her anger intensified. But what she did not know was that, at that moment, the image appearing in the elder's eye of wisdom was not that of a beautiful or angry woman, but of a moving skeleton! He smiled not out of mockery, but with the smile of one who sees through the outer shell to the truth of phenomena. His mind was completely free from the fabrications of external appearance.
This story demonstrates concretely how dedicated practice can completely transform our perception. It changes us from being slaves to what the eye sees to becoming the one who knows, the one who is awake, the one who is liberated, seeing things as they truly are. This meditation subject is therefore the essential foundation of the Contemplation of the body (Kāyānupassanā-satipaṭṭhāna): the continuous application of mindfulness to the body. When we develop this meditation subject frequently, in any posture, the mind will gradually develop a sense of disenchantment (Nibbidā) and dispassion (Virāga) for the conditioned body, automatically on its own. For when wisdom has seen that this body is not a being, a person, a self, 'us,' or 'them,' then how much further will we wander in delusion? How much further will we let this lust flare up?
Chapter 3: The Simile of Consecrating a Boundary – A Blueprint for the Work of Mind and Wisdom
This entire process, leading to disenchantment and detachment, is itself a blueprint for the coordinated work of mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom. To explain this complex overview in a tangible way, Luang Pu Mun gave a profound simile: he compared the process of meditative practice to the ceremony known as the consecration of a boundary (Baddhasīmā).
This is a vital ceremony in the monastic discipline for establishing the boundaries of a consecrated assembly hall used for formal acts of the Sangha. The simile illustrates the stages of the work of mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom in a concrete way.
Marking the Signs (Defining the Scope): Before the boundary can be consecrated, one must first establish the 'signs' (Nimitta) or boundary markers in all eight directions. In practice, our 'signs' are the six sense-doors (Dvāra) eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind and the sense-objects that impinge upon them. The practice at this stage is to use mindfulness to be aware of everything that occurs at these six gates of perception, not allowing defilements (Kilesa) to slip in and overwhelm the mind. It is like placing vigilant guards at the city gates.
On one occasion, the Buddha pointed to these very sense-doors—the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind—and compared it to this very act of marking the signs. This is because these things are hot, a source of the fires of greed, hatred, and delusion. When this fire of defilement blazes, it burns and gives rise to all forms of suffering that follow: birth, aging, death, sorrow, lamentation, physical pain, mental pain, and despair. This entire stream of suffering flows back to the one great cause... this very mind of the deluded one.
The Chanted Proclamation (The Framework of Wisdom): In the ceremony, four monks chant the proclamation to formally establish the boundary in the four cardinal directions. These four monks are comparable to the Four Noble Truths (Ariyasacca), which serve as the framework of wisdom a practitioner must use to investigate all phenomena that arise. They are: Suffering (Dukkha), the Origin of suffering (Samudaya), the Cessation of suffering (Nirodha), and the Path (Magga).
The Revocation Chant (Letting Go): If the area was previously a consecrated boundary, a revocation chant must be performed before a new one can be established. This step is comparable to using wisdom to uproot clinging (Upādāna) to old mental states or the false perceptions of memory and recognition to which the mind was previously bound.
Cutting the Foundation Stone (Severing from Defilements): The final step, which marks the success of the ceremony, is the cutting of the rope tied to the stone marker, allowing it to drop into the ground. This is the most crucial moment. In practice, it is comparable to the moment when the knowledge and vision (Ñāṇadassana)—the sharp wisdom arising from steadfast concentration—severs the stream of the mind that have long lain dormant in the mind's conditioning. Once the defilements are cut off, the mind attains the state of Path, Fruition, and Nibbāna—a state of complete and utter peace.
Chapter 4: Concentration and Wisdom
On the path of practice, Luang Pu Mun made a straightforward observation: If you cannot train your mind to attain concentration, then know for certain that your path has been incorrect, and it is your own duty to find a way to correct it. One of the primary reasons for this is that many practitioners get stuck in the mistaken understanding that the goal of meditation is solely to make the mind calm and still in Concentration (Samatha). Luang Pu Mun emphatically stressed that concentration without wisdom (Vipassanā) is merely an incomplete concentration. For although concentration brings about tranquility, only wisdom can truly sever the defilements. These two components must therefore support one another; neither can be lacking.
