WHAT IS MOHA? WHY DOES “DELUSION” NOT SIMPLY MEAN A LACK OF KNOWLEDGE?

When people hear the Buddhist term “delusion,” they may immediately think of ignorance in the ordinary sense: being uneducated, uninformed, or lacking knowledge.

This can easily lead to the assumption:

The less educated a person is, the more deluded they must be. The more intelligent, educated, or well-read in Buddhist teachings a person is, the less delusion they must have.

But if we understand moha in this way, we may miss the most important point.

Moha is not simply a lack of information.

You may not know the capital of a certain country. You may not understand a mathematical formula. You may not know how to repair an engine or speak another language.

That is a lack of knowledge.

You can study, look things up, or ask someone who knows, and that gap in knowledge can be filled.

But moha operates at a different level.

Moha refers to delusion, mental obscurity, a lack of clear seeing — not seeing reality clearly. In the Dhamma, it is grouped together with lobha — greed — and dosa — aversion or hatred — as the three unwholesome roots (akusalamūla).

The important words here are:

“Not seeing clearly.”

A person may know a great deal and yet fail to see clearly what is happening within their own mind.

KNOWING A LOT DOES NOT MEAN BEING FREE FROM MOHA

Consider a very ordinary example.

A person may understand perfectly well that:

“This anger will pass.”

They may be able to speak about impermanence.

They may even explain why we should not cling to praise or blame.

But the moment someone insults them in front of others, the mind immediately becomes heated:

“How dare they speak to me like that?”

An unpleasant feeling arises.

The mind resists.

A story begins to form:

“I have been insulted.”

Then comes the urge to strike back, to prove oneself right, to make the other person lose.

At that moment, the problem is not that this person lacks Buddhist vocabulary.

They may know a great deal.

The problem is that what is happening has not been clearly seen as it is happening.

This is the crucial distinction:

Having knowledge about a truth is not the same as seeing that truth directly in one’s own experience.

MOHA IS NOT A LABEL FOR JUDGING OTHER PEOPLE

Understanding “delusion” as simply “stupidity” creates another danger.

We may begin using the Dhamma to classify and judge people:

“That person is deluded.”

“That person is stupid.”

“That person does not understand the Dhamma.”

But the practical value of understanding moha is not that we gain another Pāḷi word with which to judge others.

Its value lies in turning our attention back toward our own experience and asking:

What is this mind failing to see right now?

When we are praised, do we see a pleasant feeling arising and passing, or do we immediately want to hold on to it?

When we are criticized, do we see the unpleasant feeling and the mind’s resistance, or does the experience immediately become a story:

“They are looking down on me”?

When someone challenges one of our views, are we still looking for what is true?

Or are we simply searching for more arguments to defend what has already become:

“My view”?

This is where moha becomes a living issue rather than merely a definition in a book.

A VERY INTELLIGENT PERSON CAN STILL BE INFLUENCED BY MOHA

Intelligence may help a person analyze things more quickly.

A strong memory may help them remember more.

Education may give them an enormous store of knowledge.

But none of these abilities, by themselves, guarantees that when greed arises, they recognize greed.

When aversion arises, they recognize aversion.

When the mind is clinging to a view, they recognize that clinging.

Intelligence can even be used to construct very sophisticated justifications for something the mind already wants to believe.

The mind wants something first.

Then reasoning comes afterward to prove:

“I am right.”

Having many arguments does not necessarily mean seeing clearly.

This is also why studying the Dhamma should not stop at accumulating terminology.

You may know that lobha means greed or attachment.

You may know that dosa means aversion or hatred.

You may know that moha means delusion.

But the decisive question remains:

When these qualities arise in experience, do you recognize them?

FROM “I KNOW” TO “WHAT AM I ACTUALLY SEEING?”

There is a small but important shift we can make in the way we study the Dhamma.

Instead of asking only:

“Do I know this teaching?”

Add another question:

“Can I see this process within my own experience?”

For example, when desire arises, do not merely remember:

“This is lobha.”

Look.

Is there a pleasant feeling that the mind wants to prolong?

Is there an object the mind wants to grasp?

Is there a thought saying:

“If I can get this, then I will be okay”?

When aversion arises, do not merely remember that dosa is unwholesome.

Look at what the mind is trying to push away.

A word?

A person?

An unpleasant feeling?

Or simply the fact that reality is not unfolding according to one’s wishes?

And when looking at moha, the question may be even more fundamental:

What is the mind failing to see that allows it to be carried away like this?

This is where the Dhamma begins to move from knowledge into a mirror through which we examine our own experience.

DO NOT MEASURE MOHA BY EDUCATION OR ACADEMIC DEGREES

A person with little worldly knowledge does not automatically have more moha.

A highly educated person does not automatically have less.

The concern of the Dhamma is not how much information someone can store in their mind.

The question is:

Is the mind seeing clearly what is arising and passing away?

Can greed be recognized while greed is operating?

Can aversion be recognized while aversion is operating?

Can clinging be recognized when the mind turns a feeling, a view, a role, or an identity into “I” and “mine”?

And more importantly:

When the process is clearly seen, does the mind continue feeding it in the same way?

This is the practical direction that understanding moha can open for us.

Not another difficult word to memorize.

Not another label for calling someone else “ignorant” or “deluded.”

But a way of recognizing those moments when our own mind does not see clearly, and from that lack of seeing, beginning to learn how to see more clearly.

ONE QUESTION FOR SELF-OBSERVATION

The next time greed, aversion, or a strong reaction arises, instead of immediately asking:

“Who is right? Who is wrong?”

Try asking first:

“What is the mind failing to see right now?”

Do not rush to answer with a theory.

Look at the process that is actually taking place.

What kind of feeling (vedanā) is present?

What is the mind trying to hold on to?

What is it trying to push away?

What is it defending as “I” or “mine”?

And if the reaction is no longer continually fed by stories, memories, and identification, what happens to it?

