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  • KARMA, OH KARMA…!

    KARMA, OH KARMA…!

    I write about karma because it has become a familiar, casual phrase—everyone in Vietnam talks about it, everyone believes they are living in a way that “doesn’t accumulate karma too much.” Yet most people misunderstand it right from the root. And because they don’t understand how karma actually operates, they end up creating even more karma without realizing it.

    People often think karma is about the big things they have done in this life or in past lives: good deeds get rewarded, bad deeds get punished, as if there were some invisible ledger floating somewhere above each person’s head.

    This way of understanding gives rise to a kind of moral pretense—everyone thinks they are being sincere. But if each person truly turns back to observe not only their actions in daily life (the coarse level) but also their own mental activity (the subtle level), they will see that karma is not somewhere far away, nor does it wait until a future life to take effect. It is operating very concretely, very ordinarily, right inside each small reaction we create toward whatever has just happened to us.

    One thing needs to be said plainly: karma does not begin with outward action; it begins with how we handle each tiny experience after a mental impulse arises.

    A slip of the tongue, a hasty gesture, a habitual decision—by themselves, these do not yet create much acceleration in the wheel of karma. What thickens karma—what, to put it simply, increases its acceleration moment by moment—is the next layer of reaction: the worrying, the self-torment, the hesitation, the self-blame, the justification, the wish to fix things, the wish for things to be different, the desire for a better outcome, the desire to become a “better version” of oneself than now, than a moment ago, or better than someone else.

    At that very moment, a new karmic chain has already been set in motion. In Buddhist terms, this corresponds to what is called “formations” among the five aggregates—the psychological impulses and fabrications within the mind (known only to oneself), not the coarse external actions.

    🌿🌿 What we call “my life” contains nothing more than what is happening right now in the body and in its reactions. 🌿🌿

    I say this not to philosophize, but to bring things back to their actual scale. When we say “I am living,” we usually imagine something vast, stretching from birth to death, with a story, a meaning, a journey, ups and downs. But if we set aside all that storytelling and look directly at experience as it unfolds moment by moment, we will see that life consists only of what we receive through the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind.

    That is all that what we call “a human life” revolves around.

    We often think life exists somewhere beyond these things, like a great current we are immersed in. But if we look closely, there is no other current. There are only moments following one another, each moment made up of exactly those elements. There is no separate “life” standing behind them, controlling them. A sensation arises—there it is. It passes—then it’s gone. A reaction arises—there it is. It dissolves—then it’s gone. We habitually call this continuity “I am living,” but that is just a label.

    When we begin to narrate—“My life has been exhausting lately,” “I’m in a difficult phase,” “I need to change my life”—another layer is constructed, thicker and heavier, and we start living inside those ideas instead of inside what is actually happening.

    What many people don’t realize is that these narratives are not life itself. They are reactions to life. Life itself is very simple: there is contact, there is sensation, there is recognition, there are natural biological reactions, there are natural biological traces.

    For those familiar with Buddhist teachings, this sequence corresponds to contact, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness. When everything flows smoothly, when no one steps in to “add” anything, the process completes itself naturally, lightly, without residue. I call this a self-closing process, because it doesn’t require a manager to intervene or control it. Like a glass of muddy water: if left alone, the sediment settles and the water clears by itself. No one needs to do anything extra.

    The problem is that we rarely leave it alone. The moment we see the water still cloudy, we become impatient, anxious, wanting it to clear faster, and we stick our hand in to stir it—hoping to make the sediment settle. But precisely because we want it to settle, we interfere, and every interference makes the water cloudier.

    Karma works in exactly the same way. Not because the initial sensation is wrong (for example, the arising of desire or lust), but because the reaction that tries to fix or change that sensation creates additional impulses, further accelerating karmic momentum. In the Buddhist teaching of dependent origination, this is very close to craving and clinging—the tendency to grasp and hold on—even when it wears the label of “making things better.”

    The subtlety here is that this reaction is often beautifully disguised. It takes the form of good intentions, responsibility, practice, morality, self-improvement. But if we observe very carefully, we will detect tension, longing, the impulse of “I am doing the right thing,” “I must improve,” “I need to reach something.” I call these impulses because many people object, saying, “I didn’t think that.” That is because these impulses are the accelerating force that propels karma forward before thought even forms. Thought is only a later by-product. But it takes great subtlety and honesty to notice these impulses as they arise.

    These are precisely what make the simple chain—contact, sensation, recognition—become cumbersome, because each reaction then requires another reaction to deal with it. At this point, the five aggregates no longer self-close; they are stretched out into countless loops of mental formations, like a system riddled with cancer or stuck in a recurring code error. In my classes, I sometimes joke and say, “It’s like a skipping record.”

    What was once “contact, sensation, recognition, natural biological reaction, natural biological trace” now becomes tangled and circuitous at every stage. Natural biological responses are overlaid with layers of reactions shaped by ideas, beliefs, fears—what I often call scars.

    As a result, traces that could have remained mere reference points—if ever needed—become consequences instead:
    – in mild cases, a default lack of clarity in life situations, leading to repeated mistakes;
    – in severe cases, psychological trauma, nervous system inhibition, disruptions in energy and circulation, and the emergence of physical illness.

    All of these traces then become the basis, the programming, for continuing this cumbersome mode of operation when we perceive, process, and respond to life.

    When we clearly understand how life operates, we see that karmic results are not some suspended sentence waiting to “ripen” someday, but the very natural outcome of repeatedly interfering with life’s flow through intention and desire. Each interference adds another impulse, and each impulse leaves behind familiar inertia.

    This inertia makes the next reaction faster, denser, more persistent, and eventually default—harder to see. A Buddhist practitioner will recognize this as dependent origination at work: when this exists, that exists; when this increases, that increases—no overseer required.

    Many people suffer not simply because life is heavy, but because they carry a great deal that is unnecessary. An unpleasant sensation only needs to be seen as it is, and that would be enough. But because they want it to disappear, they generate an entire chain of analysis, struggle, self-judgment, and then disappointment at not having “achieved” something.

    Karma arises from this excess and clumsiness. If one simply looks directly at the experience that is present, without adding, without rushing to fix it, karma has no ground to thicken. This sounds simple, but it is very difficult, because the habit of “sticking a hand into the glass to make the sediment settle faster” is deeply ingrained.

    Seen this way, karma is neither frightening nor mysterious. It is very ordinary, very close, and very fair. There is no one lurking to punish, no one waiting to reward—only the natural operation of what we repeatedly do.

    And for this very reason, the most direct and gentle way out of suffering is not to try to make oneself better, but to clearly see where, how, and why one is accelerating karmic accumulation within one’s own mind. Whatever inertia of self-blame, resentment, or impatience arises—simply see it.

    That seeing alone, if complete enough, naturally causes the hand to withdraw from the glass, allowing the water to settle on its own. That is why there is no method. That is why there is no reliance. That is why there is non-doing. As long as we keep reaching in, wanting things this way or that way, we continue fabricating and driving karmic movement. This is not about being cryptic, different, or trying to look impressive—it is simply how life’s operating structure works. That is why I guide people to simply see.

    One thing must be said again and again, or people easily fall into two wrong extremes: fear and pessimism, or arrogance and the belief that they control destiny. Karma itself is neutral. It is neither good nor evil. It neither rewards nor punishes nor educates anyone. It simply operates.

    When karma is misunderstood through a moral lens, people become afraid—afraid of doing wrong, afraid of paying a price, afraid of a bad future. When karma is understood as control, people become excited—thinking that if they act right, think right, practice right, they will level up, escape, become superior. Both attitudes arise from not seeing one’s own mind clearly enough to understand how karma operates.

    The mechanism of karma is very simple and lies right in each person’s hands—but not in the sense of “I can control everything.” It lies in this: each time a reaction occurs, one can see whether one is thickening the process (through struggle, suppression, argument, craving, worry) or allowing it to self-close. No special power is needed, no lofty knowledge. Just see whether one is adding to the mental process or not.

    An unpleasant sensation arising is neutral. It is neither bad nor good. It is simply the result of contact. At that moment, karma has not yet thickened. Karma only gains weight when we react by holding on, pushing away, blaming ourselves, or trying to fix things. But even this reaction is not a “sin.” It is merely a reflex shaped by many past inertias. When it is seen, the process lightens. When it is not seen, the process keeps being overwritten—the record keeps skipping. There is no deity standing in judgment.

    Because karma is neutral, there is no place for pessimism. No one is permanently “doomed.” Mental processes remain self-binding only as long as those bindings are continually reinforced. When reinforcement stops, they weaken on their own. And because karma is neutral, there is also no place for arrogance. No one is “higher” because they have less karma. There are only lighter or more tangled mental processes—and this can change from moment to moment. Every moment is an appropriate moment to see.

    Many people think “purifying karma” means doing everything perfectly, purely, correctly—elaborate rituals, offerings, ceremonies. In truth, if these things have any benefit at all, it is only as a distraction for the person who keeps wanting to stick their hand into the glass. The reflex to interfere remains unchanged.

    Ultimately, what matters is this: immediately after a reaction arises in the mind, is there an intentional addition—another layer of processing—or not? If there is, another impulse is added and the process becomes more tangled. If there is not, the process self-closes and releases itself. You don’t need to force a choice, because when seeing is clear, not adding happens naturally.

    Seen correctly, karma is no longer something to fear, nor a tool for display. It does not remember who is good or record who is bad. It simply reflects how cumbersome or how streamlined our way of living is.

    And precisely because it is neutral, it is trustworthy. No sentimentality, no favoritism, no manipulation. When people look directly at this mechanism, they relax, strain less, and feel less need to prove anything. When karma is no longer feared or used to inflate oneself or manipulate others, life naturally returns to being very ordinary. And it is this ordinariness that allows things to function effectively.

    Those who follow Buddhism can compare this with the five aggregates and the twelve links of dependent origination and see that there is no contradiction—I am simply speaking in a language closer to everyday life. Just look back at how your mind reacts each day, and you will see that karma is not somewhere far away; it is being created steadily in each moment you refuse to let yourself be at ease, to be afraid, to be foolish.

    When looking into the mind, as long as there is an urge to ask, “How do I…?” there is still fabrication.

    Phan Ý Ly
    19.12.2025

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  • NATURE OF THINGS – CHAPTER 2 -6 CHANNELS OF CONTACT

    NATURE OF THINGS – CHAPTER 2 -6 CHANNELS OF CONTACT

    There are six channels of contact in lived experience:

    Images enter the eyes

    Sounds enter the ears

    Smells enter the nose

    Flavors enter the mouth

    Touch—heat, cold, pressure, pain—enters the body

    Thoughts, memories, images, and emotions enter inwardly

    1. At the very moment contact occurs, sensation has already arisen before we realize that attention is present.
    2. Attention does not come after sensation but arises simultaneously as a familiar reflex.
    3. Before a clear thought appears, the body has already leaned slightly toward or pulled subtly away.
    4. The initial sensation is often rough and brief, while the reaction tends to linger.
    5. Memory slips in very early, tinting the present experience with the color of past ones.
    6. Familiarity makes us feel as though we already understand what just happened.
    7. Once we think we understand, attention often stops and no longer follows the process closely.
    8. The reaction arises so quickly that it is mistaken for part of the sensation itself.
    9. We often take the reaction to be reality rather than recognizing it as a response.
    10. From the very beginning, experience is shaped by habit without any deliberate intent.
    11. Sensation itself is simple, but the mind quickly adds a layer of interpretation.
    12. This added layer makes the experience feel heavier than it initially was.
    13. Attention tends to cling to the most striking part.
    14. The light and subtle parts often pass by without being registered.
    15. Yet it is precisely these subtle parts that determine the direction of the next reaction.
    16. When the early moment is not seen, the reaction easily runs on momentum.
    17. Momentum causes experience to repeat within the same mold.
    18. This mold feels familiar even when the content changes.
    19. Familiarity makes the mind less likely to question.
    20. When there is little questioning, the operating mechanism is concealed.
    21. Experience does not remain still but shifts continuously, bit by bit.
    22. Yet attention usually catches only what has already become clear.
    23. By the time clarity is caught, the earlier process has already passed.
    24. What remains is the result, while the process itself is no longer seen.
    25. The result always carries a completed reaction.
    26. This makes it easy to believe the reaction was inevitable.
    27. In fact, the reaction is only a familiar option that has been triggered.
    28. This familiarity operates automatically and very early.
    29. It does not require our approval or resistance.
    30. For that reason, it often goes unrecognized.
    31. When a stimulus touches a familiar spot, the reaction flares more strongly.
    32. The intensity of the reaction is not proportional to the present stimulus.
    33. It is proportional to the thickness of the associated memory.
    34. Memory does not distinguish between present and past.
    35. As a result, the reaction can be very old even when the situation is new.
    36. We think we are reacting to what is happening now.
    37. In truth, we are reacting to pre-existing traces.
    38. The present moment merely acts as a trigger.
    39. This makes experience feel intensely personal.
    40. Yet the operating mechanism is the same in every case.
    41. When attention sticks to content, the process is pushed out of view.
    42. Content is always more captivating than subtle movement.
    43. Subtle movement tells no story.
    44. It simply arises and fades.
    45. Because it tells no story, it is easily overlooked.
    46. When it is overlooked, the reaction gains more space to grow.
    47. As the reaction grows, emotion becomes denser.
    48. Dense emotion obscures the original sensation.
    49. All that remains is emotion and the accompanying narrative.
    50. Experience has now moved far from its starting point.
    51. This layering happens rapidly and continuously.
    52. We rarely notice the moment when we begin adding.
    53. By the time we notice, the chain has already run far.
    54. From there, we shift into explanation rather than observation.
    55. Explanation comes later but creates a sense of control.
    56. This sense of control brings temporary reassurance.
    57. Yet it does not touch the operating mechanism.
    58. The mechanism continues repeating as before.
    59. We may change the content, but not the mold.
    60. The mold reveals itself only when the early process is seen.
    61. The early moment is very light and makes little impression.
    62. It is often skimmed over in daily life.
    63. Yet it is precisely this moment that determines what follows.
    64. When this moment is not obscured, the reaction does not surge strongly.
    65. This does not feel special.
    66. It simply makes the experience less heavy.
    67. This lightness is easy to dismiss.
    68. Yet it shows that the process is operating differently.
    69. Not because it is being interfered with, but because it is no longer being fed.
    70. Reaction lives on tightly bound attention.
    71. When attention softens, reaction loses its foothold.
    72. This softness is not a deliberate relaxation.
    73. It is the result of not stepping in too early.
    74. When there is no intrusion, the process reveals itself.
    75. What is revealed is how sensation arises and fades very quickly.
    76. This arising and fading has always been happening.
    77. Previously, it was hidden by reaction.
    78. When arising and fading are seen, sensation is less identified with.
    79. Reaction is no longer mistaken for the sensation itself.
    80. Experience becomes simpler.
    81. Simplicity does not mean emptiness.
    82. It simply lacks unnecessary interpretive layers.
    83. Without these layers, the mind is less carried away.
    84. Being less carried away uses less energy.
    85. Fatigue usually comes from prolonged reaction.
    86. Sensation itself does not exhaust us.
    87. Holding on or pushing away creates tension.
    88. These two directions alternate very quickly.
    89. We usually notice only when we are already tired.
    90. By then, the initial process is far behind.
    91. When the early process is seen, nothing needs to be changed.
    92. Seeing itself slows the reaction.
    93. Slowing allows more detail to be noticed.
    94. More detail reduces confusion.
    95. As confusion decreases, reaction weakens.
    96. Not because it is suppressed, but because its basis dissolves.
    97. The basis of reaction is not seeing.
    98. When seeing is clear, that basis gradually disappears.
    99. Momentum weakens over time.
    100. Experience is no longer pulled as far as before.
    101. This change unfolds quietly.
    102. It does not feel like achieving something.
    103. For that reason, it is easily overlooked.
    104. Yet if noticed, life feels less rushed.
    105. Reactions no longer interrupt every contact.
    106. There is a gap between sensation and response.
    107. This gap is not fixed.
    108. It appears only when it is not immediately filled.
    109. When it appears, it is very fragile.
    110. Yet it is enough to see the mechanism at work.
    111. Seeing the mechanism does not require reasoning.
    112. It is direct recognition.
    113. This recognition does not reside in words.
    114. Yet it reduces the dominance of words.
    115. We no longer fully believe the inner narrative.
    116. The narrative still appears, but it no longer has sole authority.
    117. Experience becomes more open.
    118. Openness is not excitement.
    119. It is simply less constricted.
    120. With less constriction, inner conflict diminishes.
    121. Conflict often arises when reactions oppose reactions.
    122. Without seeing the process, it is easy to fall into this loop.
    123. Seeing early prevents the loop from closing.
    124. When it does not close, it dissolves on its own.
    125. No further handling is needed.
    126. Nothing needs to be replaced.
    127. Experience self-regulates when there is no excess interference.
    128. This holds true for every contact.
    129. Whether pleasant or unpleasant.
    130. The operating mechanism remains the same.
    131. Differences lie only in intensity and accompanying memory.
    132. The sequence itself does not change.
    133. Contact arises, sensation appears, reaction follows.
    134. When reaction is seen, the chain does not extend.
    135. When it is not seen, the chain feeds itself.
    136. This is not a moral issue or a matter of right and wrong.
    137. It is simply how experience operates.
    138. Seeing correctly leads to different outcomes.
    139. Not seeing leads to repetition.
    140. Everything unfolds in an ordinary way.
    141. No special circumstances are required.
    142. No unusual states are required.
    143. Only the experience that is occurring.
    144. Because the mechanism is always active in ordinary life.
    145. Every contact is an expression of it.
    146. No contact lies outside this system.
    147. Repetition reveals the universality of the mechanism.
    148. Yet we usually notice only isolated content.
    149. Content hides structure.
    150. When structure is seen, content loses its weight.
    151. Losing weight does not mean disappearing.
    152. It simply no longer dominates.
    153. Experience is seen in its proper measure.
    154. Neither exaggerated nor diminished.
    155. This balance does not need to be maintained.
    156. It naturally follows from clear seeing.
    157. When nothing pulls strongly, the mind moves less.
    158. With less movement, attention stabilizes.
    159. Stability does not mean immobility.
    160. It is the ability to keep pace with movement.
    161. Keeping pace prevents lag.
    162. Without lag, reaction does not have time to swell.
    163. Experience passes through more cleanly.
    164. Clean does not mean shallow.
    165. It simply avoids unnecessary prolongation.
    166. Time is used where it belongs.
    167. The present is not obscured by the past.
    168. The past remains present but does not command.
    169. The future does not need to be predicted.
    170. Experience unfolds in its proper moment.
    171. This clarity does not need to be held.
    172. Trying to hold it becomes a new reaction.
    173. When that is seen, holding drops away.
    174. Not through knowing why, but through seeing how.
    175. When the mechanism is seen, belief is unnecessary.
    176. It confirms itself through repeated experience.
    177. Each early seeing shortens the chain.
    178. Shorter chains lighten life.
    179. Lightness is not the goal.
    180. It is simply a natural consequence.
    181. When consequences are not pursued, the mechanism becomes clearer.
    182. Clarity does not need to be named.
    183. Naming too early obscures direct sensing.
    184. Direct sensing is always simpler than words.
    185. Simple, yet not superficial.
    186. It touches the true point of operation.
    187. That point is present in every contact.
    188. There is no need to look elsewhere.
    189. Only not to leave the moment that is occurring.
    190. This moment is always sufficient.
    191. Sufficient to see arising.
    192. Sufficient to see fading.
    193. Sufficient to see reaction forming.
    194. Sufficient to see reaction dissolving.
    195. No additional conditions are required.
    196. Ordinary life is a sufficient ground.
    197. The mechanism does not distinguish high or low.
    198. It only needs to be seen correctly.
    199. When seen correctly, it speaks for itself.
    200. And no further conclusion is needed.

    Source
    Copyright & Use
    © Phan Ý Ly.
    All original content in this text is the copyright of the author.
    You may quote, share, or repost this material for non-commercial purposes, provided that the source is clearly credited as follows:

    Phan Ý Ly
    http://ultimate-freedom.net

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  • NATURE OF THINGS – CHAPTER 1 – Human Beings and the 5 Aggregates (Pancha-khandha)

    Foreword

    THE NATURE OF THINGS

    I wrote the NATURE OF THINGS series from a very simple intention: to connect academic understanding with everyday life as it is actually unfolding. I do not believe that insights into reality should lie still on bookshelves, displayed like rare collectibles. They need to appear directly in lived life, in a form that is concise and alive, so that anyone can reach them and see for themselves.

    This text does only one thing: it helps readers look straight at how life or the mind is operating within their own experience, moment by moment, before what is happening becomes boxed into concepts, viewpoints, or beliefs.

    What is written here comes from continuous observation of my own body and mind: when sensations arise, when reactions spring up, how recognition takes shape, and how tendencies toward action reveal themselves. All of this can be directly verified by oneself, without having to believe anyone. Academic frameworks, when used, serve only as reference maps to ensure clarity and coherence. Among them, Buddhadhamma – The Laws of Nature and Their Benefits to Life by P. A. Payutto has helped me greatly, thanks to his clear and consistent way of organizing the laws governing psychological life through the Buddhist science of mind.

    In THE NATURE OF THINGS, you will not find attempts to answer the question “What is this?” through definitions, but rather “How does it operate?” right in the life that is happening. Processes are separated, placed side by side, and written as short, independent sentences—not to build yet another system, but to allow readers to compare for themselves and recognize movements that are deeply familiar, yet often overlooked in their own experience.

    THE NATURE OF THINGS is written in plain language, avoiding academic style and archaic terms. For that reason, it naturally cannot preserve full technical precision in wording—for example, some mental states that a single classical term once covered now require several modern words to convey roughly the same meaning. Still, I am certain that whether a person lived a thousand years ago or lives today, even if language does not perfectly overlap, the laws governing body and mind are no more and no less than this.

    My strongest drive is not to be seen as someone rich in words or strong in academic mastery, but for more and more people, at every level, to be able to read and feel these simple things directly in their own lives. I have come to recognize a truth that is quite obvious—and also slightly sad (and amusing): seeing and knowing oneself, something that could be gently and clearly shown even to a child, has for thousands of years been turned into something elusive and mystical, then locked away in thick, heavy books. I cannot help but wonder whether that has truly been worth it.

    That is why I chose to present this work in the breath of our time—open, easy to use, and accessible to everyone. If this text offers you a “guide” simple enough to look back at your own experience and recognize the small tendencies that keep repeating, quietly steering the way you live, then that is already more than enough for me.

    Everything you read here will only be truly useful if you are willing to verify it for yourself—by checking directly against your own body and mind, or by using it as a mirror to examine what you have already seen.

    There is something quietly humorous about reading these pages: many may be startled to discover that what most of humanity regards as lofty and worthy of reverence is, in fact, as simple as a child’s first lessons—learned directly from one’s own body and mind.

    If something here resonates with you, you are welcome to follow the NATURE OF THINGS series on NHULA.NET.

    From time to time, when circumstances allow, I will sit down again to gather notes, reflect, and continue this journey together with you.

    Phan Ý Ly
    December 15, 2025

    START

    CHAPTER 1 – Human Beings and the 5 Aggregates (Pancha-khandha)

