Anecdotes of S.N. Goenka
I Want Divine Light
I nearly ran away from my first Vipassana course.
The early days of the course were devoted to developing concentration. I found the first instructions of my teacher easy to understand and follow: I was simply to focus my attention at the area of the nostrils, to be aware of the breath or anything else happening there. I could do this well enough. But we are always curious about others, so I was tempted to ask some of the other people participating in the course about their experiences in meditation. One of them told me, "As I sit with eyes closed in my cell, I see a light."
"A light? That is wonderful!" In India the witnessing of "divine light" is widely considered to be the highest goal of meditation. I was deeply impressed and equally disappointed that I myself had not seen any light.
Another meditator said to me, "I hear a sound as I meditate, something like the sound of the sea." "That must be divine sound!" I had read of this and knew that it was experienced by many saints. Inevitably I asked myself what I was doing wrong that I had not had such experiences. True, I could keep my mind fixed on the breath and could feel distinctly the area of the nostrils. But what good was that? I wanted to experience divine light, divine sound.
I became dejected and convinced that I could not succeed in the course. After all, it is written that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Yet here was I, a wealthy industrialist, looking for a way into heaven! No wonder the other meditators were more successful, I thought. They were quiet people without the twisted mind of a businessman. They were not involved in the rat race of making money, as I was.
By the evening of that day I had made up my mind to abandon the course and go back home. Every day at 5 p.m. a car came from my house with fresh laundry and other necessities. I knew that the Teacher would not agree to my leaving, so I decided to slip away that evening in my car.
I went to my room and began to pack my bags. Fortunately, however, a friend came to check on me, a Burmese lady who had practised Vipassana for some time. Naturally she was surprised that I had decided to leave. I explained that despite all my efforts of two days I had not been able to experience divine light or sound.
"But were you asked by the Teacher to experience them?"
"No, his instructions were just to observe the breath at the entrance of the nostrils."
"And have you been able to do that?"
"Yes, but…"
"Then why should you be upset? Forget about these other things. Try for just one more day, and give importance only to what you actually feel within the area of the nostrils."
Abashed and heartened by her words, I returned to my meditation cell. This time I was determined to follow the instructions of the Teacher and ignore everything else. Soon my mind became concentrated, and as I sat in the darkness of my cell a bright, star-like light appeared before me. "Oh no!" I thought. "I am not interested in that. My job is just to observe the breath." I ignored it and after a little while it passed away. A few minutes later I started to hear sounds. I said to myself, "These are beyond the focus of my attention. I should not follow them in any way." I kept on resolutely observing breath, and in their turn the sounds eventually disappeared. I worked exactly according to the advice of my friend and the instructions of my teacher. And how grateful I am that I did! Visions and sounds, "divine" or otherwise, will come and go, but by the end of the course I had discovered the happiness of a mind that keeps its balance with all experiences, a mind at peace.
How to Walk, How to Eat
In a one-month course with Sayagyi U Ba Khin in Burma, I experienced a very deep stage of bhaªga in which my entire body seemed to have dissolved into a mass of vibrations constantly arising and passing away. Even if by chance I happened to look at someone, I saw only the outline of that person and within it a kind of blinking or oscillation.
One day during this course my teacher said to me, "Come, Goenka, I shall teach you how to walk." Now what was this? I was not a baby crawling on all fours; I was a man of mature years! Sayagyi explained, "Walk as you do normally, neither quickly nor slowly. As you walk be aware of each movement of your body, and also be aware of what is happening within you." I had been practising that in ten-day courses, but it was different now. I tried it and found that while walking I could experience the flow of vibrations, the subtle reality within. At a superficial level I was aware of my walking, and at a deeper level I was aware of the unceasing process of change within myself - just a mass of atoms moving about, rather than a solid body.
"Now come," said Sayagyi, "I shall teach you how to eat." By this time I had understood that, though I was not an infant to be spoon-fed, there was something I needed to learn. We went to the dining room and a tray of food was placed before me, each item neatly arranged in a separate dish. "Make small pieces of all the food, and put it in a bowl," Sayagyi said. "Now, mix it all together - solid or liquid, sweet or sour, combine it all." This is the way that monks are supposed to eat. I did as he said and mixed all the food together in the bowl. "Now, remain in deep bhaªga." said Sayagyi, "Keep your eyes closed and continue. Take a morsel of food with your fingers, and feel sensations." I did this, and as I touched the food I felt strong vibrations in my fingertips. "Move your hand to your mouth feeling sensations…" I did so, feeling strong vibrations. "Place the food in your mouth and feel sensations." I did so, feeling vibrations on my lips, my tongue and gums. "Chew the food and swallow it feeling sensations." I did so, feeling vibrations throughout my mouth and throat. The taste of the food became immaterial. Instead I experienced it only as vibrations entering the vibrations of my body.