Sometimes, beginning to look in this way reveals something very important:

Moha is not merely about something we do not know.

Moha concerns what is not being clearly seen within this very experience.

And therefore, the way beyond delusion cannot consist only in knowing more.

It must lead toward seeing more clearly.

What Is Dosa? Aversion Is More Than Just Getting Angry

 Many people think they have “very little anger.”

The reason is simple: they only call it anger when they actually lose their temper.

It has to involve shouting before they call it anger.
It has to involve an argument.
They have to hate someone.
They have to want to retaliate.

If we understand anger this way, we only recognize it once it has become very coarse.

In everyday life, dosa can begin much earlier: a slight irritation, an attitude of resistance, dissatisfaction, or the wish for something we dislike to stop, disappear, or be different.

Recognizing this matters. If we can only identify aversion after the fire has already flared up, we will miss many moments when it has only just begun to catch.

What Is Dosa?

In the teaching on the three unwholesome roots, dosa appears alongside lobha (greed) and moha (delusion).

MN 9 — the Sammādiṭṭhi Sutta — is an important source here. The discourse in this section is given by Venerable Sāriputta, so it should not simply be attributed as a direct statement of the Buddha.

In the section dealing with the roots of the unwholesome, dosa is identified as an unwholesome root. The source also distinguishes this from a more severe manifestation in mental action: ill will and the wish to cause harm.

The important point is this:

Dosa is an unwholesome root, not merely a name for outward displays of anger.

So if we look for dosa only in shouting, angry facial expressions, or aggressive behavior, we are looking for it too late.

Dosa Has a Wider Spectrum Than “Getting Angry”

At its more obvious levels, dosa may appear as anger, hatred, ill will, hostility, or the desire to attack or harm.

At subtler levels, however, it may appear as:

• irritation;

• annoyance;

• dissatisfaction;

• resistance;

• dislike;

• unwillingness to engage;

• wanting to push something out of our experience;

• wanting an unpleasant object or situation to disappear or become different.

This is where practitioners can easily overlook it.

A person may go through an entire day without losing their temper at anyone, while the mind remains continuously resistant:

“Too noisy.”

“Too hot.”

“This person is so irritating.”

“Why does this keep happening to me?”

“I don’t want this feeling.”

“Why is my mind still like this after all this practice?”

Not every thought like this automatically proves that dosa is present. But these are very useful places to look:

Is the mind simply recognizing something unpleasant or unfavorable, or is it adding an attitude of resistance toward what is happening?

That is an important distinction.

An Unpleasant Experience Is Not Necessarily Dosa

Suppose you are sitting and your leg begins to hurt.

The pain is an experience.

But another reaction may then appear:

“I can’t take this anymore.”

“This pain has to stop.”

“Why does it hurt so much today?”

“I hate this feeling.”

These two layers should not be treated as the same thing.

One is what is being experienced. The other is the mind’s attitude toward what is being experienced.

Likewise, hearing a sound does not in itself mean there is dosa. But when the mind becomes irritated and resistant and simply wants the sound to disappear, that dimension of resistance becomes something worth observing.

This can happen in meditation: a practitioner may become irritated by sounds outside, resist physical pain, or even become frustrated with themselves because the mind keeps wandering.

So the object of dosa does not have to be a person we hate.

It can be a sound.

A pain.

The weather.

An inconvenience.

A memory.

An unwanted outcome.

It can even be the present state of our own mind.

Aversion Toward Other People Is Easy to See. Aversion Toward Reality Is Harder to Notice

Consider a very ordinary situation.

You need to concentrate on your work. The neighbors start drilling into a wall.

The sound appears.

Then irritation appears.

Then the mind begins:

“Not again.”

“Why can’t they be more considerate?”

“This is unbearable.”

“I wish they would stop right now.”

Within seconds, the mind is no longer simply aware of a sound. It has entered into a struggle with the situation.

The same thing can happen with physical pain.

At first, there is simply an unpleasant sensation. But very quickly, the mind can turn the pain into an “enemy”:

“I don’t want this.”

“It’s ruining my meditation.”

“It has to disappear before I can practice properly.”

The object of resistance can even become oneself:

“Why is my mind still so restless after all this practice?”

“Why am I so bad at this?”

“I’m making no progress at all.”

There is something important to notice here: dosa does not necessarily point outward.

The mind can also resist its own experience of itself.

Dissatisfaction and Hatred Differ in Degree — But Don’t Wait Until Aversion Becomes Severe Before Observing It

A small amount of irritation should not be equated with murderous intent or intense hatred. Their degree, object, and consequences are clearly different.

But that does not mean subtle reactions of resistance are completely unimportant.

If our only goal is to preserve the image that “I am a kind person,” we may judge ourselves entirely by outward behavior:

“I didn’t insult anyone.”

“I didn’t hit anyone.”

“I don’t hate anybody.”

But if the purpose is to observe the mind, the questions need to become more subtle:

When something unwanted occurs, what is the mind doing?

Does it immediately want to push the object away?

Does it repeatedly dwell on what is objectionable about the other person?

Does it keep bringing the event back to life in the mind even after it is over?

Does it insist that reality must be different simply to satisfy its present resistance?

Questions like these bring the study of Dhamma out of definitions and back into direct experience.

Dosa Is Not “Who I Am”

A small change in the way we observe can be useful.

Instead of immediately concluding:

“I am angry.”

try recognizing more simply:

“Dosa is arising.”

This is not merely a matter of wording.

The first way of seeing can easily turn a mental state into an identity: I am angry. I am an angry person. That person made me angry.

The second brings attention back to the phenomenon that needs to be observed: this state is present, it has conditions for its arising, and it does not have to be turned into “me.”

You also do not need to pretend that there is no dosa.

Seeing dosa is not a failure in practice.

Failing to see it is what makes learning more difficult.

Don’t Rush to “Get Rid of Dosa” — First Learn to See It

The next time something unwanted happens, there is no need to immediately apply a complicated technique.