    When observing closely, we do not find “life” as a separate entity, but only familiar processes in operation: the body is making contact, feelings are changing, perception is naming, tendencies are directing action, and consciousness is watching it all. Beyond what is being seen, felt, perceived, inclined, and known in each moment, there is no other “life” to be found.
    1. A human being is not a fixed entity but an ongoing process.
    2. This process exists only as long as conditions remain active.
    3. When conditions change, the experience of “self” also changes.
    4. No part of a human being exists independently.
    5. The body is a system for receiving and responding to the environment.
    6. The body is constantly subject to the effects of time.
    7. Sensation arises when the body is impacted.
    8. No sensation is self-born.
    9. Every sensation has a specific cause.
    10. Sensation exists only for a short duration.
    11. Awareness is a function, not an object.
    12. Awareness only occurs when there is an object.
    13. There is no such thing as completely empty awareness.
    14. Awareness is always selective.
    15. Not everything is aware of at the same time.
    16. Perception is the act of assigning meaning to what is recognized.
    17. Perception helps direct action.
    18. Perception is also the source of misunderstanding.
    19. Memory retains the traces of experience.
    20. Memory does not store the entirety of an event.
    21. Memory is influenced by the emotions present at the time of the event.
    22. Every instance of remembering is an act of reconstruction.
    23. Thought is based on data from memory.
    24. Thinking does not always reflect the present.
    25. Intention is a tendency to lean toward a direction of action.
    26. Intention can exist before it becomes a thought.
    27. Action is the result of many factors converging.
    28. No action is entirely random.
    29. Habit is formed from repeated actions.
    30. Habit reduces the need for new thinking.
    31. Habit helps save energy.
    32. Habit also reduces flexibility.
    33. Emotions affect the speed of reaction.
    34. Fast reactions are often less accurate.
    35. A slow reaction creates a “gap” to choose.
    36. This gap does not occur naturally.
    37. It must be nurtured through observation.
    38. Observation is not analysis.
    39. Observation is direct noting.
    40. Direct noting reduces speculation.
    41. Speculation increases distortion.
    42. Accumulated distortion forms prejudice.
    43. Prejudice governs how one sees the world.
    44. The worldview governs life decisions.
    45. No decision is detached from its context.
    46. Context includes both the external and the internal.
    47. The internal changes faster than the external.
    48. No two people experience the same event in the same way.
    49. Experience is always subjective.
    50. Subjective does not mean “wrong.”
    51. Subjectivity becomes a problem when it is absolutized.
    52. Absolutism causes conflict.
    53. Conflict consumes psychological energy.
    54. Psychological energy is limited.
    55. When energy is depleted, judgment weakens.
    56. Weakened judgment increases errors.
    57. Repeated errors create a sense of being stuck.
    58. Being “stuck” is often misunderstood as a circumstance.
    59. In reality, being stuck lies in the internal way of operating.
    60. Changing the way of operating can reduce being stuck.
    61. One does not need to change the world to reduce mental suffering.
    62. One needs to understand their own way of reacting.
    63. Automatic reactions often go unrecognized.
    64. If not recognized, they cannot be adjusted.
    65. Adjustment begins with awareness.
    66. Awareness requires a lucid presence.
    67. Being lucid is not the same as being tense.
    68. Lucidity means not being swept away.
    69. Being swept away results in a loss of choice.
    70. Having choices increases freedom.
    71. Freedom is not “doing whatever one wants.”
    72. Freedom is clearly understanding consequences.
    73. Understanding consequences helps one act appropriately.
    74. Appropriate action reduces internal conflict.
    75. A mind with less conflict is clearer.
    76. Clarity does not depend on education.
    77. Clarity depends on the ability to see things as they are.
    78. Seeing correctly requires reality, not imagination.
    79. Excessive imagination misdirects one’s life.
    80. Misdirection causes long-term fatigue.
    81. Fatigue does not only come from work.
    82. Fatigue comes from repeated wrong reactions.
    83. Wrong reactions are not due to malice.
    84. They are due to not seeing the process clearly.
    85. Seeing the process clearly helps reduce self-blame.
    86. Self-blame weakens the spirit.
    87. A weakened spirit easily leads to poor decisions.
    88. Poor decisions create a disadvantageous loop.
    89. This loop can be broken.
    90. It is broken by awareness at the right time.
    91. The “right time” is usually very early.
    92. Earlier than when a thought even forms.
    93. This part belongs to the microscopic level.
    94. Without seeing this part, one only fixes the symptoms (the “top”).
    95. Fixing the symptoms takes a lot of effort.
    96. Fixing the root requires subtle understanding.
    97. Subtle understanding does not require over-complication.
    98. It requires patience.
    99. Patience is accepting the process.
    100. The process does not follow one’s will.
    101. Wanting to control the process causes stress.
    102. Understanding the process helps one live in harmony.
    103. Harmony does not mean passivity.
    104. Harmony is acting in the right rhythm.
    105. Everyone’s rhythm of life is different.
    106. Comparison throws the rhythm off.
    107. Being out of rhythm causes imbalance.
    108. Balance is a dynamic state.
    109. There is no fixed balance.
    110. Realizing this allows for flexibility.
    111. Flexibility helps with adaptation.
    112. Adaptation helps with sustainable existence.
    113. Sustainability is more important than raw strength.
    114. Strength without self-understanding is easily broken.
    115. Understanding oneself helps in allocating energy.
    116. Proper allocation helps one live for the long haul.
    117. Living for the long haul requires less internal conflict.
    118. Less conflict comes from right understanding.
    119. Right understanding requires continuous observation.
    120. Observation is the foundation of these entire records.

      ———————————————
    121. Before a clear thought exists, there is often a vague feeling.
    122. This vague feeling does not yet have a name.
    123. Even when unnamed, it still influences behavior.
    124. Humans usually only notice when the thought has already formed.
    125. By then, the reaction is already halfway there.
    126. The part before the thought determines the direction of the reaction.
    127. This part is very fast and easily overlooked.
    128. If not used to observing, we will not see it.
    129. When we don’t see it, we imagine thoughts appear naturally.
    130. In reality, thoughts have been guided beforehand.
    131. This guidance is not through words.
    132. It is like a very slight tilt.
    133. This tilt causes the thought to turn to one side.
    134. When the tilt is strong, the thought becomes biased.
    135. Bias is often misunderstood as a “personal opinion.”
    136. Personal opinions often stem from old tilts.
    137. Old tilts are formed from repeated experiences.
    138. Experiences with strong emotions leave deep tilts.
    139. Deep tilts are harder to recognize than new ones.
    140. The more familiar they are, the more invisible they become.
    141. Attention is what makes a process stronger.
    142. What is not attended to will gradually weaken.
    143. Attention is not as neutral as we think.
    144. Attention always carries a tendency.
    145. When attention is rushed, the process is accelerated.
    146. When attention is frantic, the reaction becomes urgent.
    147. Gentle attention allows the process to reveal itself clearly.
    148. Attention that is too strong loses detail.
    149. Losing detail leads to misunderstanding.
    150. Misunderstanding often occurs very early.
    151. We often focus on the content while ignoring the way it appears.
    152. The way of appearing is more important than the content.
    153. Content changes according to the way it appears.
    154. When attention is applied correctly, content self-adjusts.
    155. There is no need to “fix” thoughts if they are seen earlier.
    156. Seeing early prevents thoughts from flaring up.
    157. When a thought hasn’t flared up, action is not yet “locked.”
    158. Being locked into an action creates a sense of helplessness.
    159. Helplessness does not come from circumstances, but from early reactions.
    160. Early reactions usually take place outside of consciousness.
    161. Recognition occurs very quickly after a sensation.
    162. Labeling helps save time.
    163. Labeling also impoverishes the experience.
    164. When labeling occurs too early, we do not see the fullness.
    165. Not seeing the fullness leads to mechanical reactions.
    166. Mechanical reactions reinforce old habits.
    167. Old habits obscure new possibilities.
    168. When we don’t see new possibilities, we imagine there are no choices.
    169. “No choice” is a feeling, not a fact.
    170. This feeling is created very early on.
    171. Labeling is usually based on familiar memories.
    172. Familiar memories do not reflect new situations.
    173. When using the old for the new, distortion occurs.
    174. A distortion doesn’t need to be big to cause consequences.
    175. Small repeated distortions create a skewed trajectory.
    176. A skewed trajectory is hard to notice when you are inside it.
    177. We only see it when the consequences are clear.
    178. Consequences are often blamed on circumstances.
    179. Rarely are they seen as the result of early recognition/labeling.
    180. Early labeling is usually not re-examined.
    181. Memory often intervenes before we can even realize it.
    182. It appears as a “feeling of familiarity.”
    183. Familiarity creates a false sense of security.
    184. False security causes us to stop observing.
    185. When we stop observing, we react by inertia.
    186. Inertia requires no thought.
    187. Inertia is very effective in simple dangers.
    188. In complex life, inertia is prone to error.
    189. Being wrong without knowing it is the most dangerous.
    190. Knowing one is wrong opens the possibility for correction.
    191. Memory is not just images.
    192. It is also the accompanying feeling.
    193. This feeling “colors” the present.
    194. When the color is too bold, the present is obscured.
    195. We think we are seeing the present, but we are actually seeing the past.
    196. The past does not leave on its own.
    197. It leaves when it is no longer fed by attention.
    198. Wrong attention brings the past back to life.
    199. The resurrected past takes the place of the present.
    200. Losing the present is losing one’s anchor.


    201. Before a clear intention exists, there is often a very slight trend.
    202. This trend is like leaning one’s body to one side.
    203. It leans so slightly that it is often not recognized.
    204. But it determines the next direction.
    205. Once a trend has formed, thought follows.
    206. Thought often only justifies the existing trend.
    207. We think the thought decides, but it actually follows.
    208. Realizing this helps reduce self-blame.
    209. Self-blame does not help change the trend.
    210. Seeing the trend clearly helps in changing direction.
    211. A trend grows stronger when it goes unseen.
    212. When it is seen, it weakens.
    213. There is no need to fight the trend.
    214. Simply recognizing it is enough.
    215. Fighting it makes it harder/stiffer.
    216. Recognizing it makes it soften.
    217. When a trend is soft, action is flexible.
    218. Flexibility creates new choices.
    219. New choices open up a different direction in life.
    220. A different direction does not require a change in circumstances.
    221. Humans do not only cling to their self-image.
    222. Humans also cling to familiar emotions.
    223. Clinging to an emotion makes us fear losing it.
    224. Fear of loss causes us to overreact.
    225. Overreacting distorts the emotion.
    226. We think we are holding on, but we are actually destroying.
    227. Clinging to thoughts also creates tension.
    228. Clung-to thoughts become rigid.
    229. Rigidity results in a loss of the ability to learn.
    230. Losing the ability to learn makes life poorer.
    231. Clinging to memory creates a false identity.
    232. A false identity needs constant protection.
    233. Constant protection causes fatigue.
    234. Fatigue gives birth to defensiveness.
    235. Defensiveness narrows perception.
    236. Narrowed perception makes the world smaller.
    237. A smaller world makes us feel suffocated.
    238. Suffocation is not caused by life.
    239. Suffocation is caused by clinging too tightly.
    240. Letting go in the right place opens up space.
    241. When attention is focused heavily on a sensation, thought tends to chase that sensation.
    242. When thought chases sensation, action becomes impulsive.
    243. Impulsive actions often create short-term results.
    244. Short-term results easily lead to repeated addiction.
    245. Repeating many times creates a self-reinforcing loop.
    246. When memory dominates, the present is constantly compared.
    247. Constant comparison loses the freshness of experience.
    248. Loss of freshness makes a person get bored faster.
    249. Boredom reduces the ability to observe.
    250. Decreased observation allows memory to dominate even more strongly.
    251. When recognition is too fast, details are ignored.
    252. Ignoring details causes reactions based on old patterns.
    253. Old patterns make actions repeat.
    254. Repeated actions create the feeling that “life never changes.”
    255. This feeling obscures the possibility of real change.
    256. When a reaction happens too early, thought only serves to justify it.
    257. Justification makes us believe we have considered things carefully.
    258. False belief makes us repeat old reactions without checking.
    259. Not checking keeps the loop going.
    260. A continuing loop creates the feeling of being trapped.
    261. When one can observe early, the reaction slows down.
    262. A slowed reaction creates a gap for new choices.
    263. New choices weaken the old loop.
    264. The loop fades when it is not nourished.
    265. Not nourishing is more important than fighting against it.
    266. When clinging to an emotion, attention is sucked in tight.
    267. Sucked-in attention loses the big picture.
    268. Losing the big picture makes decisions lack consideration.
    269. Unconsidered decisions breed regret.
    270. Regret, in turn, nourishes the old emotion.
    271. When clinging to a thought, we protect it as if protecting ourselves.
    272. Protecting a thought reduces the ability to listen.
    273. Not listening increases misunderstanding.
    274. Misunderstanding makes defensive reactions stronger.
    275. Defensiveness reinforces the sense of separation.
    276. When clinging to an image of oneself, all feedback is personalized.
    277. Personalization makes hurt increase rapidly.
    278. Hurt makes reactions more extreme.
    279. Extreme reactions make relationships worse.
    280. Worse relationships confirm the negative image of oneself.
    281. When not clinging to any part, attention becomes flexible.
    282. Flexible attention helps see many factors at once.
    283. Seeing many factors makes the reaction softer.
    284. A soft reaction allows for mid-course adjustments.
    285. Mid-course adjustments prevent large consequences.
    286. When understanding that all processes are temporary, attachment decreases.
    287. Decreased attachment makes the mind lighter.
    288. A lighter mind helps one observe deeper.
    289. Deep observation makes the loop visible.
    290. The visible loop is the first step toward freedom.
    291. When the loop is seen clearly, we no longer identify with it.
    292. Dis-identification makes the loop lose its power.
    293. Losing power causes the loop to dissolve on its own.
    294. The loop dissolves without the need for forced effort.
    295. Non-forcing allows the process to happen naturally.
    296. Natural does not mean giving up.
    297. Natural is acting at the right time, to the right extent.
    298. “Right time” and “right extent” only exist when the operation is seen clearly.
    299. Seeing the operation clearly is the core of this entire chapter.
    300. When seen clearly, life operates more lightly without the need for blind faith.

    Phan Ý Ly.
    Reference: Buddhadhamma – The Laws of Nature and Their Benefits to Life (P. A. Payutto).

    Copyright & Usage Notice

    © Phan Ý Ly.
    All original text in this work is protected by copyright.

    You are welcome to quote, share, or repost this content for non-commercial purposes, provided that proper credit is given as follows:

    Phan Ý Ly. http://ultimate-freedom.net

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  • The Illusion of Knowledge and the Door to Realization

    The Illusion of Knowledge and the Door to Realization

    There is something I have observed very clearly in the current landscape of spiritual practice and study. The longer I walk this path, the more I see that this is not just a personal matter of a few teachers, but a general, crystal-clear trend that very few people point out.

