The Intelligent Heart
When you watch your heart and really examine it, you’ll find that all problems lie with the heart. This is why the Buddha gave so much importance to the heart. If there were no heart, there would be no problems. Nothing on its own has any issues. The heart is what gives meaning to this or that, grasps at this or grasps at that, likes this or likes that, doesn’t like this or doesn’t like that. It goes around stirring up all kinds of trouble.
Even your own body: If the heart weren’t involved with it, it would be inconstant in line with its own nature without knowing that it’s inconstant. We’re the ones who make an issue over it. When it’s born, it doesn’t know that it’s being born. When it ages, it doesn’t know that it’s aging. When it’s ill, it doesn’t know that it’s ill. When it dies, it doesn’t know that it’s dying. It’s not responsible; it doesn’t propose anything at all. We’re the ones who make contact with it and give rise to feelings. Then the mind keeps on liking some things and not liking others, and then likes something else and hates something else. Whatever’s opposed to what we like, we hate it, complain about it, get upset, and start squirming around—both over what we like and what we don’t like. But we end up with nothing. Even when we get what we like, we end up with nothing. Instead of escaping from hatred, we don’t escape at all. We can’t rid ourselves of the things we don’t like. This is the problem of the cycle, the problem of how we spin around—the problem that arises for every living being, no matter whether we’re human beings or common animals, no matter who we are in the world.
The Lord Buddha was the only one who was able to see all the way through this problem, which was why he was able to solve it and get past it. He didn’t lay blame on anyone else; he didn’t complain about anything. He boiled everything down clearly to the fact that the mind gets involved with things because it doesn’t know the truth in line with the way it really is. When it doesn’t know and yet gets involved, suffering is bound to result—and it’s something that really exists. The cause of suffering is something that really exists. It’s always there in the world, with every living being who’s born.
When the Buddha clearly saw suffering and the cause that gives rise to suffering, he looked for a way to solve the problem. He realized that it had to be solved at the cause: the mind that’s deluded. So he developed intelligence in the area of the heart and mind, to see if the things the heart and mind are infatuated with are really worth that infatuation. Exactly how wonderful are they really? This heart and mind that likes things: The Buddha saw right through it.
He saw that the liking comes solely from our side. The things we like don’t respond to us in any way. They’re not aware of us. The things that make contact with the body—cold, hot, soft, hard—act simply in line with their nature as it’s always been. Lights and colors have always been the way they are. Whether we like them or not, whether we get involved with them or not, they’re just the way they are.
When this is the way things are, we should train ourselves in line with the Buddha’s teachings. We should get our minds to follow the Buddha’s way. Whatever the Buddha said to do, we should follow his instructions. This is because the development of the mind is subtle work, work that requires mindfulness—the ability to keep things in mind—and right effort. It requires a mind that’s firmly intent. It requires discernment, the means by which we see things down through to their solid foundation: the truth. The Dhamma ends at the truth. Once you know the truth to be the truth, no problems can arise.
All the problems in the world, from that past into the present, come from the fact that the heart isn’t intelligent. It hasn’t gotten down to the nature of the truth. That’s why it falls for its fabrications that arise, stay for a moment, and then keep changing into something else. We run after fabrications, glad when they arise. And then when they disappear, we go looking for more—because we like them. We’re attached to them because we satisfy ourselves with them, thinking that they give us enough happiness—but then we’re always hungry, craving for more. We’ve never had enough. When will we be able to stop if we keep on running after our desires and gratifications? What real satisfaction have we gained from these objects when they keep falling away and ending?
What doesn’t fall away, what doesn’t end, is the truth—the truth of objects and of things that aren’t objects. The truth is always our guarantee.
If there weren’t true things as our guarantee, fake things wouldn’t have anywhere to arise. This is why true things and fake things come in pairs. They’re not far apart. The important thing is that your heart be intelligent, so that it can know thoroughly the fake things that give rise to the suffering that shakes up the heart, that we don’t want. These things are called fake because they deceive us, making us think that we’ve gained happiness, that we’ve gained something good, that we’ve found something we can depend on—but ultimately we can’t depend on these things in any way at all.
So we have to examine the things within ourselves, or that are near to ourselves—the aggregates of the body—to see that they don’t really satisfy our hopes, even though we’ve cared for the body and nourished it and always desired it. If even the tiniest thing gets stuck on it—the least little bit of dirt—we hurry to wash it off. And even then, it doesn’t stay clean. When it’s hungry the least little bit, we hurry to find something for it to eat. And even then, it keeps getting hungry. When it’s the least little bit tired, we’re afraid that we’re going to wear it out, afraid that it’s going to get sick with this or that disease. We keep solving its problems so that it’ll escape from these dangers—everybody all over the world does this—but the problems never come to an end.