Try observing four things.

First: What just happened?

A comment? A sound? A pain? Something that did not go the way you wanted?

Second: What is happening in the body?

Tension in the face? A clenched jaw? Heat? Tightness? A change in heartbeat?

Third: What does the mind want?

To fight back?

To escape?

To make the other person be quiet?

To make the feeling disappear?

To make the situation change immediately?

Fourth: Is the mind continuing to feed the resistance?

Does it keep replaying the other person’s faults?

Does it keep adding to the story?

Does it continue thinking about what it dislikes even after the event has ended?

There is no need to immediately say:

“I must get rid of my anger.”

Just see more clearly:

This is what is happening, and this is how the mind is reacting to it.

That moment of recognition is already different from being completely carried away by the reaction.

A Simple Self-Check

At the end of the day, instead of asking:

“Did I get angry today?”

try asking:

“Was there any moment today when the mind wanted to push something unpleasant out of experience?”

You may begin to discover dosa in places you never used to call anger:

getting irritated because the internet is slow;

becoming impatient while waiting;

getting grumpy because the weather is hot;

resisting physical pain;

being unable to tolerate an opposing opinion;

getting annoyed with someone who works slowly;

blaming yourself for making a mistake;

becoming frustrated because meditation is not going the way you expected.

The purpose is not to condemn yourself.

The purpose is to recognize correctly what is arising in the mind.

If dosa is understood only as an intense outburst of anger, we see only its most obvious expression.

When we begin to recognize the subtler movements of dissatisfaction and resistance, we have a chance to see dosa earlier — at the moment when the mind first begins to say:

“I don’t want this.”

And from there, a deeper question can finally open:

What causes dosa to arise, what keeps feeding it, and what happens when we stop supplying the conditions that sustain it?

That is the next step in understanding dosa.

WHAT IS LOBHA? “GREED” IS NOT JUST ABOUT MONEY AND MATERIAL POSSESSIONS

When we hear the word greed, we often immediately think of money.

Wanting more money.
Wanting a bigger house.
Wanting more possessions.
Wanting to get more for ourselves.

These things can be connected with greed. But if we look for greed only in money and material possessions, we will miss many occasions when lobha is operating right within ourselves.

Because the deeper question is not only:

“What do I want?”

It is also:

“What is the mind doing when it encounters something it likes?”

1. Lobha is not limited to money

In the interpretive source used for this article, lobha is described in terms such as craving, clinging, and never feeling satisfied.

What is important to notice is that the object does not have to be money.

The mind can become attached to delicious food.

Attached to praise.

Attached to the feeling of being recognized by others.

Attached to a relationship.

Attached to a new phone.

Attached to a view or opinion we strongly favor.

Even in the practice of Dhamma, the mind may want a pleasant state to return, want to hold on to peacefulness, or want to have a special experience.

The object changes.

But there is something worth observing:

The mind encounters something it likes and begins leaning toward wanting it, wanting more of it, wanting to keep it, or wanting it to continue.

That is where we need to learn to recognize greed.

2. Do not look only at the object. Look at how the mind relates to it

The fact that someone has a great deal of money is not enough to conclude that greed is present in that person at that moment.

Likewise, the fact that someone lives very simply is not enough to conclude that their mind is free from greed.

So if we judge lobha only by outward possessions, it is very easy to look at other people while forgetting to observe our own mind.

Consider something closer to everyday experience.

You are looking at your phone and come across something you enjoy.

You finish one piece of content.

The mind wants another.

Then another.

No one is stealing anything.

No large amount of money is involved.

Yet a very clear movement can be observed:

“More.”

Or perhaps someone praises you.

The feeling is pleasant.

A little later, the mind remembers it.

The next day, the mind wants more recognition.

When that recognition does not come, disappointment begins to arise.

What matters here is not condemning yourself:

“I am so greedy.”

What matters is seeing the process.

There is something pleasant.

The mind likes it.

Then a tendency appears: wanting it to continue, wanting it again, wanting to keep it.

3. Greed can wear very beautiful clothes

This is one reason lobha can be difficult to recognize.

Coarse greed is easier to see.

Subtle greed is much harder to see.

Wanting to take someone else’s property may be relatively easy to recognize.

But what about:

Wanting other people always to think well of us?

Wanting our children to become exactly the kind of people we want them to be?

Wanting our partner to behave in ways that make us feel secure?

Wanting success not simply to do our work well, but because we cannot bear the thought of someone else surpassing us?

Wanting a pleasant meditation experience to return?

Wanting to become “a good Dhamma practitioner”?

Wanting others to recognize that we understand the Dhamma?

In these situations, the objects may be very different.

Some of them may even appear wholesome or admirable.

But the question remains the same:

Is the mind free in relation to that object, or is it being pulled by it?

4. Liking something does not mean you have to hate yourself

Recognizing greed is not meant to create another inner battle.

If every time we notice desire, we immediately think:

“Greed is bad. I must not be greedy.”

and then begin to hate the mental state that is present, we may not have understood much more than before.

The first important thing is to see clearly what is actually happening.

There is an object.

There is a pleasant experience.

The mind is attracted to it.

Then comes wanting.

Then perhaps wanting to keep it.

If what is being held on to becomes threatened, further reactions may follow.

Seeing this process is more important than rushing to construct an identity:

“I am a greedy person.”

Lobha is a mental phenomenon—a dhamma—to be recognized and understood clearly. It is not a label to be turned into “who I am.”

5. Lobha, taṇhā, and upādāna should not all be collapsed into the single word “greed”

At an introductory level, we can see that these are closely related. But that does not mean we should treat all these terms as completely synonymous.

Lobha is the focus of this article: the tendency toward greed, attraction, and attachment to what the mind finds desirable.

Taṇhā is commonly translated as craving or thirst.

Upādāna is commonly translated as clinging or grasping.