    There are so many classes, so many retreats, so many lectures; many people speak the Dhamma articulately and perfectly, citing scriptures correctly and using standard terminology. Listeners nod, take notes, and share wonderful reflections. But there is a disturbing absence: rarely are students guided to turn back and look directly at themselves—to look directly at what is operating within their own bodies, their reactions, and their daily lives.

    When a teacher perpetually fails to teach students to see themselves and focuses only on teaching theory, then in essence, that person is doing the work of an intellectual lecturer, not necessarily that of an awakener of wisdom.

    Theory, in Buddhism, originally has a very humble function: to bring the learner back to direct experience.

    If a teaching cannot turn the listener back to where they are suffering, clinging, fearing, or reacting, then no matter how correct it is, it still stands outside the door of transformation. Or, to use “technical” terms, it cannot sever upadana (clinging) or bhava (becoming)—the reactions, the attachments, the formation of viewpoints, and the painting of an illusory ego.

    This does not necessarily stem from ill intent. There are those who study very well, remember a lot, and understand deeply at the level of thought, but they themselves have not truly crossed the boundary between understanding (theoretically) and seeing (self-verification). For them, theory is a comfort zone. Teaching theory is safe. Leading others inward to look directly at their own body and mind is full of risk, because at that point, there is no place left to hide behind concepts. Someone who has never walked that path themselves can only hand others the map they are currently using; they cannot walk with them in the forest, because how can they lead when they don’t even know the “where or what” of the forest?

    There is also a more subtle case: teaching only theory easily brings status to the speaker. And as long as there is theory, the listeners feel they need the one who reveals it.

    However, if you turn the students back so they can see for themselves, eventually, they will no longer need the teacher. If the subtle ego of the teacher has not been let go, they will unconsciously keep the students at the level of hearing and understanding. Not because they want to harm anyone, but because they lack the courage to stand in a role that will gradually become… unnecessary.

    Another cause that is rarely mentioned is the fear of responsibility. To lead others to look directly at themselves requires the teacher to be proficient in reading the mind (and anyone who is proficient in reading their own mind is naturally subtle when reading the minds of others), knowing when to speak, when to be silent, and taking responsibility for the psychological impact of their guidance.

    But teaching theory is much safer. Less misunderstanding, less friction, less risk. And the price of that safety is that while the number of people with intellectual understanding and information grows, the wisdom to live rightly and well in life progresses very little.

    This consequence is seen very clearly in the students. They speak the Dhamma increasingly well and analyze psychology increasingly skillfully, but their reactions remain exactly the same. When suffering, they are still submerged. When faced with friction, they still shrink and tense up. Theory, following the exact process of the clinging mind, gradually becomes a sophisticated shelter—a system to cling to and to build an “informed, practicing ego,” rather than a knife to sever all reliance.

    In contrast to that is a different type of teacher, very rare, and often misunderstood. Depending on the conditions, people might consider this teacher “ignorant,” “teaching too little,” “lacking knowledge,” or “teaching in riddles.”

    In reality, they teach exactly where it matters. Their focus does not lie in how much the student remembers, but in what the student is seeing within themselves.

    They constantly pull the learner’s attention back to what is happening in the body, in sensations, and in reactions right in the midst of daily life. The Dhamma does not travel from teacher to student; it travels from reality straight into the student’s mind.

    When a student sees a certain law for themselves within their own experience, this teacher does only one very subtle thing: they confirm it. They do not confirm too early, to prevent the student from becoming attached to theory and the teacher’s words. They do not confirm too late, to avoid confusion and discouragement. And they absolutely never confirm incorrectly.

    The statement, “What you are seeing is exactly how it operates—congratulations!” does not create power for the teacher, but creates firm confidence in the learner’s own wisdom. This is a very difficult skill, requiring the teacher to distinguish between true seeing and understanding through reasoning, and not to be swept away by the student’s excitement.

    In this way of teaching, theory comes only afterward, and only to give a name. The student has already seen the river; the teacher only adds that in books, people call it “that.” Theory at this point helps the learner know they are not lost, seeing that their personal experience lies within a universal law, and preventing them from imagining they are special or different.

    If theory cannot do those three things, the teacher will not speak it.

    Those who teach this way often have a very clear sign: they don’t need to prove they know a lot, don’t need the students’ admiration, and are not afraid of the students becoming better than them. They have tasted enough of the danger of concepts, have passed the stage of clinging to dogmas, and know very well where silence is needed. The hardest task for them is not speaking the Dhamma, but keeping the learner from wandering away from their own mind.

    From here, a major question arises, because this is something many people use and lean on as an excuse, and I see it touching the very core of being a teacher: should we assume that the majority of sentient beings lack the spiritual capacity (indriya), and thus only speak in flowery theory, waiting for whoever is “qualified enough” before speaking about seeing and knowing the body-mind right in reality as it is?

    Let’s look at this together.

    When a teacher DEFAULTS on behalf of the listeners that they cannot yet see, that person has unintentionally stepped into the role of an obstacle.

    The Buddha knew very well the differences in capacity, but He never used that as a reason to hide the core. He only changed the way of speaking, not the thing being spoken.

    Whether speaking simply or with profound subtlety, the content still revolved around suffering, the cause of suffering, and the possibility of ending suffering right in this life.

    There was no teaching that stopped at “learning to know” without opening a direction of “looking for liberation.”

    The most vital thing is actually not lofty at all. It is: how is suffering happening, where is the mind clinging, and is it possible to look directly at this reaction right here?

    These things do not require an education, nor do they need terminology; they only require a very minimal, utmost honesty and alertness.

    Oftentimes, those with less schooling find it easier, because they are not yet covered by concepts.

    There is only one relatively reasonable case for a teacher to stop at flowery words: when they themselves lack the ability to lead others back to seeing for themselves.

    In that case, relying on literal text to avoid deviation and loopholes is a very safe choice (and the right one for those who have not seen but still want to speak).

    But this “not seeing” is the teacher’s limitation, not the nature of sentient beings. If one takes this limitation and calls it “sentient beings lack capacity,” then responsibility has been reversed. Is it not like a teacher being unable to point the way but blaming the students for not being at the right level?

    The most subtle trap is the phrase “wait until someone has enough capacity to speak.” The listener doesn’t know what “enough” is. The teacher doesn’t clarify the path to becoming “enough.” The result is both are waiting. Flowery words become a legal shelter, and seeing oneself is postponed to a vague future, while it can only happen right now.

    A healthier stance does not need to choose one or the other, which I have seen in a VERY FEW people: The teacher always speaks the core, but speaks it at the right level. They do not assume everyone sees it immediately, nor do they assume everyone is unable to see. Those with enough experience will see. Those without enough experience will hear and have seeds planted. Those who are still very far away will at least begin to recognize what the core path is.

    No one is excluded from the door of seeing; only the distance differs.

    When looking back at the whole story of “Learning – Reflection – Practice” (Pariyatti – Patipatti – Pativedha), if it is not placed in the light of the Dhamma that the Tathagata directly pointed out, it is very easy to get lost. And the point where people get lost the most is right here:

    That Dhamma does not operate according to time (akaliko).

    In many scriptures, the Tathagata spoke very clearly, but because it is so familiar, people hear it without seeing it for themselves: there is only the present Dhamma to observe, only what is happening to be seen, and that very seeing is wisdom.

    It is not “will see,” not “preparing to see,” not “gathering enough conditions and then seeing.”

    But seeing right now what is operating in this body, in this reaction, in this clinging, in this fear, in this very specific suffering. Aside from that, there is no other “practice” located in the future.

    There is a very common deviation in study and practice today, and if it is not spoken plainly, all discussions about learning, reflection, practice, or about methods and capacity… are just going in circles. That deviation lies in the fact that: people talk a lot, learn a lot, and analyze a lot, but fail to clarify the most important thing that needs to be seen immediately. And when the key is not pointed to directly, the entire endeavor of study and practice becomes a beautiful carousel that does not touch the core.

    The Dhamma the Tathagata pointed out from the start is not a system to be understood gradually, but a reality to be seen directly. Seeing is timeless. It’s not seeing after preparation is finished, nor seeing after enough accumulation. It is seeing right now what is. And “there is only the present Dhamma to observe” is not a slogan, but a direct instruction: outside of what is unfolding in this moment, there is no other place for wisdom to arise.

    But in the reality of teaching and learning, this key point is often blurred. People talk a lot about impermanence, non-self, suffering, letting go, awareness, mindfulness, ethics, concentration, and wisdom… but they do not point out clearly: right now, in the body and in the reactions of the student, what is operating. Thus, the student can understand everything, agree with everything, and interpret it beautifully, yet still not see what needs to be seen within themselves—or only see it through semantics and concepts.

    The teacher says many right things, but the words do not touch the living moment where the student is being swept away. The student hears much, but does not know where they need to look. And so both wander in a safe space of words.

    Seeing “reality as it is” is not a special state. It is simply recognizing very clearly what is happening in the body, in sensations, in reactions. How is discomfort present? Where is tension tightening? How did a desire to avoid or to hold on just flicker up? This is not a lofty matter; it is a very coarse, very mundane, and very real matter. Anyone can see it—some see a little, some see a lot.

    Or take the seeing of Dependent Origination—it isn’t mechanical. It is the act of recognizing a very specific succession: from a sensation, a reaction is born; from that reaction, a desire to possess or push away appears; from there, a story or a commentary about “me” is built. When this succession is seen while it is happening, the practitioner begins to self-verify why suffering is not caused by circumstances, but by the way the mind clings to circumstances.

    And the most subtle key is seeing craving (tanha) and clinging (upadana) right when they are just beginning to stir. Not when they have become actions, words, or conflicts, but right at the moment the mind leans toward grasping or pushing away. If this point is seen, the flow of “correspondence”—the flow that sweeps people from sensation to reaction, from reaction to identification—can stop. Not by willpower, but by seeing clearly.

    If we go one step further, we will see a very common confusion, because it wears very gentle, very moral, and very “healing” robes. That is the way of teaching and learning that makes people believe the “counter-measures” (remedies) are the key, while observing/seeing the body-mind is pushed to the margins, or even left unclarified as a necessity.

    Many people enter spiritual study with a silent belief: one must do something for it to be practice. And so, anything in the form of “doing” is easily assigned central value. Rituals, chanting, singing, breathing, walking meditation, maintaining deportment, chewing according to the bell, speaking sweet words, living beautifully, living correctly, being vegetarian, celibacy, practicing postures… All those things, in themselves, are not wrong. But the problem lies in the fact that: they are taught and learned as if they themselves are the key, while the actual key is not placed in the learner’s hands.

    That key is very simple but not easy to accept: direct observation of what is happening. Observing the reaction. Observing the way the mind clings. Observing the moment of clinging, rejecting, and the “position” that has just flickered into existence in the mind. Observing the succession of mental and physical events as they operate. Not to fix them to a standard, not to clock in for merit, not to repent, and not to criticize or analyze, but to see the chain of laws of prejudice gradually revealing itself.

    But in many retreats today, this is almost absent. Every year in Vietnam, there are hundreds of retreats, large and small. People are soothed, embraced, and told they are being “healed.” They sing together, cry together, breathe in and out together, walk gently, speak softly, and smile gracefully together. There are other retreats that go in the opposite direction: very strict, very disciplined, very mechanical. Counting breaths. Walking very slowly. Sitting very straight. Using psychological and physical pressure to create a mold called “concentration,” and then using that as a measure for “wisdom.”

    These two extremes seem different, but they meet at the exact same point: both replace seeing and knowing the mind with a form of DOING SOMETHING. Doing it to feel more comfortable, or doing it to be more “correct.” Doing it to calm the mind, or doing it to force the mind into a mold. But that “doing” is not synonymous with “seeing.” And when there is no seeing, whether it is pleasant or strict, ignorance and suffering remain intact.

    In the soothing style of teaching, learners gradually believe that the Dhamma is for feeling comfortable, light, and beautiful. When they no longer feel comfortable, they think they aren’t practicing correctly, or they need another retreat. In the harsh style of teaching, learners believe the Dhamma is about enduring, forcing oneself, and overcoming limits. When they can no longer endure, they think they have low capacity. Both miss a very important point: suffering does not end because you are more comfortable, nor does it end because you are better at enduring. Suffering ends when that which creates suffering is seen clearly.

    More dangerously, many students begin to equate counter-measures with the core of practice. Chanting becomes a way to avoid inner chaos. Breathing becomes a way to suppress unpleasant emotions. Singing and group activities become a way to forget reactions that haven’t been looked at directly. Keeping precepts, saying good things, and living beautifully become a layer of moral paint covering attachments that have never been scrutinized.

