The monks glanced at each other, unsure. “Do we not breathe all the time, Tathagata?” one said. “Yes, are we not breathing right now?” another added.
“Not in the way I am talking about, bikkhus. You must not merely ‘breathe,’ you see, but be aware of your breathing.” I closed my eyes and demonstrated for them, taking long, deep breaths, then slowly breathing them out. “Breathing in, I think to myself, ‘I breathe in, I KNOW I am breathing in.’ Breathing OUT, I think to myself, ‘I breathe out, I KNOW I am breathing out.’” I changed the rhythm of my breathing. “Breathing in short, I think to myself, ‘I am breathing in short.’ Breathing out short, I think to myself, ‘I am breathing out short.’ My entire body is breathing in and I think to myself, ‘My entire body is breathing in.’ Loooong breath in … loooong breath out …” (SY 54:13)
“It just looks like he’s breathing,” I heard someone whisper.
I opened my eyes, looked directly at the monks. “You are not where the Buddha is at this point, bikkhus. Start where you are, enter the stream, try not to be a degenerate, and in time, and yes, it might be hundreds of billions of years, but in time, you may become an arahant like me and go blissfully extinct.” (ASV 16:43)
11
The following day, we reconvened.
“You have heard me say again and again that life is nothing but pain, bikkhus (ANG 7:70; AP; MV 1:6), but what exactly do I mean by that? I will explain. Starting at the beginning, you spend your first days trapped in your mother’s womb—it is fetid and filthy in there. Your excrement floats around you. You try to scream but instead accidentally swallow your own excrement. Consider the loneliness you feel in the womb, bikkhus, the bitter and horrible friendlessness. You are alone, trapped in this miserable sewer with no one to help you. This is how your life begins.” (ASV 14:32)
I let these words sink in for a moment, then nodded and continued. “Now you are born, bikkhus. Imagine the stark terror of it, crushed between two walls. ‘Noooooooo,’ you scream, crying out in agony as you enter this brutal world, hot tears streaming down your red, burning cheeks. You don’t want this. You don’t WANT to exist, but you have no choice. The lucky baby, bikkhus, is the one who is stillborn, or perhaps severely retarded and thus unable to understand how vile human existence really is.” (VK; TGG; DP 11:147–151)
I began to walk among the monks. “Now you grow older, bikkhus, you begin to walk and talk, to feed yourself. You begin to forget how horrible life was in the womb, how terrifying it was to be born, how humiliating it was to be a baby and constantly be defecating in your pants. ‘Maybe my life will be good,’ you begin to think to yourself. ‘Maybe everything will turn out alright.’ But you are wrong; your life will NOT turn out alright. Now you get sick. You cannot eat, you can barely breathe, perhaps you defecate in your pants again. ‘Won’t someone please help me?’ you think to yourself. But no one will help you and do you know why, because no one can help you. You begin to waste away, bikkhus, to deteriorate. ‘I had things I wanted to do,’ you whimper pathetically, ‘but now all I do is suffer.’”
“But perhaps you get better, eh, bikkhus? Perhaps you survive your illness, perhaps you thrive and make your way in the world! ‘Now I will be truly happy,’ you cry determinedly. But you are wrong once again, you will not be ‘happy,’ you will NEVER be happy, and do you know why not? Because no matter how your life goes, you will lose things. (DCP) An example: Let us say that you have a pet monkey whom you love. Let us say that your pet monkey is a charming little rascal, a delightful little scamp who gives you endless happiness. Excellent—but tell me, what do you think will happen when your charming little monkey friend dies, as he inevitably will? You will instantly wish he had never lived—that is what will happen. Another example: Let us say that you have a blanket you love. Do you think the blanket will protect you from suffering? Yes, Vappa?”
“I think it will, if it is cold, Tathagata.”
“Ah, but what if it is hot, Vappa?”
“Why would you put a blanket over yourself if it was hot, Tathagata?”
“I wouldn’t, Vappa, why would you?”
“I wouldn’t, it would be pointless.”
“Precisely and, you see, we are right back where we started! The presence of the blanket will not ease your suffering but the loss of the blanket will increase your suffering.”
“Are you saying that we should go without blankets then, Tathagata?”
“No, Vappa, without a blanket you will be cold, wishing you had your blanket.”
“So … what are you saying the correct path is then, Tathagata?”
“The correct path, Vappa, is to have your blanket but not to care about it.” (ASV 11:42; ATT 1:2)
As Vappa nodded vaguely, I continued. “But perhaps you will be the lucky one once again, eh, bikkhu? Perhaps you will not lose things, perhaps your karma will be that good, everything will go well for you, you won’t get sick at all, you will live a long, healthy and successful life, congratulations! But guess what, bikkhus? You will still inevitably get old. Before long your beautiful young body will become withered, bent and unspeakably ugly. ‘I cannot see anymore,’ you will cry. ‘I cannot walk, I cannot