The precise technical distinctions among these terms need to be examined separately and according to the appropriate textual sources. For now, one important principle is enough:

Do not learn a few Pāḷi words and then collapse them all into a single phenomenon.

In actual experience, observe the process first.

6. A very simple way to begin recognizing greed

Today, instead of asking:

“Am I a greedy person?”

try observing smaller moments:

When a pleasant feeling arises, does the mind want it to last?

When you are praised, does the mind want more praise?

When you possess something you like, does the mind begin to worry about losing it?

When someone else has something better, does the mind immediately want to have it too?

When a pleasant experience ends, does the mind keep looking for a way to recreate it?

When someone you love does not behave as you want, is there an unspoken demand hidden within the discomfort:

“You have to do what I want”?

Do not answer these questions with theory.

Observe when these things are actually happening.

7. The important step is to see greed where it arises

Learning that lobha means greed is not very difficult.

What is harder is recognizing it when it does not come with the label “greed.”

It may appear as:

“Just a little more.”

“I just want to keep this.”

“I need that person to understand me.”

“I want yesterday’s feeling to come back.”

“I have to be recognized.”

“I cannot lose this.”

It is in these ordinary moments that the Dhamma begins to become something we can directly observe.

Do not look for greed only in a wealthy person’s bank account.

Look for its movement right when the mind encounters something pleasant.

What does it want?

What is it trying to get more of?

What is it afraid of losing?

Is it turning that thing into “mine”—into something “I must have”?

When the question shifts from judging other people to observing the process taking place within this very mind, the word lobha is no longer merely a Buddhist term.

It becomes a phenomenon that can be recognized.

And what can be clearly recognized can become an object of practice.

THE SEVENTH LUNAR MONTH: WHEN FEAR WEARS THE MASK OF SPIRITUALITY — AND THE DHAMMA IS TURNED INTO A TRANSACTION

Whenever the seventh lunar month arrives, a familiar scene appears once again.

People fear the “spirit world.”
They fear that “spirits may follow them.”
They fear “hungry ghosts.”
They fear that their business will not prosper.
They fear unrest within the family.
They fear that the dead have no money to spend and no food to eat.

Driven by these fears, people use real money to buy imitation money. They burn paper houses, paper cars, and paper clothes into ashes. They prepare offerings, recite prayers, and ask for wealth, prosperity, safety, and protection from misfortune.

But there is one question few are willing to face directly:

If all the incense, offerings, and outward prayers were removed, what would truly be operating within the mind?

Very often, the answer consists of only two things:

GREED AND FEAR.

Fear of losing what one already has.
Greed for what one does not yet have.

And when greed meets fear, people begin searching for an invisible power with which to negotiate:

I offer this — please give me that.
I perform this ceremony — please remove that misfortune.
I donate this amount — please make my business prosper.
I burn these things — may the dead protect the living.

This is precisely the structure of a spiritual transaction.

The problem is not the stick of incense.

The problem is the mind that wants to use that incense to bargain with cause and effect.

THE BUDDHA IS NOT A DEITY WITH WHOM PEOPLE CAN NEGOTIATE

The Buddha is the Sammāsambuddha — the Perfectly Self-Awakened One.

The path He taught is not a path of asking an external power to alter one’s kamma. It is the path of looking directly at greed, hatred, and delusion; seeing the causes of suffering; and abandoning those causes for oneself.

Consider the contradiction:

Before One who had completely relinquished craving, we stand and ask for our own craving to be satisfied.

We ask to become wealthier.
We ask to defeat others.
We ask for our businesses to prosper.
We ask for relationships to unfold according to our wishes.
We ask for misfortune to avoid us and fall somewhere else.

Then we call that “practice.”

No.

Practice is not about making the world serve our greed.
Practice is about seeing that very greed and learning how to disentangle the mind from it.

The Dhamma does not teach us how to force life to conform to our wishes.

The Dhamma reveals why the very demand that life conform to our wishes becomes a source of suffering.

KAMMA IS NOT A DEBT THAT SOMEONE CAN BE PAID TO ERASE

This point must be seen clearly.

Kamma is not a ledger in the heavens that a deity, ritual specialist, or ceremony can be paid to rewrite.

Kamma is bound up with the intentional actions of beings.

If someone lives by killing, stealing, deception, or harming others, yet believes that paying for a ceremony at the end of the year will “dissolve their kamma,” then the first thing that must be dissolved is the wrong view that allows them to continue creating unwholesome kamma without changing their conduct.

Do you want to change the course of your kamma?

Then change your bodily actions, verbal actions, and mental actions beginning today.

If you are being dishonest — learn to live truthfully.
If you are causing harm — stop causing harm.
If you are miserly — learn to give.
If you are living heedlessly — undertake the precepts.
If you are being driven by greed, hatred, and delusion — train yourself to recognize them as soon as they arise.

That is where the Dhamma truly begins.

In the Saṃyutta Nikāya, the Buddha gives a powerful analogy: if a heavy stone is thrown into water, even if a crowd gathers and prays for it to rise, their prayers cannot make it float. Conversely, oil floating on water will not sink merely because a crowd prays for it to do so.

Once causes have been established, results arise when the supporting conditions are present.
Prayer cannot replace the transformation of one’s conduct.

DO NOT FEAR THE “HUNGRY GHOST” OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR WHILE FAILING TO SEE THE HUNGER WITHIN YOUR OWN MIND

There is an image worth contemplating.

People fear invisible beings suffering from hunger and thirst, so they place food outside as offerings.

Yet the moment one desire within them is satisfied, another immediately appears.

One billion — then the desire for ten billion.
A house — then the desire for a larger house.
Status — then the desire for higher status.
Praise — then the desire for still more praise.
Once something is gained — fear of losing it.
Before it is gained — suffering because of wanting it.

So what is truly hungry?

It is taṇhā — craving.

It never says, “Enough.”

Craving leads to grasping. Grasping continues to drive action. And people keep running within a self-perpetuating cycle while imagining that the problem lies in external circumstances.