    Conversely, counting breaths, walking slowly, sitting for a long time, and keeping the body rigid… when there is no alert seeing and knowing, becomes a form of mechanical operation that reinforces a perfectionist, control-hungry ego.

    The learner pours all their attention into doing the form correctly and imagines that they are progressing. But deep inside, the ego of greed and anger still operates, only more subtly, more dangerously, as it quite properly wears the robe of discipline and diligence.

    What is noteworthy is that in both types of teaching, rarely does the teacher stop and point directly: right now, within you, what is arising? What just ceased? What is the mind clinging to?

    Rarely is there a question that leaves the learner no room to hide. Rarely is there a direct pointing to the moment the mind is grasping or pushing away. And when there is no such pointing, the learner doesn’t know where they need to look. They only know how to follow along, and to follow along, there must be… movements. And so, the movements begin again.

    From this arises a very deep confusion: people imagine that the counter-measure is the key, while the counter-measure is only a secondary means. They can help the mind settle temporarily, help life be more orderly, help a person be less coarse…

    But if one stops there, they only make the root of suffering go to sleep; they do not make it disappear.

    The Tathagata never taught that just enough ritual, enough chanting, or enough formal adherence would end suffering. He also didn’t teach that you must squeeze the body and mind to a certain point for wisdom to “pop out.” He pointed out one thing very consistently: “Only the present Dhamma, the wisdom-observation is right here,” “see right on reality as it is,” “whoever sees dependent origination, sees the Tathagata”…

    Look. See what is happening within you. See the succession of conditions. See craving and clinging right as they arise. And that very seeing is wisdom.

    When the way of teaching and learning does not clarify this point, people can easily spend their whole lives in spiritual study without ever touching the core. One retreat after another. One method after another. Feelings may change, forms may look better, discipline may increase. But the necessary work of skillfully observing the mind is always pushed aside, done sloppily, or done in a distorted, half-hearted way.

    To put it clearly: any practice that is not accompanied by observation/seeing/awareness within the body and mind… is merely getting lost in a maze.

    Whether that maze is soft or harsh, it is still a maze.

    When observing and knowing the body-mind… is not placed in the learner’s hand as the central key, then spiritual study—no matter how crowded, no matter how bustling—only stops at soothing, adjusting, or training. it has not yet touched the place where suffering ends that the Tathagata pointed out.

    And there is another level of deviation, more subtle and harder to recognize, because it takes on a very “Dharmic” appearance. That is when the act of “turning inward to look at the mind” is also done incorrectly, or even used incorrectly in a systematic way.

    People start talking a lot about internal observation, about looking back at oneself, about reflection. At first glance, it seems like the true Dhamma. But if you look closely at how it is taught and practiced, you will see a big problem: that “look” is not pure at all. It is full of calculation.

    Many people are guided to look into their minds not to see, but to evaluate. To see if they are right or wrong. Good or bad. Progressing or regressing. Whether they have “attained the path” or are not yet “spiritual” enough. That look immediately triggers a machinery of classification, comparison, and criticism—in many cases, that entire machinery is operated by all the members of a class. And as soon as that machinery operates, what is happening is no longer “seeing,” but “judging.”

    Some look into their minds to find faults. Some look to prove they are okay. Some look to analyze the cause, the model, the label. Some look to have something to tell the teacher, the group, or the community. All those looks are very active, very intelligent, but they are not pure seeing-knowing.

    Because pure seeing-knowing does not aim to reach any conclusion. It does not seek a verdict, nor an excuse. It only records very clearly what is happening. When discomfort arises, it knows discomfort is present. When the desire to hold on appears, it knows there is a tendency to hold on.

    But in many spiritual environments today, the act of “looking at the mind” is heavily stained by morality, ideals, and collective expectations. Learners look while their heads already contain a mold of what a “right” mind, a “beautiful” mind, or a “progressive” mind looks like. And so they look not to see, but to measure where they stand in relation to that mold.

    The danger lies here: this calculation is often legalized by spiritual language. Judgment is called “awareness.” Suppression is called “transformation.” Analysis is called “contemplation.” But in reality, it is just the mind self-monitoring using a pre-existing set of standards. And when the mind monitors the mind in that way, tension increases rather than decreases.

    There are people who, the more they “turn inward,” the more stressed they become. The more they reflect on themselves, the heavier the mind feels. The more they observe, the further they drift from natural goodness. Because what is operating is not seeing, but a subtle “ego” standing outside, holding a lamp and giving grades. That ego can carry the title of a practitioner, an awakened one, or a knowledgeable one, but its essence is still discrimination.

    Therefore, it is not enough to just tell someone to “turn inward and look at the mind” to be on the right track. If you don’t clarify what looking is, that instruction easily becomes a tool that causes more confusion. Looking to judge is completely different from looking to see. Looking to fix is completely different from looking to recognize. Looking with prejudice is completely different from looking with clarity.

    The Tathagata did not teach people to turn inward to condemn themselves. He did not teach turning inward to become a more “moral” version of oneself. He pointed out a very simple but very hard-to-accept possibility: looking without intervening, without choosing, without taking sides. It is exactly that look that reveals how suffering is fabricated.

    When a teacher cannot distinguish between these two types of looking, they may unintentionally lead the student into another maze. On the outside, it is practice; on the inside, it is self-control. On the outside, it is observation; on the inside, it is tension. The learner thinks they are progressing, but in reality, they are just replacing a worldly system of judgment with a more sophisticated and neurasthenia-prone system of judgment.

    And thus, even when speaking of “looking at the mind,” the key continues to be missed. Because what needs to be opened is not the skill of psychological analysis, but the ability to see without standing outside, without standing above, without standing in opposition. Seeing like seeing rain fall, like seeing the sun rise. Without adding commentary.

    If this is not clarified, the call for observation only adds a burden. The learner must live, must do things “rightly,” must observe, and must report. Meanwhile, pure seeing-knowing—the only thing that can break the cycle of suffering—still has no place.

    To put it plainly: looking with the purpose of fixing oneself is not yet seeing. Looking to become a better person is not yet seeing. Looking to prove one’s understanding is even further from it. Pure seeing-knowing does not serve any image of the self. And only when that look appears do all other practices gain meaning. Otherwise, no matter how many times one turns inward, they are still only looking through an ego that has merely changed its clothes.

    When the teaching is separated from the present, it becomes safe but powerless. When a teacher makes theory the center, the student is protected from having to look deeply at themselves. And then, “Learning – Reflection – Practice” is no longer a means, but a system that legitimizes procrastination.

    The Tathagata did not teach people to wait for enough conditions to see. He pointed out that as soon as there is alertness—no matter how fragile—the Dhamma is present. A teacher who is honest with this spirit will not use theory to maintain distance, but will use words to erase the distance between the learner and their own life experience.

    When a teacher speaks the Dhamma but the learner still stands outside themselves, something is skewed. But when the words, however few, leave the learner with no room to hide, forcing them to look directly at the reality happening right in their body and mind at the moment of hearing—at that point, the present Dhamma has been opened. And besides that, there is no other door leading to wisdom. That is to say, while there may be many paths to guide various levels and capacities to the door of wisdom, the door itself is on every path without any difficulty—so what is the reason for absolutely never knocking?

    Phan Ý Ly

    December 14, 2025

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  • Knowing the not knowing

    Knowing the not knowing

    Excerpt from a Q&A on the http://nhula.net

    Questioner:
    Dear chị, may I ask something? For example, while riding my motorbike, I suddenly think of someone, and a feeling of sadness arises, accompanied by a sensation in my chest. After noticing this, should I just return to focusing on riding? But if I do that, I can’t observe the arising and passing of the feelings and thoughts. However, if I continue observing them and not focusing on riding, that feels like a lack of mindfulness. In daily life, we don’t always have the time to sit and observe until something fades away. What should I do in such cases?

    Phan Ý Ly:
    If you have to stop riding to observe, that observation is not mindfulness.
    If you notice thoughts and emotions but can’t ride at the same time, that awareness is also not mindfulness.

    Mindfulness—or pure awareness, as I call it—is like 360-degree seeing and knowing, simultaneously inside and out.
    When you let go of clinging to emotions and thoughts, and also let go of clinging to the act of riding, you will naturally ride while seeing yourself.

    Questioner:
    Got it. But if I don’t stop to observe and feel the emotion fully, how can I thoroughly experience it? The biggest struggle for me right now is a feeling of emptiness and despair. You’ve shared that we should allow and fully experience these emotions in a way that doesn’t affect others. So, for someone like me, who is still learning, how can I fully experience such overwhelming emotions when I’m not yet at 360-degree awareness—just at CAM 180? 😅

    I’m stuck here. When I sit and observe, I end up clinging to the emotion and drowning in it. I can practice letting go with moderate emotions, but after a recent major upheaval, I’ve been facing waves of emptiness and despair that I can’t seem to handle.

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Don’t push it away. Don’t wish for it to end. Don’t even think about it ending. That is what it means to fully experience it.
    Let go of seeking a “method” or a “way,” and that is fullness.

    Questioner:
    🙏❤️ I’ll continue practicing letting go. Thank you, chị. Have a lovely morning! ☺️

    Phan Ý Ly: 🙏

    Questioner:
    Chị, I don’t know what’s wrong, but suddenly, I don’t know who I am anymore. Thoughts and emotions keep changing—they aren’t “me.” Even the recognition of their constant change feels influenced by the ego (a desire to grasp something). So, I don’t even know where I stand.

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Not knowing is good.
    Knowing, however, is attachment!

    Questioner:
    I suddenly feel utterly lost and adrift. How can practice leave me feeling even more uncertain?

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Your ability to observe all these states is already good.
    The “not knowing” you’re experiencing is actually the ego struggling because it cannot label or grasp, so it begins to surrender.
    That very Not Knowing is the realm of Knowing Beyond Knowledge or Experience.

    Questioner:
    ❤️ Really? Earlier, I was sitting before the altar and suddenly burst into tears because I didn’t know who I was, what I should do, or how to proceed. I felt utterly alone. I’ll take a deep breath and return to the present. Thank you for always being there for me and everyone else.

    Phan Ý Ly:
    The sense of security you’ve always had—knowing who you are, what to do, and how to do it—is the ego’s false comfort, clinging to the illusion of “self” (knowing who you are) and “attainments” (clinging to what you should do and how).

    When you let go of all seeking, as I’ve guided you, the illusion of self and its attainments shatters. At that moment, the ego resists, feeling lost and ungrounded.

    By now, it has probably reasserted itself, hasn’t it? Haizzz.

    Questioner:
    😓

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Take a deep breath and cling to some theory to reassure the ego again.
    But even in that ungroundedness, it’s still the present moment. If you get swept into explaining “lostness” or “not knowing,” and can’t accept it, take another deep breath, anchor yourself in your breath, and continue living with a peaceful ego.

    Questioner:
    🫢

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Later, when you no longer force yourself to cling to plans or definitions of yourself, you’ll understand why the “lostness” you fear now is what the Buddha calls freedom without barriers.
    For an awakened mind, it’s liberation without hindrance. For an ordinary mind, it’s unbearable because there’s no foothold, leading to fear of being lost.

    Questioner:
    🫢 The ego said: “So close, yet I didn’t grasp it.” But it’s good that I understand what it is now and won’t fear it if it comes again.

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Exactly.
    It’s like a child accustomed to the tight comfort of the womb who panics when born into the open world. Many people, startled by this existential shift, trap themselves in the prison of their minds for the rest of their lives, seeking false security.

    Just remember this: rely on nothing.
    When you feel adrift, it’s because you’ve lost your footing. The moment you seek something to cling to, attachment begins.

    Questioner:
    🙄

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Don’t get stuck in false security.

    Questioner:
    That explains why I’ve been stuck for so long—I always plan everything, even though I know it’s not the way. It’s all about control to feel secure, afraid of making mistakes, getting lost, or letting go completely. What if letting go entirely leads me back to being totally unmindful, careless, and indulgent, like before?

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Huệ Khả cut off his arm to request Bodhidharma’s guidance.
    Huệ Khả said: “Master, please calm my mind.”

    Bodhidharma asked: “Where is your mind? Bring it to me, and I will calm it.”
    Huệ Khả couldn’t find it and replied: “I can’t find it.”
    Bodhidharma said: “I have calmed your mind for you.”
    Huệ Khả was enlightened at that moment.

    Quite the tuition fee, huh?

    Questioner:
    🙂‍↕️
    Honestly, I still don’t fully grasp what it means to let go completely while staying mindful. But I’m not rushing. It’s like you’ve given me a fruit-carving knife. Even if you guide me in detail, I still need to practice to refine my skill. At least now I have the right tool instead of grabbing scissors or a ruler.
    When I mess up, I’ll ask for guidance again, and eventually, I’ll carve beautifully.

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Haven’t you already experienced letting go completely while staying mindful?
    Were you unconscious then, or fully aware?