To understand the term "wisdom" in Buddhism deeply, we can divide its development into three levels:
Wisdom gained from listening (Sutamaya-paññā): This is the wisdom that comes from hearing, listening, or studying the teachings of masters or scriptures. It is like being given a map. We know where the destination is and what routes are available, but we have not yet begun the journey. Knowledge at this level is still just a memory and cannot be used to truly resolve the suffering in the heart.
Wisdom gained from reflection (Cintāmaya-paññā): This is the wisdom that comes from thinking about and contemplating what has been learned, using reason to analyze and synthesize until an intellectual understanding arises. It is like spreading the map out to study it, planning the route, and understanding the various symbols. This level of wisdom helps us see the way forward and resolve doubts, but it is still just a thought and cannot cut through defilements.
Wisdom gained from mental cultivation (Bhāvanāmaya-paññā): This is the wisdom that arises from direct meditative practice. It is a clear knowing that emerges from within a calm and stable mind, not from thinking but from "seeing" phenomena as they truly are. It is like setting out on the journey oneself, following the path on the map until one finally reaches the destination. This is the wisdom that can truly cut through defilements.
The practice of mental cultivation is the process of elevating wisdom from the levels of listening and reflection to the level of direct experience. Luang Pu Mun concisely summarized the difference in perception that arises from these two levels of wisdom, saying: "An ordinary person sees with the physical eye (Maṃsacakkhu), but a noble one sees with the eye of Dhamma (Dhammacakkhu) or the eye of wisdom (Paññācakkhu)."
This sentence points out that the problem does not lie with what we are looking at, but with the "eye" we use to see. The physical eye sees only the outer shell, thus endlessly creating love and hate. But the eye of wisdom, opened through mental cultivation, sees through to the truth within—impermanence, suffering, and not-self—which ultimately leads to disenchantment and dispassion.
However, in this very process of cultivating the mind, if mindfulness weakens during the insight (Vipassanā) stage, the mind will revert to tranquility (Samatha), and it is at this point that the corruptions of insight (Vipassanūpakkilesa) can insert themselves. If the practitioner does not clearly recognize that the insight practice has reverted to tranquility and then loses mindfulness at that moment, the mind will send out a current to grasp a mental object and remain there, indulging in that state. This becomes an obstacle to progress. But if mindfulness is complete, and one develops the four paths and four fruits to a greater degree, one can then attain Nibbāna.
Chapter 5: Following in the Footsteps of the Buddha – An Exemplar of Noble Effort
To serve as a lamp to illuminate the heart and as a great source of encouragement for practitioners, Luang Pu Mun would often recount the story of the efforts of the Lord Buddha on the night of His enlightenment.
After having sought the path to liberation through various means and finding them to be incorrect, He finally discovered the Middle Path (Majjhimāpaṭipadā). He then sat in the cross-legged posture under the shade of the Bodhi tree to begin His final practice with the method of Mindfulness of breathing (Ānāpānasati).
What made His effort on that occasion different from all others was that He made a resolution based on truth (Saccādhiṭṭhāna), as firm and unshakeable as a diamond: "As long as our mind is not yet liberated from the cankers of defilement, we shall not rise from this seat, even if the blood and flesh in our body should dry up completely, leaving only skin, sinews, and bones. We will sit here and maintain this effort until the goal is achieved."
Having made this resolution, He began to focus on His in-and-out breath. As He cultivated this practice, over time, painful feelings inevitably arose. There was a sharp, piercing pain throughout His body, as if being burned by fire, a scorching heat that spread everywhere. This is what is known as the Mara of the aggregates (Khandhamāra), which comes to obstruct and interfere, preventing the practice from proceeding. But with the power of His truth-resolution, combined with the perfection of patience (Khantīpāramī) and the courage in His heart, He did not waver. Instead, He diligently contemplated that very feeling until He passed beyond it.
For when the mind is calm, painful feelings must naturally cease. While the painful feelings were arising fiercely, it was because the mind was still agitated. When He was able to quell the agitation in His mind, tranquility arose in its place, and the mind then sank deep into meditative absorption (Jhānasamādhi).
Once the mind was firmly established in Jhāna, the first knowledge (ñāṇa) arose, the Knowledge of recalling former existences (Pubbenivāsānussatiñāṇa), allowing Him to recollect His past lives. He then investigated further, and the Knowledge of the passing away and reappearance of beings (Cutūpapātañāṇa) arose, allowing Him to perceive the death and rebirth of all beings. Seeing that all beings, both human and divine, were endlessly cycling through various states of existence, He then contemplated the cause of this cycle and turned His investigation inward, to His own mind.
