The Cultivation Experience of Ba Shi'er Kou

First, let me talk about my experience of realization. Realization occurs when one is concentrating on a single matter: suddenly there is a shock in the mind, a conclusion is obtained, and body and mind feel a moment of emptiness; in that instant, one's view of the world is also different. But this conclusion is not complete—it is neither detailed nor whole, and the mind cannot yet be fully certain. One needs to strike while the iron is hot, going deeper step by step, engaging in contemplative practice (vipaśyanā-caryā) repeatedly many times, and one may even need to persist for a very long time before gradually contemplating the whole picture, thereby consolidating the conclusion until there is no doubt at all. This process involves diligence and meditative concentration (samādhi); if perseverance or effort falls even slightly short, the contemplation cannot be completed in full. Most of the time there will also be backsliding, and being able to persist depends on one's initial aspiration.

Generally speaking, if there are many objects of contemplation but insufficient power of concentration, none of the contemplations can be completed. As the saying goes, "One bird in the hand is worth two birds in the bush." One should try to complete the entire process of a single contemplation in order to gradually master the method, and only then contemplate the next item—there is no rushing in between.

In daily life, one should strengthen one's power of concentration and constantly introspect. Whether eating, walking, or working, one should practice gathering the mind onto one point. After a long time, one will become disinclined to talk, and will increasingly feel that one falls far short of others. Having no actual fruits of practice, one is unwilling to engage in empty talk about the Dharma with others. One comes to feel a certain aversion toward those who talk grandly, speak empty words without meaning, and merely parrot the Buddha's words and preach big principles, unable to speak from their own experience of actual practice—feeling that they mislead others and themselves.

After introspecting for a long time and examining oneself, one will understand others' thoughts and psychological changes more clearly than before. Seeing others' faults becomes like seeing one's own faults; the mind often feels guilt, and resentment toward others transforms into dissatisfaction with one's own habitual tendencies. Yet getting along with others becomes better than before; in speech and word choice, one no longer fails to consider the other person's feelings. It is just that the former strong inclination to constantly ponder whether this person is good or bad to oneself is no longer there.

If one applies effort every day, far fewer worldly matters can arouse one's interest. Except for matters where habitual tendencies are deeply entrenched, one mostly does not want to do them; occasionally one does something but quickly loses interest, casting it aside without hesitation. Instead, observing the mind's reactions to the world has become a frequent practice. But most introspection reveals shameful habitual tendencies; the more one looks, the clearer it becomes, and one feels that changing one's habits is truly a long and arduous task.

Assessment: Your experience is quite good—truly the genuine experience and insight of the actual practice process. The experience of realization you describe at the beginning is probably not yet the final realization; it should be the process prior to realization. During the process, quite a few such phenomena can occur—that is called a meditative absorption (samādhi) state, having both concentration and wisdom, at varying levels of coarseness and subtlety. The final realization involves an even stronger samādhi state of the equal cultivation of Samādhi and Prajñā; this is true samādhi, with more intense experiences of body and mind, lasting longer, with firmer concentration that is not easily dispersed. Walking, standing, sitting, and lying down are all within concentration; afflictions become so slight that they cannot even be detected. There are also some phenomena of body and mind that are inconvenient to say too much about, lest someone, upon learning of them, falsely claim to have these phenomena themselves, hinting that they are enlightened.

Contemplative practice should indeed focus on only one question, one questioning doubt; two or more would be chaotic and lead to random wandering thoughts—that would no longer be contemplative practice. When one truly applies effort and truly engages in contemplative practice, the whole person changes, becoming different from before. Familiar people will find you dull and inarticulate, dry and uninteresting, unfeeling, insensitive. But a true practitioner is no longer an ordinary worldling (pṛthagjana); having left behind the ranks of worldly ordinary people, there are varying degrees of change both inwardly and outwardly, gradually shedding the old self like a snake shedding its skin. Others can no longer understand you and will develop many misunderstandings. A practitioner is of course not on the same path as others—just ignore all this.

When cultivation reaches a certain level, both concentration and wisdom are strengthened; one no longer likes to talk grandly and show oneself off. The mind becomes very refined, and one unconsciously observes the people and affairs around one in minute detail—at a glance one knows a person's state of mind and thoughts, and can see through the truth of matters. Observing oneself also becomes very detailed; one's own thoughts, afflictions, and habitual tendencies are easily observed. Moreover, interest in the various worldly dharmas gradually fades; some things can be abandoned the moment one decides to, without hesitation, because one has seen through them. Those who have not seen through them, of course, continue to chase after, hold onto, and treasure them. In short, in the process of true cultivation, one constantly changes; every aspect changes, becoming greatly different from before.