    Questioner:
    🫢

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Practice is the only way to truly realize it.
    No matter how sharp my words are, they’re just like a laser beam pointed at the moon. 😂

    Questioner:
    Sometimes I manage, but other times I still flounder.

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Don’t strive for perfection. Just knowing is enough. Let the stew simmer in its own time.

    Questioner:
    Yes! 😘😘😘 When the madness comes, it drowns me, but otherwise, I’m relatively clear-headed. 😘😘

    Phan Ý Ly:
    Haha, alright.

    Questioner:
    🙏❤️

    Phan Ý Ly: 🙏

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  • Lessons Money taught me

    Lessons Money taught me

    (A very long post indeed)

    This was a journey that required me to wrestle with an ideal of “being without possessions.”

    When I was a student, I dreamed of working for a community development organization, dedicating myself entirely to humanity.

    On my first day in India, starting a solo journey that would last the next three years, my mother gave me some careful advice. She didn’t say much, but she repeated over and over to her 16-year-old daughter, embarking on her first journey away from home: “Never borrow money from anyone.

    Don’t be afraid of running out of money. If you’re out, just bear with it; you’ll get your scholarship next month.

    Don’t borrow money, because that debt could turn you into a dependent person. You might feel compelled to do whatever they ask of you, and that’s the most frightening thing of all.”

    I followed her words and enjoyed myself freely, haha, but I was adamant about never borrowing money or letting myself become indebted to anyone.

    That was my first lesson about money: the greatest value of money isn’t in how much you have, but in the freedom it provides when you are self-sufficient. Never let debt take away your autonomy or dignity. When you owe no one and aren’t bound by others’ expectations or pressures, it’s easier to live freely and make your own decisions.

    That lesson has stayed with me my whole life.

    I still remember a moment, 1.5 years later, when I was around 19 years old, in the year 2000. I was traveling in Iran with a Swiss couple, who seemed to be experienced in human development. I naively asked them, “Which organization is THE BEST in the world for human development?”

    The 60-year-old couple looked at each other, then nodded in agreement: “THE UNITED NATIONS!”

    At that time, I was a final-year student studying Psychology, Sociology, and Economics at Mount Carmel College in Bangalore, India. A few months later, I graduated, returned home, and confidently declared to my parents, “I’m ONLY going to work for the UNITED NATIONS!”

    My parents exchanged hesitant glances, as they were both working in the Diplomatic Corps and were planning to encourage me to join the same field. But I responded fiercely, something like, “You think I need you to get me a job? Do you think I’m that incompetent?” My parents, who had barely started to suggest it, quickly sat back and said nothing further.

    My resolve was set.

    And indeed, after just a week, UNDP (the United Nations Development Programme) posted an opening for a Translator and Project Assistant for their Poverty Alleviation Program in Ha Giang.

    I applied, passed the interview (still with my fierce face), and when the recruiter asked, “As a woman, do you mind going up to the mountains and working there for years…?”

    I looked the recruiter directly in the eyes and asked, “Are you implying that women shouldn’t be out there on the front lines?” It was only after asking that I realized this was a trap question, and the recruiter went silent.

    A few days later, I received the acceptance letter.

    During my time in Ha Giang, observing the project processes, the efforts of the various levels, the outcomes, and the inefficiencies, I wondered: “How can people truly know, genuinely discuss, and fully own the projects in their communities as the government aims to achieve?” For only in this way would the project outcomes be sustainable, moving away from a grant-dependency mentality. But of course, I was just 19 at the time, still young and inexperienced, so I could only observe and wonder.

    My next elementary lesson about money was this: the people must feel they, too, benefit from the project, investing their effort and resources in each meter of the project’s road, in every irrigation canal the project develops… only then will they protect, care for, and cherish these projects.

    I also learned that even with a multi-million-dollar project, if the specific components of a large project do not address the real, fervent needs of the “barefoot, wide-eyed” locals, then the funds painstakingly raised from developed countries would be wasted, misspent, and would sometimes even produce outcomes the people wouldn’t want to use.

    And so, when I left that project and began working for an NGO, I became even more aware of two lessons I had vaguely perceived while observing the system and the organization’s operations.

    I understood these lessons so deeply that I told my boyfriend at the time, a Country Representative of another NGO, “I’ll never work in anything that’s non-profit or charitable again.”

    This hurt his pride, as he was also an idealist (just like me 🤣), and he pushed back, “Why?”

    I said, “Because it’s not real. It’s not sustainable. It leaves too much room for bureaucracy and subjectivity. It creates a hero-giver complex, with superiority and authoritarianism… often in people who originally intended to save the world. It builds a hierarchical divide of giving-receiving, proactive-charity and passive-dependence between the ‘givers’ and the ‘receivers’. This divide constrains the people from expressing their actual needs and always puts them in the mindset of begging. It doesn’t sustainably uplift people to a position where they can stand on their own; that’s what I care about.”

    My boyfriend, being sensitive about his field, pressed further: “So, are you saying that those who are giving are just bureaucrats and authoritarians, even though there are so many people who need rescue and aid, people who don’t even know what they need or what’s sustainable for their development…”

    “No, I’m not denying the benefits of philanthropists, charity funds, poverty alleviation programs, awareness-raising projects, etc. But I feel a yearning to find something deeper and more enduring than that. I’ve seen enough shortcomings in these areas, and I don’t want to follow that path, that’s all.”

    From that point on, we debated daily. He was knowledgeable in his field, and he was intrigued by having a younger girlfriend (I was 9 years younger) who had lots of opinions, so he took on the role of a counter-argument while I, delighted to have a sparring partner, further honed and refined my perspective.

    Through these exchanges, I realized that money, when used appropriately, can become a tool to support more sustainable development rather than merely an “exchange” in charitable activities.

    Traditional charity systems easily create a divide between the giver and the receiver. While essential in some cases (“A piece of bread when hungry is worth a full feast”), if treated as a continuous practice, it easily breeds dependency in some recipients and a lack of motivation for self-improvement.

    Conversely, a sustainable model is one where the recipient develops self-reliance, enabling them to stand firm and grow without needing continuous assistance.

    This, of course, requires a combination of resilience and wisdom to create a system where it’s not only financial resources that matter but also clear insight into how to use them to generate long-term motivation instead of perpetuating dependency.

    One day, my boyfriend said, “Ly, I have a friend who’s experimenting with a very unique and pioneering project compared to society’s norms: a microcredit fund for rural women.”

    (A non-profit credit fund is a special financial model, not-for-profit, aimed at helping disadvantaged groups, like rural women, access capital at low or no interest rates. Its goal is to support them in achieving economic self-sufficiency and improving their family life without relying on traditional charity organizations.)

    Yet, I still wasn’t drawn to this model, as the fund still established a one-sided relationship, where the recipient was the “one in need,” and the fund was the “empowerer.”

    This often led the recipient to feel dependent on outside support rather than independently building sustainable financial capacity.

    Moreover, at the time, I saw that the fund’s resources still largely relied on goodwill and donations, making it vulnerable when public interest waned.

    What I was looking for was a more genuine and lasting model, one that allowed people to develop self-sufficiency from within rather than creating a giver-receiver divide.

    Nonetheless, his sharing made me happy, as it showed me that I wasn’t completely crazy, and there were talented people out there thinking similarly to me—people who had even managed to make some of these ideas a reality rather than just stopping at the “thinking” stage.

    I had always wanted to study for a master’s degree in the UK. I asked around about the cost and did the math, realizing it would probably take over a decade of saving my monthly salary to afford it.

    Then, in 2003, I heard about Chevening, a scholarship program funded by the British government. I applied, and a year later, at the age of 23, I was awarded a scholarship to study for a master’s degree in Arts and Media in Human Development in Winchester, UK.

    Receiving this scholarship helped me understand money and the different ways people perceive it. When I shared the news, my boyfriend proposed, and we held a wedding before I left for the UK. Many of my friends were surprised, questioning why I would go to study in the UK after marrying a Western man.

    And yet again, another lesson about money: everyone has a different definition of financial success. For me, it meant freedom and self-sufficiency, not dependence on anyone. Contrary to the usual mindset that women should settle down early, I saw money as a means to pursue meaningful things. And it turned out, not everyone sees money from that angle.

    In school, my thesis focused on sustainability in community development, emphasizing the need to break away from the mentality of dependency and charity. Real community development must embody sustainable vitality and meaning, not through granting someone the “privilege” of being the “good person” who gives, but rather, through the true,sustainable impact that comes when the people themselves recognize and have the DESIRE for development. When they invest in themselves in whatever form—effort, resources, time—this fosters genuine ownership and responsibility, creating a true, equal partnership in their own growth and empowerment. Only in this way can the community truly and meaningfully participate in its development, moving beyond just the slogans of “people know, people discuss, people decide.”

    Writing that thesis reaffirmed my understanding of what constitutes a “sustainable development model.” 

    The first project I worked on for my master’s degree was a three-month project in the slum of Kibera, home to 1.5 million people, in Nairobi, Kenya. I went alone, but two classmates, one British and one American, also had projects in Kenya, so the three of us met in Nairobi.

    I was cheerful and uninhibited, dressing in my usual colorful skirts. My classmates, however, had gone out of their way to buy plain second-hand clothes back in England to wear in Africa, to blend in.

    Meanwhile, I strolled into the slum every day, all dressed up with long flowing hair, teaching forum theater classes to local students. To give you an idea of the environment, Kibera was notorious for “flying shit” because people used plastic bags as toilets and tossed them onto the street. Lacking a sewage system, it was crowded, smelly, and full of dust and debris. Kibera was also a refuge for many street criminals.

    When I went salsa dancing with the local expat community (students, businesspeople, etc.), some friends wanted to get to know me and offered to give me a ride to work. But when I mentioned that I worked in the Kibera slum, they disappeared, never mentioning giving me a ride again. I found this amusing and proudly told anyone who approached me, “I work in the Kibera slum!”

    Oddly enough, because Kibera was known as a haven for street crime, everyone treated each other as family within the community. Criminals only targeted people outside Kibera, so the locals protected me completely.

    One day, my British and American classmates came to visit my class in Kibera. We gathered on the dirt floor, doing storytelling and theater exercises, with the children crowding around us in the tin-roofed, mud-walled space.

    Afterward, one of the girls in my class boldly asked me, “Why are your friends dressed so poorly?”

    I couldn’t believe my ears, so I asked, “What do you mean???”

    “I mean, why aren’t they dressed nicely, like you or like us? Why do they look poor, even though they’re from the UK and the US?”

    Hearing this, I looked around at the girls in my class, young African women aged 17-20, all healthy and vibrant. They may have been from rural areas and stayed in the slum due to difficult circumstances, but they were meticulous in their appearance. Their hair was beautifully braided, and they took care of their skin, which was smooth and glowing. Their clothes were stylish and feminine—one day, off-the-shoulder tops; another, lace. They also wore accessories like rings, earrings, and nose rings.

    Even more remarkably, one of the girls had even won the title of “Miss Kibera”—not a joke, but a real contest held annually to honor the most beautiful girl in the slum.

    I stood there, trying to answer in a way that wouldn’t embarrass my friends while respecting the locals.

    Finally, I said, “My friends thought that people in the slum would dress simply, so they wanted to dress modestly to fit in and not stand out…”

    But the girls weren’t satisfied with this answer. I was puzzled too because the first thing I’d done upon arriving in Africa was to buy a local Nokia phone and SIM card like the ones used by people in Kibera, while my British and American friends had refused to buy one, even though it wasn’t expensive.

    Then one night, my two classmates called to tell me they’d been mugged and assaulted while trying to make a call at 9 pm.

    “What were you doing wandering around Kibera at 9 pm?”

    “We had to call our professor back in the UK to report on the project.”

    “What phone booth did you use? (Most people here used mobile phones, not booths.)”

    “We saw one near the slum, so we walked over at 9 pm.”

    “But didn’t you hear people here advising against going out after 6 pm? There have been many muggings and passport thefts.”

    “Yes, but we didn’t have a phone, so we had no other option…”

    I shared this with the people in Kibera. An hour later, their phones were returned with an apology: “It was a group of friends of mine who didn’t recognize them. Sorry!”

    I loved salsa dancing, and in Kenya, I went dancing every night from 9 pm until 3 or 4 am. But as a lone woman, going out at night in Nairobi was extremely dangerous, so I found a female taxi driver to escort me to and from the dance venue.

    However, this sort of taxi service was costly, around 700 shillings per trip—about 20-30 pounds sterling, or 600,000 VND.

    Going dancing every night like that would have drained my money quickly. So, I thought of an alternative: I texted a male student in Kibera named Andrew, a brilliant, devout Christian.

    I asked, “Andrew, do you work anywhere on the side?”

    “Yes.”

    “What do you do, and how much do you make?”

    “I work night shifts as a porter, making 20 shillings an hour.”