The distinction must be clear: craving is the initial thirst; clinging (upādāna) is when that thirst has developed into attachment, grasping, and an unwillingness to let go. Among the four kinds of clinging is sīlabbataparāmāsa — clinging to distorted rites, observances, rules, or practices as though they were means to liberation.

Therefore, the issue runs deeper than whether one should burn paper offerings.

The real question is:

Why does the mind need a ritual in order to feel that it has gained control over what is not within its control?

Fear.

The desire to control.

The inability to control.

The search for an external power.

The performance of a transaction.

Temporary relief.

Then fear returns the next time.

That is the cycle that must be seen and broken.

DO THE DEAD RECEIVE THE THINGS WE BURN?

There is no basis in the Nikāyas or Vinaya for claiming that paper money becomes money for the dead, that a paper house becomes a real house, or that a paper car becomes a real car in some “spirit world.”

Burning a paper Mercedes does not cause a Mercedes to appear in another realm.

Burning a stack of imitation spirit money does not create a bank account for the deceased.

These are folk beliefs and should not be presented as the Buddha’s Teaching.

A further distinction must also be made clearly: a hungry ghost (peta) in Buddhism is not identical to the folk belief in the soul of a dead person wandering around the family home, waiting for descendants to bring food and money.

According to the Theravāda explanation, following death-consciousness, a new existence arises in continuity according to kamma. There is no need to assume an unchanging soul standing between two lives and waiting to be reborn.

THEN WHAT DOES SHARING MERIT MEAN?

It has meaning.

But its mechanism must be understood correctly; otherwise, we turn a wholesome practice into magic.

The living perform wholesome actions: giving, observing the precepts, and developing the mind.

They then dedicate that wholesome deed to departed relatives.

If a being in an appropriate realm becomes aware of the good deed and rejoices in it (anumodanā), that very mind of appreciative joy becomes a wholesome state within that being.

“Merit” is not a lump of spiritual energy transferred from the account of the living into the account of the dead.

The living create a wholesome condition.
The other being rejoices in that goodness.
A wholesome state arises within that being’s own mind.

This is conditionality, not magic.

Therefore, if you wish to remember your deceased parents, grandparents, or relatives, do something meaningful:

Give from honestly acquired wealth.
Help those who are suffering.
Care for your parents while they are still alive.
Observe the precepts.
Develop the mind.
Perform wholesome deeds and share the merit.

Do not burn wealth into ashes and call it the Dhamma.

OFFERING IS NOT WRONG — THE TRANSACTIONAL MIND IS WHAT MUST BE SEEN

This must be stated clearly so that we do not swing from one extreme to another.

Buddhism does not reject generosity, offerings, remembrance, or gratitude toward one’s ancestors.

A person offers food to those of virtue with a mind of respect and relinquishment — that is one thing.

A person gives out of compassion for those in need — that is another.

A family remembers the deceased with gratitude, performs wholesome deeds, and shares the merit — that too is another.

But when offerings are brought with the thought:

“I give you this, so you must give me that”

— the underlying mechanism is entirely different.

Outwardly, the actions may look the same.

A tray of flowers.
A stick of incense.
A sum of money.

But kamma lies in intention (cetanā).

One mind is learning to let go.

The other wants to acquire more.

One is weakening greed.

The other is feeding greed.

One is generosity.

The other turns spirituality into commerce.

Do not look only at the offerings on the table.

Look at the mind standing before them.

THE THUNDERCLAP OF AWAKENING IS NOT IN THE SKY

It is found in the very moment you are mindful enough to ask:

“Am I doing this out of compassion and wisdom — or because I am afraid?”

“Am I giving in order to learn to let go — or am I giving up one thing in the hope of receiving something greater in return?”

“Am I truly paying homage to the Buddha — or am I turning Him into a power meant to serve my worldly desires?”

When you see fear in the mind, do not immediately rush to perform an offering.

Look directly at the fear.

What causes it to arise?

When you see greed demanding that the future unfold according to your wishes, do not immediately search for a ritual to guarantee that future.

Look directly at the greed.

What is it grasping?

That very moment is where the Dhamma begins to come alive.

The Dhamma does not lead people from dependence on one power to dependence on another.

The Dhamma leads people to see:

Whatever has a cause arises.
Whatever exists through conditions changes when those conditions change.
Whatever arises will cease.
There is no all-powerful “self” capable of controlling the world according to its wishes.

Therefore, the path is not to pray that everything will happen according to our wishes.

The path is to cultivate the mind so that when things do not happen according to our wishes, greed, hatred, and delusion no longer possess the power to turn them into chains.

That is the true thunderclap of the Dhamma.

It is not thunder meant to frighten others.

It is thunder that strikes directly at greed, craving, clinging, and wrong view within oneself.

Liberation Through Direct Realization — Not Through Speculation or Reliance on an Outside Power

Namo Tassa Bhagavato Arahato Sammāsambuddhassa.

There is a profound misunderstanding in the spiritual life: knowing a great deal about the Dhamma and then assuming that one has seen the Dhamma.

A person may speak eloquently about anicca — impermanence, dukkha — suffering and unsatisfactoriness, and anattā — not-self; may memorize the Five Aggregates, Dependent Origination, and the Four Noble Truths; may debate for hours about rebirth, Nibbāna, the stages of meditation, different realms of existence, and metaphysical questions.

Yet one small insult is enough for anger to flare up.

Lose one personal advantage, and the mind immediately becomes dissatisfied.

Let others fail to acknowledge us, and the “I” is immediately wounded.

Let an attractive object appear, and craving immediately pulls the mind after it.

Then where has all that knowledge gone?

This is the boundary that must be seen clearly:

Knowing about the truth is not the same as seeing the truth.

Talking about liberation is not the same as being liberated.

Carrying an entire system of teachings in one’s head does not mean that the defilements of the mind have been uprooted.