Having finished the meal in this special Vipassana way, I was asked to take rest. I went and lay down on the bed. For quite some time I kept feeling distinct movement and vibration in the stomach and intestines.
After that course, all my food preferences disappeared. I had been very fond of some of the more spicy Indian preparations. Now I eat whatever is placed before me, but if there is a choice my hand goes automatically to the simpler dish. I had indeed learned how to eat: not to satisfy cravings but to provide the nourishment this body needs to carry on its task.
Thanks to Sayagyi, thanks to Dhamma.
Conversion to Dhamma
A friend of mine, a Muslim merchant in Rangoon, had suffered for years from insomnia. Nothing could help him. His existence was an unrelieved misery. When he heard how Vipassana had changed my life for the better, he came to me and asked to know about the technique. I explained it carefully to him and he became eager to join a course. First, however, he wanted to visit the meditation centre and meet my teacher.
One evening I brought this man with me to the centre and introduced him to Sayagyi. The calmness of the place and the kindly presence of the Teacher made a strong impact on him. He declared that he wished to join the next course. We said our goodbyes to Sayagyi, and before returning home I offered to show my friend around the centre. As we were making our tour, I noticed that he suddenly lost all enthusiasm and interest. I was surprised by his sudden change in attitude and asked him what was wrong.
With hesitation he told me. As we were walking he had happened to glance through an open doorway and had seen inside a shrine, with a statue of the Buddha and someone kneeling before it. "In my religion all graven images are forbidden," my friend said, "and we must not bow to anyone but God. If I come to a course, I see that I shall have to bow down to this idol and to your teacher. It is impossible for me to come."
Instead of arguing with him I said, "Let us go and tell the problem to Sayagyi." My friend reluctantly came and repeated what he had told me.
"Well," said Sayagyi, "this being a Buddhist country, we have a statue here for traditional Buddhists simply to give them inspiration to meditate. No one will ask or expect you to bow to it, still less to me. If you find it offensive I can curtain off the statue while you are here so that you need not even see it. Don' t allow this to stop you from learning Vipassana."
The man accepted Sayagyi' s advice, though not without misgivings. When the next course started he joined it. Before ten days were over, the Dhamma had worked a deep change in him. He was now freed of the tensions that had made him unhappy for years. Naturally he was filled with gratitude. He came and insisted on bowing to my teacher, understanding now that he was not showing respect for any person but for the teaching of truth.
After his course this friend of mine did not start calling himself a Buddhist. He remained a devout Muslim, and at the same time he lived a life of Dhamma, practising morality, concentration and wisdom. Nor was my teacher disappointed that this man had not adopted a new label for himself. Sayagyi was not interested in converting people from one religion to another, since that has nothing to do with the Dhamma. The only conversion he wished to see was from suffering to happiness, from ignorance to wisdom, from bondage to liberation. In this sense certainly my friend had undergone a conversion, and Sayagyi was pleased that he had understood and benefited from the Dhamma.
Repaying Burma' s Debt to India
My parents left Burma around 1965 and came to settle in India. In about 1968, my mother developed a nervous ailment. I knew that if she took Vipassana, she would be free of her ailment, but there was no one in India to teach her. Accordingly, I applied to the authorities in Burma to permit me to go abroad in order to serve my old ailing mother. I was pleasantly surprised when this request was granted, and I was extremely grateful to the government for having issued me the necessary passport.
When my teacher came to know that I was free to travel to India, he was very pleased, since he anticipated that along with my mother, others among my relatives and friends in India could learn Vipassana, and in this way the wheel of Dhamma would start rotating again in that land. In preparation he gave me detailed instructions about how to conduct courses and how to teach Vipassana-Dhamma.
Sayagyi was so greatly enthused, because he saw my going to teach Vipassana in India as the means by which the Dhamma debt of Burma would be repaid. Burma was deeply indebted to India because it was from this land that it had received the treasure of the Buddha' s teaching.