    “Andrew, the taxi fares for me to go dancing are too high, and I don’t feel safe taking the bus alone. Would you escort me by bus and wait for me to come home in exchange for a little payment?”

    Andrew agreed.

    So each night, Andrew would politely escort me on the bus. We’d grab some street food before I went dancing. Afterward, he’d wait for me at the door, take me out for a bite, and bring me home.

    For each night, I paid Andrew 100 shillings. He was very happy, and so was I.

    From my experience in Kibera, I learned profound lessons about money and how to use it effectively in different contexts.

    First, money is not just a tool for personal needs; it can also help build relationships and trust in a new environment. By choosing to live closely and invest in what the locals use, I not only avoided inconveniences but also showed respect for the culture of where I was. Conversely, my classmates, despite good intentions, unintentionally created distance, both from the locals and their own safety.

    Money also taught me about flexibility and creativity. In challenging situations, instead of spending a large amount on costly taxi rides, I found a way to provide work for Andrew while ensuring my own safety. I overcame any hesitation about “using money to buy friendship” and used it to create meaningful exchanges. This approach not only saved me money but also gave Andrew a safe and meaningful way to earn income (and kept me safe as his “dance-loving teacher escort” 😂).

    Later, in my “My Life My View” film project with seven children living along the Red River banks in Hanoi, I applied this philosophy of ensuring community participation at every stage, even if I was still naive back then. 

    Every project plan was shared in floating-house meetings with the locals. The uncles, aunts, and older siblings would review and give advice, which I always considered and incorporated.

    At that time, children had almost no access to professional filming equipment, yet I entrusted them with the camera throughout the three months of the project—not their parents, but the children themselves.

    One mother worried, “We can give birth to children, but how would we replace that camera if something happened to it?”

    I explained that the project had provisions for this, and this was a way to teach the children ownership, responsibility, and care for their equipment. Only then were the parents reassured.

    Gradually, the people began to see the project as their own. At the time, I was pregnant with Dion, and the uncles and aunts at the riverbank community provided me and the project team with food, from homegrown squash to chickens. They also provided a place to sleep and took care of me throughout my pregnancy.

    They even defended me when student volunteers tried to convince parents not to let their children participate, fearing that I was exploiting the kids to sell films abroad.

    The community members were the first to review the final footage before I submitted it to the Film Bureau for approval. They were moved to tears, both afraid because the film was so raw and emotional but also proud, saying, “This is our life, depicted truthfully by our children on film. We have nothing to fear. APPROVED!”

    The film “Green Prairie,” made by seven children, gained widespread recognition and became a prime example of using art in community development. It shed a positive light on the Red River community, fostering empathy and humanity.

    Even though the project happened because I won a World Bank Innovation Day award, giving me the chance to make this project happen (since I had no money otherwise), it was at that time that I learned another lesson about money. Money only truly has value when it becomes a bridge to understanding and supporting each other, rather than controlling or dictating someone. It was the trust and affection of the Red River community that nourished the project, giving everything more meaning and sustainability than any number on paper.

    After graduating with honors, I dove headfirst into founding Life Art in 2010, structured as a social enterprise. So many ideals, so many firsts that created a buzz in society, only to find myself broken down by a profound lesson about money and sustainable development: ideals cannot replace financial reality. If a model cannot financially sustain itself, it becomes a burden on both myself and those around me.

    To genuinely support others, I first needed to be prosperous and stable. Without financial stability, even the loftiest ideals are difficult to maintain and develop over time.

    In those days, my wallet was always empty because any money I had went to paying my staff’s salaries on time. They were also parents with young children who needed milk and diapers, and they were stressed about money, so I didn’t allow myself to spend a single penny on myself so I could provide for their children’s milk. 

    I tried to endure and push through with the ideal of creating a for-profit business that would reinvest 80% of its profits into non-profit projects and courses to support the community.

    The person who bore the biggest sacrifice was my mother. She meticulously saved and advised me countless times, yet she loved me so much that, despite knowing I was “a bit crazy,” she kept pouring her savings into my social enterprise, saving it time and again—even though this was her entire lifetime of savings.

    As I write this, I’m moved to tears by my mother’s love. She knew I was making naive mistakes, but she still supported me so I could experience and learn from them.

    One of my most painful lessons was in those days when I tried to prove my “goodness” by reducing course fees, by holding back from buying milk for my own child, by cutting back on clothes for myself so I could offer free classes to others. Ironically, the people who attended my Life Art classes or enrolled their children were mostly educated, financially stable families who valued the depth and self-awareness skills I offered for long-term growth.

    I used to proudly proclaim, “A three-month course with me costs only 800,000 VND, and if you bring two friends, the price goes down to 500,000 VND each.”

    Until one parent laughed softly and told me, “I’m enrolling my child because of the value of the course, not because it’s cheap,” and that’s when I realized I was like a vegetable seller, pushing what I thought was valuable by appealing to people’s financial self-interest. In doing so, I had unintentionally disregarded the true value of what I was teaching.

    Only when I was physically and emotionally exhausted did I sit down, reflect, and realize that this mindset was shortsighted. If I am not prosperous, I can’t truly help anyone.

    Why was I afraid, as a person of integrity, to scrape by and “bleed myself dry” to prove my goodness? Why did I feel the need to do this? Was it because I hadn’t yet fully recognized or believed in my own goodness, so I kept finding ways to validate it?

    It was clear this was pointless. I was chaining myself to an illusion of “not being good enough,” binding my hands and feet to my own idealism. In that moment, I silently vowed, “I will never tie myself down with ideals again.”

    A crucial lesson I learned was this: True value doesn’t lie in lowering fees or trying to prove your goodness by sacrificing unconditionally. When I failed to fully appreciate the value of my work and focused solely on “making it cheap” to demonstrate kindness, I was actually diminishing its real worth. I understood then that without prosperity, it’s impossible to help anyone in a lasting way, and that a good person doesn’t need to bind themselves with illusory ideals. A truly good person is one who wisely uses the resources they have and preserves their freedom to do good in a sustainable and effective way.

    With this realization, I resolved not to cling to or limit myself with any concept or ideal. As one of my mentors said, “Attachment to money or attachment to the absence of money—either way, it’s still attachment, a self-imposed shackle.”

    Later, between 2014 and 2016, I noticed that when course fees were low, classes were full, but most people would fall asleep because they attended out of habit, often exhausted and financially strained. They would take naps during class—naps they couldn’t get at home due to the demands of daily life. When they woke up, they would chat with each other, seeking empathy and connection.

    As the fees gradually increased, I noticed a shift in the students’ energy. Those who came were more alert, proactive, and eager, sitting closer to the front, asking deeper, more foundational questions with genuine curiosity and engagement.

    When fees reached a premium level, there was another noticeable shift. Students came dressed more formally, bringing notebooks and pens, arriving early, and eagerly scheduling one-on-one questions with me. They contacted me after the course, following up with questions to integrate their learning into real life.

    In class, they would think deeply and ask questions that inspired me to delve even deeper. Many of them were coaches or educators, supporting others in their own personal growth. In a way, money had filtered and selected students who were committed to going beyond surface-level encouragement and truly understanding fundamental principles.

    In 2020, during the COVID-19 pandemic, I decided to go deeper into teaching body-mind observation. Due to the complicated public health situation, I taught online for the first time. Under the illusion that anything beneficial should be widely accessible, I set the course fee at its lowest rate ever. I thought that if I could offer this essential, foundational knowledge at the lowest possible rate, with the added convenience of online access, it would attract a large number of students (compared to my in-person classes that charged 10 times more and had hundreds of participants).

    Ironically, this low-cost, online course only drew about 30 people. Many felt it was still too expensive and tried to negotiate for even lower rates.

    Of course, the economic downturn affected many people. But I also noticed that mainstream courses (not delving deeply into the roots of issues) attracted high enrollment despite high fees, whereas truly foundational teachings drew fewer participants. These were people who needed enough life experience to appreciate the depth of the work. That number was always going to be small.

    I learned yet another lesson about money: The value of knowledge isn’t in lowering the price to attract the masses, but in allowing those who come to it to be ready and experienced enough to appreciate its depth. Money, in some way, serves as a tool to filter out those who truly wish to engage deeply. A higher fee doesn’t reduce value but elevates the responsibility of the learner, prompting serious commitment and creating a quality, in-depth learning environment.

    The more valuable and profoundly beneficial something is, the deeper it goes to the root, and such foundational work attracts fewer learners and fewer teachers. Its rarity makes it precious and demands that it be respected. Pricing isn’t about greed but about safeguarding the true value of knowledge, avoiding situations where people who don’t truly understand it misuse it, which would drain the energy of those genuinely seeking.

    This made me realize that people who run businesses often have more clarity and realism in assigning value, whereas those driven solely by ideals of goodness are more prone to illusions. We need to distinguish between the illusion of virtue and actual virtue as it manifests in every moment of living—a truth that resides not in theory but in the practice and mindful awareness in daily life.

    So, if we are no longer caught in illusions, if we see things with clear-eyed wisdom and understand both sides of money, what then?

    Six months ago, I stumbled into a program that taught proper eating habits, healthy nutrition, and diverse but balanced eating practices. It helped thousands of people lose 10-12 kg effortlessly without needing to hit the gym. I joined to learn to eat right for those reasons.

    Out of a habit of sharing, I posted about it on my personal Facebook. A month later, the program informed me that I’d earned a reward of xxx million VND. I was so shocked, fearing I might end up in jail. I quickly researched the company to see if they were legal, if the money was legitimate.

    I discovered that they were a multi-level marketing (MLM) company, legally authorized to operate in Vietnam, with two large, beautiful offices in HCMC and Hanoi, and over 40 years of operation in 50 countries.

    And the most surprising part? The xxx million VND had already been taxed. This amount was MLM earnings. Instead of allocating 40% of revenue to advertising, television airtime, PR agencies, or celebrity endorsements, they paid the customers who had experienced the product and shared their honest experiences.

    It turned out that over 60 people had come to the program through my posts in the first month alone. Quietly, Ms. Mai Trinh—the person I’d turned to for guidance on proper eating—insisted on crediting the sales from those 60 people to me, even though I knew nothing about it. I just shared honestly, as I had done for over 10 years, only this time, a massive $$$ amount suddenly dropped into my lap, and an entire corporation applauded and recognized me.

    After six months of involvement, thanks to this passive income, I was able to cover the costs of creating my social media channels focused on mindfulness. I also had the time to complete and launch three sets of cards: Awareness, Love, and Clarity, set for release in November.

    Even more remarkable, some of my followers and former students joined the program, successfully learning to eat well and control their health, naturally becoming my teammates. They now receive my support in building a network, from resolving inner blockages to understanding proper perspectives, along with small but foundational tips for every task.

    In this model, no one has an obligation to report to anyone else; everyone is autonomous, self-reliant, and operates independently, yet they receive unconditional support from those who came before. Each person acts out of their intrinsic motivation and needs, with no charity and no pressure. This way, each link in the chain has equal potential for support and growth, empowering everyone to stand on their own feet, free to innovate, expand, and enhance the system.

    The most amusing part is that when we talk about spiritual principles—about the Way, mindfulness, non-doing, compassion, greed, joy, and detachment—many people used to approach these topics only through words and concepts. But once they actually get involved in this work, they begin to witness and apply these principles in tangible, daily actions, which enables them to live freely and vibrantly while still thriving both in heart and wallet.

    Just yesterday, our team held a private livestream and marveled at how serendipitously we found each other, connecting through a holistic, humane philosophy that allows every individual to shine as a vital, strong link within a peaceful and prosperous system, without competition or haste.

    Everything we used to aim for in theory has now manifested in our daily work: genuine giving, respect, integrity, support, and connection, with far-reaching vision yet grounded, complete actions.

    In my approach, no one has to sacrifice anything; rather, everyone is supported in recognizing and dissolving their limitations, enabling them to shine and become part of a greater whole.

    The most amazing part is that each person is independent yet not alone. This unity allows everyone to go far together.

    We jokingly call ourselves the “Bright Side of Money” team, because we are people who once held lofty ideals about humanity, who used to live for others, who now fully understand the consequences of “compassion without wisdom.” Many of us are also highly skilled and have faced envy and jealousy in the past just for excelling, yet here, no one is a towering tree casting shadows on others. Here, if you excel, you are supported to grow beyond your limits. I’m experiencing this firsthand from my leaders and am now passing it on to those who come after me.

    And once again, I’ve learned: When each person is supported and allowed to grow naturally, without being bound by accountability or forced responsibility, they can truly shine from their own inner drive and aspiration. Prosperity is not just about financial growth but also about harmony of mind and vitality, as each link in the chain is self-sufficient and strongly interconnected, like a thriving mangrove forest, a healthy ecosystem where everyone supports each other.

