Author: Linmu

A few days ago, someone in a meditation group shared an article that criticized me, asking for my thoughts. The gist of the article was to claim that I didn’t understand Mahasi meditation or the related stages of insight. Since the article is lengthy and not the main focus here, I won’t include it.

However, the process of responding to the article sparked new discussions, particularly about the concept of "awareness." In the end, some group members agreed with my perspective, others disagreed, and some were left confused. They hoped I could elaborate on the issue of "awareness." Because a group chat isn’t an ideal place for in-depth discussions, I decided to write this article.

To help readers outside the group understand the context and because I found some parts of the group conversation valuable, I’m sharing the key points here. In a few days, I will write a separate article to explore the subject further.

Below are excerpts from the chat. Since I didn’t include others’ messages, the conversation may seem fragmented and less rigorous, but the overall meaning remains intact.

1. Mahasi meditation and awareness

Mahasi meditation can indeed lead to insights not typically experienced by ordinary people. This is exactly what Mahasi and other Theravāda meditation methods promote—cultivating awareness. But no matter how extraordinary the insights might seem—such as perceiving "motion without movement" or even the so-called cessation of mind-and-matter (nāma-rūpa)—what does it ultimately amount to? Fundamentally, all of this arises within the realm of seeing, hearing, and awareness. How can one define "motion," "insight," or "cessation of nāma-rūpa" without depending on seeing, hearing, and awareness? These are all part of the five aggregates (pañca-khandha), which are described as "like an illness, a boil, a dart, a burden." Yet instead of following the Buddha's teaching to distance oneself from the five aggregates, people cultivate and cling to them. Instead of developing disenchantment with the five aggregates as the Buddha advised, people seek to enhance them. How can such a path be the Buddha's teaching?

2. The five aggregates and suffering

Whether it’s meditation schools in Myanmar, Thailand, or the United States, they all emphasize cultivating awareness. However, as awareness increases, so do form, feeling, perception, and mental formations—leading to the growth of the five aggregates. When the five aggregates grow, suffering arises. How can this be the Right Dharma? Instead of treating the five aggregates as an enemy, people treat them as a friend. Instead of extinguishing them like fire, they hope to make the flames burn brighter and more special.

This approach is based on a certain logic: people think, "The Buddha said the five aggregates are not-self. That means they must exist outside of 'me.' But I mistakenly take these things as 'me' and 'mine,' which leads to suffering. If I can see clearly that they are not-self, not good, and not 'mine,' then I will no longer cling to them, and without clinging, there will be no suffering." This logic appears to align with the teachings, but in reality, it presupposes the existence of a self and results from a misunderstanding of the five aggregates and clinging.

If there were no "self," no "I," then clinging to the five aggregates would be impossible. For example, if person A says that person B hit them, but the security footage shows person A never existed, then person B being hit would also be impossible. Similarly, if we interpret clinging as a grasping action and the five aggregates as objective entities, then we must also assume a "self" or subject to grasp them. If this were what the Buddha meant, then he would have implied the existence of a "self." Clearly, this is not the case. People’s understanding of the five aggregates and clinging is inconsistent with the Buddha's teaching.

3. Understanding the five aggregates

The Buddha described the five aggregates neither as objective nor subjective but as realities experienced as they are. For example, consider the aggregate of form (rūpa). If we set aside all interpretations imposed by physics, chemistry, Buddhism, etc., and purely rely on our direct experience, what do we find? Close your eyes and touch an object—what do you feel?

Softness? Hardness? Coolness? Warmth? You’ll notice that your experience is limited to such sensations. This is one way we directly know materiality, and these sensations are what the Buddha referred to as rūpa—the content of our perception. But every contact generates more than just sensation; it also produces corresponding thoughts.

For instance, imagine a pleasant piece of music. Why does it bring joy? Is it the individual notes that are joyful? Clearly not—songs consist of notes, but some are pleasant and others unpleasant. Regardless of whether a song is enjoyable, at any given moment, we only hear one note. However, as each note arises, we generate corresponding thoughts and memories that combine the notes we’ve just heard. This process of integration is what the Buddha referred to as saṅkhārā (mental formations). When saṅkhārā arise, the perception of a "song" emerges. And it is only through this perception that we experience joy and find the song "pleasant."

4. Insight and dispassion

Theravāda methods often encourage practitioners to cultivate awareness of phenomena like seeing and hearing, observing their impermanence and eventual cessation. This is supposed to lead to dispassion. But in reality, even if one sees impermanence and cessation, true dispassion does not necessarily follow. For example, everyone knows short videos on their phones are not "real." The images are impermanent and illusory, yet this awareness doesn’t stop people from being captivated. This is why many meditators feel strong insights during retreats but revert to old habits once they return home. People then pin their hopes on the ultimate goal of nibbāna, believing it holds a magical power to completely destroy desire. Whether this is effective or not is something only those who have directly experienced it can know.

I am not saying Theravāda methods are fabricated. I am simply pointing out that merely observing impermanence and cessation does not necessarily lead to dispassion. In truth, it is only through dispassion that one can clearly see impermanence and cessation. Without the strength of concentration, even seeing impermanence will not bring genuine dispassion. It’s like watching a phone screen—you might see the flickering impermanence of the light but still get caught up in the story.

People are not attached to whether the objects of their love are real, impermanent, or substantial. What they truly love are the mental concepts and the joy these concepts bring.

5. Meditation and personal experience

In my own meditation journey, I also practiced Mahasi-style awareness for a long time. One day, exhausted, I wondered: "If I stop being aware, would awareness cease to exist?" I discovered that awareness itself is conditionally arisen—merely a byproduct of other processes. From then on, I stopped cultivating awareness and instead focused on extinguishing the arising of various types of knowing. Eventually, I experienced a state where knowing itself ceased. It was only then that I realized: everything is built on the foundation of knowing. Without knowing, everything comes to an end.