1. The Dhamma Is Not Meant to Build Another World of Concepts

Human beings already spend much of their lives within saññā — perception and recognition — surrounded by thoughts, memories, interpretations, expectations, and stories constructed by the mind itself.

Then, when we enter religion, if we are not careful, we may simply build another layer of that world.

We begin imagining things that are lofty and remote.

We debate what is absolute, what is ultimate, who is superior to whom, and which path or method is higher than another.

We accumulate Pāḷi terminology.

We remember hundreds of discourses.

We may speak with great precision about anattā, not-self.

Yet the very sense of self that is speaking about not-self may be growing larger and larger.

This is the dangerous paradox.

The Teaching is learned in order to loosen clinging, yet the mind can turn the Teaching itself into another object of clinging.

A person may no longer cling merely to money, status, or the body. Now one may cling to my view, my tradition, my knowledge, my understanding, my method of practice.

The clothing has changed.

The grasping remains.

In MN 22, the Alagaddūpama Sutta — the Discourse on the Simile of the Snake — the Buddha gives the simile of the raft: the Dhamma is to be used for crossing over, not for clinging to. A person crosses the river with the aid of a raft, but does not therefore place the raft on their head and carry it around afterward.

So to study the Dhamma correctly is not to pile up another storehouse of concepts in memory.

To study the Dhamma correctly is to use the Dhamma to see through the very mind that clings.

2. The Problem Is Not Whether We Know That “Everything Is Impermanent”

Even someone who has never meditated knows that they will grow old.

Everyone knows that flowers bloom and then fade.

Everyone knows that wealth can be lost, loved ones can be separated from us, and this body will eventually die.

But knowing this is not yet insight.

Insight becomes a living reality when impermanence is no longer merely a statement about the world, but is seen directly within the ongoing process of experience.

An unpleasant feeling has arisen.

It changes.

A thought has appeared.

It disappears.

Anger has become very strong.

If we stop feeding it with perceptions, memories, and mental elaboration, it too changes.

A pleasant feeling appears.

The mind wants to hold on to it.

Right there, craving can be seen.

The object changes.

The mind does not want to lose it.

Right there, clinging can be seen.

The practitioner is then no longer standing outside the process merely thinking about Dependent Origination — paṭiccasamuppāda.

One begins to see conditionality operating within one’s own experience:

Contact (phassa) → feeling (vedanā) → craving (taṇhā) → clinging (upādāna).

This is the point where the map begins to become the path.

The distinction is crucial: directly seeing the body, feelings, thoughts, and emotions arise and cease is fundamentally different from merely reasoning that “everything is impermanent.”

As seeing deepens, letting go is no longer merely a moral command. It begins to arise from seeing that there is nothing here that can truly be held onto.

3. The Most Dangerous Speculation Is the Kind That Does Not Lead to the Ending of Suffering

Not all thinking is wrong.

Studying the Teaching is not wrong.

Studying the Suttas is not useless.

On the contrary, Right View — sammādiṭṭhi — is necessary so that we know where we are going. Without correct understanding, a practitioner can easily observe incorrectly, practice incorrectly, and then mistake subjective experiences for realization.

The problem begins when the means becomes the end.

We study but do not practice.

We debate but do not observe the mind.

We study anger in the scriptures but fail to recognize anger when someone disagrees with us.

We speak about not-self but suffer because others do not respect us.

We teach letting go but cannot bear losing something we love.

At that point, the Dhamma remains on our lips.

It has not yet reached the place where the work must actually be done: greed, hatred, delusion, and clinging.

So there is a powerful question for anyone who studies the Dhamma:

After everything I have learned, what has actually diminished within this mind?

Has greed diminished?

Has hatred diminished?

Has delusion diminished?

Has identification with “I” and “mine” weakened?

Has my ability to experience a feeling without immediately following it increased?

When insulted, has my tendency to immediately construct a self that must defend itself weakened?

If knowledge increases while conceit increases with it, the way we are studying needs to be examined.

If the more we practice, the more we enjoy judging others, something needs to be examined.

If the more we speak about not-self, the more we need others to acknowledge that we are right, then that very place is what needs to be observed.

4. No One Can Abandon Greed, Hatred, and Delusion for Us

This point must be understood precisely.

The Dhamma does not deny the value of the Buddha, spiritual friends (kalyāṇamitta), the Saṅgha, listening to the Dhamma, confidence (saddhā), or supportive conditions along the path.

It does not mean that a practitioner should isolate themselves and declare:

“I need no one.”

That itself may simply be another form of conceit.

But there is one thing that no one else can do for us:

No one can see this feeling for us.

No one can know the greed arising in this mind for us.

No one can abandon this clinging for us.

No one can cultivate Sīla–Samādhi–Paññā for us.

The Teacher can show the way.

A wise spiritual friend can alert us when we are going astray.

The scriptures can correct our Right View.

A suitable environment can provide supportive conditions.

But at the very moment when there is contact with an object and the mind begins to desire, hate, fear, possess, or resist, each person must see what is happening in their own mind.

This principle appears clearly in the instruction to be an island and refuge unto oneself while taking the Dhamma as one’s island and refuge.

Crucially, the discourse immediately explains this refuge through the practice of the Four Foundations of Mindfulness (satipaṭṭhāna): contemplating body, feelings, mind, and phenomena with ardency, clear comprehension, and mindfulness.

Therefore, “being one’s own refuge” does not mean making the ego the measure of truth.

It means:

The responsibility for practice cannot be transferred to someone else.

5. The Real Knot Behind Reliance on an Outside Power Is the Mind That Wants to Be Saved Without Letting Go

Why is the idea of an external power doing the work of liberation for us so attractive?

Look more deeply into the mind.

Human beings want suffering to end.

But we do not always want to abandon the causes of suffering.

We want peace while still wanting to keep the things we crave.

We want freedom from anger while still wanting others to behave according to our wishes.

We want not-self while still wanting the self to be respected.