    As someone guiding others in self-awareness, this environment has become a place where I stand as an equal with everyone, practicing and applying the teachings in every action, attitude, and deed. It’s a “class” where the “tuition” is a healthier body and a stronger family, and the reward is true prosperity. In this “class,” prosperity and humanity aren’t merely theoretical but have become a way of life where honesty, support, respect, and genuine giving exist.

    The most wonderful thing here is that individual independence doesn’t negate community connection—everyone is self-reliant and strong, yet no one is alone. This unity allows everyone to go very far together, prospering without rivalry or envy.

    Thus, I’ve gone through a long journey in contemplating sustainable development, attempting to build a system that supports communities without dependency, and I have tried various paths—from NGO projects, charitable funds, to social enterprises—only to recognize that they all face limitations when balancing ideals with financial reality.

    Indeed, without a foundation of financial stability, even the highest ideals struggle to endure. Sustainability here doesn’t mean something that never changes but rather a self-sustaining ecosystem that can continue to thrive, remain strong, and adapt, led by new individuals who continually innovate and renew.

    It wasn’t until I encountered a well-executed and ethical MLM model that I witnessed “prosperity from within.” This is a system that doesn’t operate on a “give-receive” dynamic but instead provides an opportunity for each individual to develop self-reliance, growing while still receiving unconditional support from those ahead.

    Everyone can act in their own way, without needing to report or being coerced, so each person finds their own true motivation from within.

    When you meet the right leader with the right mindset, individual autonomy combined with community support creates an environment of harmonious growth, full of creative energy and humanity.

    Of course, I remain open-minded, not idealizing this system but continuing to explore. However, for now, this is where I find harmony between idealism and reality, a place where humanitarian values are not just theory but are actively practiced every day with my team.

    I am deeply moved, and there is so much more I want to share. What makes it even more wonderful is that I know everything I have shared, am sharing, and will share is being received and is fostering long-term, practical growth for the prosperity of my team.

    Phan Y Ly

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  • Live: Clarity in the Storm

    Live: Clarity in the Storm

    Dear friends,

    Join me tomorrow at 10am Vietnam time (8pm PST) Online for a talk show where we’ll explore the topic “Clarity in the Storm!”

    This will be my first English podcast, and I’m excited to be the guest. The host of the show is Jean Trinh Le

    Check out her message below:

    Have you ever felt like there is only you out there fighting against the whole world? So hopeless, worn out and lonely.

    That was me for almost 10 years trying to create a life in my second home USA!

    During that period of time, I’ve faced my share of suffering, like we all have, but fortunately I’ve discovered my real anchor: awareness. It’s what keeps me grounded when everything else feels uncertain. It’s the solitude that emerges when the world turns up side down, both internally and externally.

    Since then, my life has entered a whole new chapter. And before you make any guess: no, it’s absolutely not painted with all color pink! Just like you, difficulties still appear, problems still exist in my daily life but there is no longer the sense of suffering or battling rather than a deep acceptance and openness for whatever life might bring in.

    So now you must be curious or even suspicious of what might sound too “miraculous” or “dreamy”. Is there really such a way to get through life without tension, stress, anger…?

    In this podcast, for the very first time, I open up about my struggles, my pains, my insecurities and how awareness has became the most important tool to help me overcome life’s challenges.

    And my guest for this very first episode, who introduced and teaching me the key of true understanding and right practice of awareness:
    Ms. Phan Ý Ly- founder of Nhu La network where she guides people to use awareness not only to prevail over life obstacles but also applies it on a daily basic in a very approachable way.

    My friends, this is definitely not a quick and easy fix—it’s a long journey that will never stop till the day I leave earth. But in the midst of chaos and confusion, awareness is the torch that lights up and shows me my path, one step at a time, day by day.

    Join Phan Ý Ly and me in this intimate and raw conversation, where you’ll vividly see, hear, and feel who and what has taught me the clarity to navigate life’s storms.

    This thursday Sept 5th at 8pm PST!!!!

    Phan Y Ly

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  • Understand Reality in Buddism

    Understand Reality in Buddism

    Q: Why does everything seem so real if it’s just an illusion created by our mind according to Buddhism?

    A: Everything seems so real because our minds are incredibly skilled at creating and interpreting experiences. From a Buddhist perspective, the world we experience is seen as an illusion, not in the sense that it doesn’t exist, but rather that our perceptions of it are distorted by our mental conditioning and attachments.

    Our minds construct our reality based on sensory input and past experiences. This is like a movie projector casting images on a screen, making everything seem vivid and real. However, if we take a closer look, we see that these images are simply light and shadows—nothing more. In the same way, the things we perceive as solid and real are actually transient and subject to change.

    In Buddhism, this is captured beautifully in the “Verses on the Faith-Mind” by Sengcan, where it says, “To return to the root is to find the essence but to pursue appearances or ‘enlightenment’ is to miss the source”. What this means is that chasing after our perceptions and opinions only leads us further from understanding the true nature of reality.

    It’s actually our attachments to these perceptions that give them their seeming reality. We’re constantly judging, labeling, and clinging to what we see, hear, and feel. This attachment creates a sense of solidity and permanence that isn’t really there. In other words, the mind’s habit of categorizing experiences into good and bad, desirable and undesirable, makes them appear more concrete than they actually are.

    Buddhism teaches that everything is interconnected and impermanent. By understanding this, we can begin to see through the illusions created by our minds. For example, imagine watching clouds in the sky. They take on various shapes and forms, sometimes looking like familiar objects or faces. But in reality, they’re just clouds—ephemeral and ever-changing. Our thoughts and perceptions are much like these clouds.

    Oh, basically, the more we cling to these illusions, the more we suffer. Letting go of these attachments allows us to experience the world as it is, not as our mind wants it to be. This doesn’t mean we reject the world or our experiences, but rather that we see them clearly, without the distortions of our desires and fears.

    So, when you find yourself caught up in the seeming reality of things, remember to question those perceptions. Ask yourself: is this truly how things are, or is this just my mind projecting its own stories and judgments? By doing this, you start to peel back the layers of illusion and get closer to experiencing things as they truly are.

    Phan Y Ly

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  • The Nature of Awareness: Beyond Identification and Separation

    The Nature of Awareness: Beyond Identification and Separation

    Hi Ly,

    I hope you are well.

    I became aware many years ago of this formless awareness, a loving presence. For years I turned to it, and tried to “rest” in it.

    I don’t know if this is what Nisargadatta referred to as being in the “I am”.

    But I have realised there is still a sense of separation if you rest as the presence. Whereas there is actually no separation between this “presence” and the objects.

    And even this presence is a form in a way. It is perceived.

    Is there anything beyond/ apart from this presence and the forms arising?

    I just felt like reaching out to you. I would welcome any thoughts you might have.

    Thank you very much

    Love Nadine

    P/S: Just another thought.

    If I am perceiving this presence, there must be an identification with it.

    Sometimes there is a perception of the presence and forms – sometimes there is no perception.

    Hi Nadine,

    Thanks for reaching out and sharing your thoughts. Let’s dive into this idea of formless awareness and presence. You see, it’s common to have that sense of loving presence and try to “rest” in it. However, the moment we identify with this presence, it becomes another form, another object of perception.

    As you’ve noticed, even this presence is perceived, and that’s where the subtle separation sneaks in. You are spot on in realizing that there is no separation between the presence and the forms arising. In essence, they are one and the same. This presence is like the space in which all forms appear, yet it is not separate from the forms themselves.

    So, is there anything beyond this presence and the forms arising? Well, you know, it’s actually quite simple. When we talk about “beyond,” we can fall into the trap of searching for another state, another form of experience. But true freedom is recognizing that even this search is a movement within awareness. It’s not about finding a new state but seeing the inherent nature of all experiences, whether they are forms or the formless presence.

    When you perceive the presence and sometimes there is no perception, it shows that there is a deeper layer to observe. What remains constant regardless of the presence or absence of perception? It’s the awareness itself, which isn’t a thing or state to be identified with. It’s not something you can cling to or label. This is where true liberation lies.

    From my own realization, there’s a tendency for the mind to latch onto these experiences, to own them, and build an identity around them. It’s important to remain aware of this tendency. The moment we identify with any experience, whether it’s the presence or the absence of forms, we create a subtle separation.

    In your direct experience, observe how these identifications arise and dissolve. Notice the reactions, the clinging, or the resisting in your body and mind. This helps to see through the nature of these conditionings. The key is to see that everything, even the idea of presence, is a transient phenomenon within the boundless awareness.

    I hope that makes sense. Remember, the practice is not about attaining a specific state but about recognizing the true nature of all states. Stay curious and keep exploring your direct experience without clinging to any particular notion or identity.

    P/S

    Let’s think about it like this:

    Imagine you’re in a house and you suddenly realize that the air around you is crucial for your life. So, you start paying attention to the air, appreciating its presence. But then, you get this idea that there might be something beyond the air, something even more vital. So, you begin a quest to find this mysterious “beyond the air” element.

    But here’s the thing: the air is already what sustains you. It’s in every room, it’s always there, and you don’t need to go anywhere or do anything special to find it. It’s the most natural and ever-present part of your existence. Searching for something beyond the air is like trying to find a more fundamental element of life while ignoring the fact that you’re already breathing.

    In the same way, awareness is like that air. It’s the backdrop of all experiences, the space in which everything arises. Trying to search beyond formless awareness is like looking for a more basic element of life while ignoring the awareness that’s already here, right now. Just as breathing the air is enough to sustain you, being aware is enough to perceive the reality as it is.

    Remember, it’s not about reaching, attaining, or getting something new. It’s about dropping all searches. The absurdity lies in not realizing that what we’re searching for is already here, effortlessly present in our everyday experience. By ceasing the constant search for something beyond, we allow ourselves to settle into the natural state of awareness, which is already complete and sufficient.

    I hope that metaphor helps make it clearer. The key is to drop the search and simply be aware and present. Everything else falls into place naturally when we stop striving and start simply being.

    Phan Y Ly

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  • Letting go of the Now

    Letting go of the Now

    Someone asked if constantly striving to focus on the present, as a way of controlling the wandering mind, is unnatural, and I’d say, oh, it definitely is!

    When we force our minds to stick to the present, we’re actually fighting a never-ending battle—a battle fueled by the ego’s desire to control. Trying to anchor the mind in the now is not about forcing attention but rather about recognizing and observing everything without bias.

    True attention to the present moment is effortless—it’s about witnessing events as they are, without our prejudices clouding our vision. It’s this clear, undistorted perception that allows us to see the ties in our thoughts and emotions and “decode” them naturally by simply observing.

    When you understand that everything just naturally arises and passes away in the landscape of consciousness, you genuinely begin to feel free from the self-imposed pressure to confine yourself to any state or reaction.

    The effort of trying to control reality, born from a misunderstanding that the mind must be silent to be aware, only creates resistance. But awareness, or waking up, is about observing the flow of the mind—its chatter about the past or future—without getting swept away.

    It’s like walking down the street, noticing a fight here, a sales pitch there, a beautiful house over there, a stylish outfit in the distance, yet not getting drawn into any of it. You don’t need to actively clear the path or focus to avoid seeing these; you just keep walking your path.

    You might notice the mind planning tomorrow’s lunch or excitedly anticipating a day out, but what it says isn’t as important as noticing that it’s functioning. If those thoughts sweep you along, then, well, you’re swept along—it’s all part of observing how you get carried away.

    It’s not about focusing hard on something to escape thoughts; that’s just a temporary fix—a remedy for the moment when you’re not yet able to remain stable and undisturbed. Like if you were being insulted and couldn’t yet remain calm, maybe you’d focus on your breathing or count your money just to not hear them.

    That kind of peace, though, is the ego holding tight to avoid disturbance, not the natural peace that comes from deep understanding.

    Trying to force attention away from thoughts is merely a diversion, like distracting a child who wants candy with a toy instead—it’s not about seeing more clearly.

    Seeing clearly is recognizing the reactions of the mind and the root of illusions, seeing that the mind often gets stuck in misconceptions, believing them to be real. When these illusions are seen through the practice of pure awareness, they begin to dissolve, showing that they aren’t the ultimate nature of phenomena.

    This insight comes not from effort but from a natural, effortless state of pure awareness. When the mind isn’t restricted or pressured into a particular shape, it relaxes and responds naturally to everything, right here, now.

    And if you feel tired, strained, or stressed in the process of “observing,” then you’re probably slipping into old habits of trying to create the observer rather than letting the observation happen naturally. This misunderstanding about the nature of pure awareness—it’s natural, it requires no effort—is common, but in time, as you tire of forcing, you’ll just let go.

    So, all these efforts to quiet the mind or to accept the present moment reluctantly don’t really lead to freedom; they just add to the burden. Witnessing and accepting everything naturally as it is, that’s the true approach to reality. And start with the least expected “guy”: your own mind.

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