Looking into the mind, He saw that all defilements must reside there. He thus investigated and focused until He penetrated to the knowing-element, thereby cleansing the cankers. When the mind reached the knowing-element and a special, radiant knowing emerged, ignorance (avijjā), the root cause of all defilements, was completely eradicated. The knowledge of the ending of the cankers, or Āsavakkhayañāṇa, thus arose. His mind returned to its state as the pure, unadulterated knowing-element, and He attained the supreme purity known as Enlightenment.
Chapter 6: Uprooting Defilements and Attaining the Pure Dhamma
In the conclusion of his teaching, Luang Pu Mun pointed to the final goal and the most direct method of practice. The defilements we must battle, though they may seem to number in the hundreds or thousands—be it greed, anger, delusion, or envy—will be found, upon investigation with wisdom, to all sprout from the same root: sensual desire (Kāmacchanda). This desire refers to the pleasure and affection for the five sensual pleasures, originating from ignorance (Avijjā), the lack of true knowledge about this body and mind.
He further provided a simpler simile: defilements are akin to 'garlic.' When we plant a single clove, it grows in the soil into a large bulb composed of numerous smaller cloves. Likewise, defilements operate in the same way. They arise from a single root—"pleasure and delight"—established in a single mind. But as they grow, they branch out into anger, greed, delusion, envy, and countless other forms. Though they have different names and manifest in different ways, they all come from the same root and reside in this very same mind.
Therefore, the intelligent way to practice is not to run around trimming branches or picking off garlic cloves one by one, but to pull the whole head of garlic out of the ground. That method is to return to the most fundamental and crucial practice: the contemplation of this very body, especially the consistent development of meditation on unattractiveness and meditation on the elements (Dhātukammaṭṭhāna). This is practiced until the mind gives rise to disenchantment, releases attachment, and decisively uproots the belief that this body is 'me' or 'mine' (Sakkāyadiṭṭhi).
This is the act of turning inward, of constantly investigating and reviewing our own mind. We must search, we must contemplate the things to which it is stuck, in which it is lost, in which it is intoxicated. When we know we are intoxicated with the physical form, we return to contemplate this form to see and know it according to reality. When we investigate and search in this way, delusion and intoxication will naturally diminish on their own.
When the attachment to the body—the most crucial foundation of sensual desire—is destroyed, the root of all defilements is severed. The mind, which was once obscured by the clouds of defilement, returns to its original state: bright, pure, and free. This state is called the purified mind (Visuddhicitta), or the pure knowing-element. It is a mind devoid of fabrications, without clinging, without birth, and without death. It is the state of Nibbāna, the highest goal of practice in Buddhism.
The word 'bhāvanā' (mental cultivation) means to use wisdom to control our mind, just like cotton wool, which is light and needs something to cover and protect it. When the wind blows, it doesn't get carried away. Our mind is the same; it must be controlled through mental cultivation, constantly investigating until one knows down to the 'knower' that is the pure knowing-element. When that happens, the ignorance in the mind will be completely eradicated, leaving only pure knowing.
When we investigate and contemplate in the initial stages, it is for the purpose of calming our mind and giving rise to concentration. But once our mind is calm and has grown refined, various phenomena will appear clearly and be seen as they truly are. This is the clear seeing and knowing that we must continue to develop through insight (Vipassanā) until the very end. When disenchantment and profound weariness arise, we must diligently use such skillful means of wisdom to investigate and contemplate again and again.
This Nibbāna is the result of purifying the mind, but it also relies on the good deeds or wholesome dispositions (Kusalavāsanā) that have been accumulated to support and sustain the practice until it reaches the path and its fruition. Mental cultivation is therefore the process of preparing our diligence and training ourselves to turn toward the path of the noble ones.
And finally, for those of us on this journey... the teachings of Luang Pu Mun are like a shared map, guiding our minds to gradually release attachment and approach the truth, one step at a time.
Returning to observe the body, training the mind, and using wisdom—this is the same path that the great masters have walked before us. And even though we may only be at the beginning, as long as we don't give up on the small difficulties along the way, one day we will surely see the results of our perseverance, just like stalks of rice that slowly grow.
May these teachings be an encouragement for all of us to diligently reflect, and to always abide in the truth of our own body and mind.