This inability to come to an end—spinning around all the time—is called vaṭṭa: the cycle. The heart keeps spinning around because there’s something forcing it to. And that’s because it doesn’t know the truth. If we study and practice the Dhamma so that we come to know the truth, that’s when it can reach the point of enough. We’ll be able to stop. The heart will immediately have a sense of enough. It won’t have to search for anything more. It’ll let go of things, seeing them simply as the affairs of objects, affairs of external things—issues of contact, feeling, craving, clinging, becoming, birth, aging, illness, and death, in line with the laws of what’s normal in the world.
Which is why, in the Five Reflections, the Buddha has already told us in no uncertain terms that once the body’s born, it’s normal for it to age because it’s born. When pains and illness arise, they’re normal because the body is aging because it’s born. Things that are born and age have to grow ill. When the time comes for it to die, we have to see death as normal. Whether we die or anybody else dies, once any of us is born, that’s the way it has to be. That’s the way it’s always been. So why do we let ourselves get infatuated and deluded about it?
The Buddha has shown us how to know, how to become intelligent, so we should bring our mind up to an intelligent level. Don’t let the sufferings of the body overcome it. Don’t let it be happy or sad about the affairs of birth, aging, illness, and death. Get it to know the truth in this way. Once the mind knows the truth, it’ll have a sense of fullness, a sense of enough. It won’t have to be hungry. It won’t have to be shaken by these things. When they happen, we’ll be willing to let them happen. We won’t have to try to get in the way.
After all, these things aren’t the mind, so don’t let them overcome the mind. Don’t let the mind get deluded into being willing to change as these things change. Once the mind knows, it can know solidly. It can know its own normal nature. It can know in a way that isn’t involved with anything at all. If we train it enough, it’ll reach the point where its knowing is enough. The discernment that advises it to be intelligent will be enough. It’ll be sufficient in and of itself. It won’t have to get involved and darken itself with all this dust and dirt.
So we should all make a practice of watching the mind—and in particular, the fabrications of the mind as it moves around in search of things. Whatever it’s in search of, we follow its tracks. Eventually, the mind will become intelligent in the things that it finds within itself—because it knows, it remembers, it doesn’t fall for them. The reason it hasn’t been intelligent is because it deludes itself into thinking that it’s gained something new. But once we see that these things are old things coming back again, over and over again, we can discard them—because the mind is disenchanted.
Like the Buddha and his noble disciples: They see everything as old. Suffering is nothing new. Happiness is nothing new. The sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations that we like and dislike are nothing new. Liking is something we’ve already done before. Hating is something we’ve already done before. Greed is something we’ve already done before. Anger is something we’ve already done before. Delusion is something we’ve already done before. There’s nothing new about them. If we were to get deluded again, angry again, it’s just the same old thing. If we like or hate again, it’s just the same old thing. We just keep spinning around in sensory contacts.
When we see this clearly with a quiet mind, a mind that’s bright with right concentration, the heart will have to become disenchanted. It’ll have to feel a sense of enough. The more clearly it sees things, the stronger the sense of enough. No more hunger will arise within it. This is your evidence for the truth of the Dhamma taught by the Buddha and all his noble disciples.
For example, the Buddha exclaimed that he had had enough: enough of birth, enough of aging, enough of illness, enough of death, enough of liking and disliking. That’s because he had experienced these things countless times. There was nothing new about them. Time to stop playing along with them.
So try to meet with this spot, make it appear clearly right here. It’s called nirodha, cessation. Make it clear. It’ll be clear right here when you make contact with it—when the mind lets go, when it’s had enough, when it doesn’t have any more desire, because it’s full. It doesn’t want anything more because it doesn’t see any benefit to things: They no longer provide happiness, they serve no purpose, they just create needless disturbance.
Try to make this clear in the mind. That way, we’ll be able to sit at our ease, walk at our ease, lie down at our ease, stand at our ease, eat at our ease. Even though we still have to look after the aggregates, we’ve had enough in terms of the aggregates. We look after them until they fall apart in line with their normal nature. The mind itself will clearly be at normalcy. The body will have to age in this way. There’s no getting around it. It’ll have to be ill in this way. There’s no getting around it. It’ll have to die in this way—that’s its normal nature—so the mind lets it follow its normal nature, without being shaken by it.
This is what’s meant by “enough.” It lies right here. It’s not so deep or far away that we can’t see it or know it. It’s not that we have to behave like blind people, groping around for it. The Buddha’s teachings have told us clearly. We’ve heard them, we’ve understood them, enough to have some knowledge. We don’t have to grope around. Just really look, in line with what we’ve heard and we know. We’re sure to see for ourselves, clearly inside ourselves. We ourselves can be our own evidence.