We want liberation while refusing to look directly at what we are clinging to.

And from this contradiction, a very attractive dream arises:

Is there some way for me to preserve this entire structure of craving and still be saved in the end?

That is where we need to look.

If craving (taṇhā) and clinging (upādāna) lie at the root of suffering, then the problem of liberation cannot be solved merely by changing the object to which we cling.

Moving from attachment to worldly things to attachment to a religious image can still be attachment.

Moving from longing for wealth to longing for a metaphysical state can still be longing.

Moving from an ordinary worldly identity to the identity of a “highly advanced practitioner” is still a structure of identification that needs to be recognized.

So the question is not merely:

“Whom do I believe in?”

The deeper question is:

“What does this mind want from that belief?”

Is it learning to let go?

Or is it looking for a guarantee so that it does not have to face uncertainty?

Is it developing virtue, collectedness, and wisdom?

Or is it bargaining with the fear of death?

Is it clearly seeing craving?

Or has craving merely been given a more sacred name?

This is where Right View must become sharp.

6. The Enemy Is Not Another Religion — It Is the Mechanism of Clinging Itself

If we read this and then turn around and despise other people, we have missed the most important point.

Hatred toward a “superstitious person” is still hatred.

Conceit based on “I follow the true Dhamma” is still conceit.

Clinging to the view that “only I understand correctly” still needs to be recognized as clinging.

A person may destroy an external idol while constructing another idol within the mind:

“I understand the Dhamma.”

The second idol can sometimes be harder to see than the first.

Therefore, the Dhamma must not be turned into a weapon for feeding hatred and ego.

It must turn back and cut through the clinging of the very person who holds it.

This is also why the raft simile in MN 22 is so profound: even the Dhamma must not be turned into a possession for the ego to carry around declaring:

“This is mine.”

7. The Five Aggregates Are the Practitioner’s Laboratory

There is no need to wait for a mystical experience.

Right now, there is already enough material for investigation.

Form (rūpa) is changing.

Feeling (vedanā) is changing.

Perception (saññā) recognizes and labels.

Volitional formations (saṅkhārā) react, desire, resist, choose, and impel.

Consciousness (viññāṇa) cognizes an object.

Then the mind grasps this process:

“I am in pain.”

“I have been insulted.”

“I want this.”

“I hate this person.”

“My view.”

This is precisely where the work must be done.

The practical direction is very concrete: instead of merely thinking about not-self, observe the feelings, thoughts, and emotions that are present. See how they arise, how they change, and whether they are truly under absolute control.

There is no need to imagine not-self.

Observe what you are calling “I.”

There is no need merely to believe in impermanence.

Observe what is changing.

There is no need to philosophize about suffering.

Look directly at the moment when the mind demands that a pleasant feeling continue, or that an unpleasant feeling disappear.

This very body-and-mind is the laboratory of Dhamma.

8. One Moment of Anger Can Teach More Than an Hour of Debate

Suppose someone says something insulting to you.

Sound contacts the ear.

There is consciousness.

An unpleasant feeling arises.

Perception recognizes the words.

Memory immediately supplies a story:

“This person is looking down on me.”

Then anger arises.

The body becomes hot.

The heart beats faster.

The mind begins preparing a counterattack.

Without mindfulness, the entire process is gathered into one solid mass:

“I am angry.”

But if mindfulness and clear comprehension are present quickly enough, another possibility appears.

It can be seen:

This is an unpleasant feeling.

This is anger.

This is the urge to react.

This is a thought constructing a story.

This is the mind wanting to protect an image of “me.”

There is no need to say:

“There is no self! Everything is not-self!”

At that moment, those words may still be just another concept.

Instead, see the process.

Do not follow it.

Do not suppress it.

Do not turn anger into “mine.”

Do not use anger as a reason to create further unwholesome kamma.

A single ordinary episode of anger can become a place for learning Dhamma.

And when observation becomes deep enough, the practitioner begins to see something important:

Defilements, too, arise dependent on conditions.

They are not permanent “demons” living somewhere inside us.

There is contact.

There is feeling.

There is perception.

There is memory.

There is intention and attention.

There is continued feeding through thought.

When the conditions gather, anger grows stronger.

When it is no longer continually fed, the conditions change, and anger changes.

Seeing this is the beginning of freedom precisely where, before, we were completely controlled by reaction.

9. Do Not Search for Liberation at the End of a Story; Look for the Cause of Bondage Right Now

Human beings like to ask:

Where will I go after death?

How did the universe begin?

What is that realm like?

But there is a much closer question:

What is binding the mind right now?

If there is greed — know greed.

If there is hatred — know hatred.

If there is fear — know fear.

If there is conceit — know conceit.

If there is doubt — know doubt.

If there is a desire to be recognized — know that the mind wants recognition.

If there is a desire to win an argument — see that very desire to win.

This is where Dhamma becomes alive.

The discourses describe contemplation of body, feelings, mind, and phenomena not as decorative theory, but as a practice through which these very domains of experience are known as they actually are.

Therefore:

Do not abandon the Suttas in order to chase subjective experiences.

But do not cling to the Suttas while refusing to practice what they teach.

The Suttas are the map.

Practice is the walking.

Insight is the seeing that arises along the path.

Liberation does not lie in memorizing the map.

10. Sīla–Samādhi–Paññā: There Is No Shortcut Around the Work of Abandoning the Defilements

For the mind to be observed clearly, life needs a foundation.

If bodily and verbal conduct continually follows sensual desire, falsehood, harmfulness, conflict, and agitation, it is very difficult for the mind to settle.

This is why Sīla — ethical conduct — is not merely a religious formality.

Sīla creates conditions for the mind to be less burdened by remorse and less scattered.

On that foundation, Samādhi — collectedness and stability of mind — enables the mind to remain steady enough not to be dragged away by every object.

And with such a mind, Paññā — wisdom — sees phenomena according to conditions, sees arising and passing away, and sees the mind trying to hold onto what cannot be held.

These three are not three religious ornaments.

They form a process of transformation.

Sīla safeguards conduct.

Samādhi steadies and trains the mind.

Paññā penetrates ignorance.

The heart of the path lies in Sīla–Samādhi–Paññā, not in searching for an external agent to perform the work of abandoning the defilements for us.

No one can keep Sīla for us.

No one can develop Samādhi for us.

No one can see impermanence for us.

No one can relinquish clinging for us.

11. The Sign of Dhamma Is Not Something Strange or Extraordinary

Practitioners can easily become fascinated by unusual experiences.

Lights.

Rapture.

The sensation that the body has disappeared.

States of mind never experienced before.

Images or experiences that make us think we have attained some particular level.

But the more important question remains:

After that experience, what has happened to greed, hatred, and delusion?

If an experience is extraordinary but conceit increases afterward, caution is needed.

If meditation is deeply peaceful but we still explode as before whenever something goes against our wishes, the work is not finished.

If we speak profoundly about not-self but still need others to acknowledge our attainment, observe that very need.

There is a very practical standard: if seeing has truly matured into insight, it must affect clinging and the defilements.

If, after meditation, the old mechanisms of reaction remain unchanged, we should not hastily identify an understanding or experience with liberating wisdom.

This is a measure by which it is difficult to deceive ourselves:

Am I less controlled by greed?

Am I less consumed by hatred?

Do I recognize the mechanism of “I” and “mine” more quickly?

Do I live with greater awareness amid the ordinary frictions of life?

This is where practice is truly tested.

12. Practice in the Midst of Everyday Life

There is no need to wait until we sit on a meditation cushion before we practice.

When praised, observe the mind enjoying it.

When criticized, observe the contraction and the urge to defend oneself.

When another person succeeds, see whether comparison arises.

When an object is lost, examine whether the suffering comes from the object itself or from clinging to it.

When someone close to us does not act according to our wishes, see what is feeding the anger.

When discussing the Dhamma, examine whether we are trying to clarify the truth or trying to win.

When giving, observe whether the mind is learning to relinquish or secretly demanding a reward.

When paying homage, observe whether the mind is developing humility and recollection of noble qualities, or turning the act into a transaction for personal gain.

When studying a Sutta, do not ask only:

“What does this discourse say?”

Ask also:

“What phenomenon is it pointing to that I can observe within myself?”

And at the end of the day, instead of asking only how much we chanted, how long we meditated, or how many pages of scripture we read, we can ask:

When did greed arise today?

What conditions gave rise to it?

How did I feed it?

When did anger arise?

What did the mind cling to?

At what moment did I recognize what was happening before reacting?

This is how the Dhamma is brought out of books and back into life.

13. The Real Revolution Happens in a Moment of Mindfulness

Liberation does not begin by constructing a grand spiritual identity.

It begins with something far more humble:

Seeing correctly what is happening.

Feeling is simply feeling.

Anger is present as anger.

Greed is present as greed.

A thought is a thought.

An image of “me” is being constructed.

Clinging is forming.

And when this is clearly seen, the possibility appears of no longer continuing to feed it.

This is where the path begins to come alive.

It is not about running away from life.

It is not about creating another imaginary world in which to hide.

It is not about destroying a “self” as though there were some real entity that needed to be smashed.

Rather, it is to clearly see the process by which “I” and “mine” are constructed in relation to the Five Aggregates, and then gradually abandon the craving and clinging that sustain that process.

This point must be stated precisely.

The goal is not for a self to become “a person with no self.”

Rather, wisdom sees with increasing clarity:

“This is not mine; this I am not; this is not my self.”

MN 22 applies precisely this pattern of appropriation — “This is mine, this I am, this is my self” — in its analysis of views and identification in relation to form, feeling, perception, volitional formations, and what is experienced.

When this seeing is no longer merely verbal, clinging gradually loses the ground on which it stands.

Conclusion: Do Not Ask Who Will Save Us — Look at What Is Binding Us

In the end, the Dhamma brings us back to somewhere very close.

Not to the farthest reaches of the universe.

Not to a philosophical debate.

Not to a title.

But to this body, this feeling, this mind, and these phenomena arising here and now.

Here there is suffering.

Here there is the cause of suffering.

Here there is craving.

Here there is clinging.

Here there is the possibility of seeing them.

And here, through a path rightly developed, there is the possibility of bringing them to an end.

The Awakened One shows the way.

The Dhamma is the lamp.

Spiritual friends provide support.

Sīla protects.

Samādhi steadies the mind.

Paññā penetrates ignorance.

But the steps must be taken through each person’s own practice.

So before asking:

“Who will save me?”

Ask:

“What is arising right now?”

Before asking:

“Where will I be taken?”

Ask:

“What does craving want right now?”

Before debating:

“Which teaching is the highest?”

Ask:

“What in this mind wants to be the one who is right?”

And before declaring:

“I understand not-self.”

Look very carefully:

When I am insulted, what is hurting?

When something is lost, what is grasping?

When I am praised, what is swelling up?

When desire appears, do I see it from the moment it begins to arise, or do I wake up only after it has already carried me away?

Do not rush to answer with philosophy.

Observe.

It is there that the boundary between Dhamma that is merely thought about and Dhamma that is actually lived begins to reveal itself.

And it is there that the path from learning and reflection to cultivation, from knowing to seeing, from grasping to dispassion, from bondage to liberation, truly begins.

The Dhamma does not ask us to imagine the truth.

The Dhamma asks us to see what is arising, know what is ceasing, recognize what is being grasped — and cultivate the path until there is nothing left to be appropriated as “I” or “mine” and clung to as such.

Ehipassiko — come and see.

Not come and accumulate another belief.

Not come and construct another religious identity.

But come and see — and through seeing things as they truly are, dispassion, the relinquishment of clinging, and liberation.

Sādhu! Sādhu! Sādhu!