When the time came for my departure, Sayagyi gave me a warm send-off, with all his strong mett±. "You are not the one going," he told me as we parted, "I am going - Dhamma is going. We must pay back the debt of Burma to India." Greatly moved, I embarked on this Dhamma pilgrimmage. In July of 1969, I gave the first course in Bombay, and that is how the wheel of Dhamma started rotating. As Sayagyi began receiving my reports of successfully completed courses, he was filled with happiness at seeing his dream of many years being realized at last.
The Gem Returns to India
Following the nationalization of trade and industry in Burma, many Indian residents there were left with no means of livelihood, and therefore had to return to their native land. On leaving Burma they were forbidden to take any valuables with them. Nevertheless, to avoid the loss of their entire life savings, many departing Indians would try to smuggle out valuables, particularly in the form of gems - rubies or other stones for which Burma is famous. In order to suppress such smuggling, Burmese customs inspectors were naturally more vigilant with departing Indians.
As I was preparing to embark for India at Rangoon Airport, I passed through the emigration check and came to the customs counter. The official there was very friendly, and jokingly asked whether I was carrying any valuables with me. "Yes," I replied, "I am carrying a gem." The official became nervous. Though friendly to me, he was an honest man who would not neglect his duty. Therefore he searched all my belongings carefully without finding what he was looking for. I watched him with amusement. Finally I happily explained to the worried man, "My friend, the gem that I am taking from here will be used to pay back a debt of Burma to India. It originally came from India, and is sorely needed there today. By my taking it from here, Burma will not become any poorer. I am taking the jewel of the Dhamma." The official laughed and said, "Please go ahead - take this gem with you! I am very happy that you will use it to repay this debt." And this is what I did, bringing Dhamma back to India in fulfilment of the wishes of my teacher. According to the news I had from my friends in Burma, the official always felt very happy whenever he heard about the success of my work here.
My Life Changed Course
I have often told the story of how a severe physical disease - migraine headaches - provided the impetus for me to go to Sayagyi U Ba Khin and to undertake a ten-day course of Vipassana meditation. While I was suffering from them, these headaches seemed so undesirable, unbeneficial. But after learning Dhamma from Sayagyi, I realized that the migraine had been a blessing in disguise. Certainly, the disease was now cured; but this benefit was only a very minor, trivial aspect of the help my teacher gave me. Immeasurably more valuable is the jewel of Dhamma received from him which has changed my life - a treasure which grows the more it is used.
Mindful of this great debt to my teacher, I often reflect on the past and consider what my life might have been had I not received this Dhamma. My successful career as a businessman and industrialist had been interrupted by the programme undertaken by the government of Burma to nationalize trade and industry. Nevertheless, I could have drawn on my years of experience and worldwide contacts to establish myself as a businessman in India. Given the huge consumer market in this country, and the government policy favourable to private enterprise, I might well have been successful in amassing wealth as great as what I had before or even greater. This is the path that many of my friends and relatives have followed who left Burma when I did. But had I given all my attention and energy to amassing money, far from helping myself by doing so, I would have been generating stronger ego, with all the resultant tensions. My life would have become much more miserable than it had been.
In Burma I had worked successfully in the field of voluntary social service; and I might have continued in this field after coming to India where the opportunity for service to the poor is so vast. I might have worked managing public institutions such as schools, hospitals, orphanages, adult education centres, and so on. But there would still have been the danger that such voluntary service might build nothing but ego and mental tensions - always expecting others to appreciate one' s service, and feeling depressed if appreciation is absent. Life would still have been full of misery.
I had also worked in Burma as a leader of the Indian community in social, educational, commercial, industrial and other undertakings; and perhaps I could have manoeuvered to achieve a position of leadership in India also - had I not doubted whether such a position, with all the attendant madness, was worthwhile. Having passed through the process of truth realization as taught by Gotama the Buddha and passed on to me with such compassion by my Dhamma father, I had understood that all competition for leadership, for special position or status, is nothing but a rat race bringing endless misery.
If someone had merely advised me not to waste my time in such ways, I might have understood this at a superficial, intellectual level; but the impact of this understanding would not have been so great. However, with the practice of Vipassana, I was able to realize at the actual level, deep within myself, the dangers of all such worldly endeavours. It is only when one achieves such a direct realization that he starts working earnestly and strenuously to emerge from the miseries of a life of competition, of seeking after wealth, status, position, power.
When I recall the past before I came in contact with Sayagyi, it seems to me that it all was a previous existence, and that having received Dhamma from him, I entered a new life, far superior to the old one. The Dhamma words come to mind:
Ya½ kiñci vitta½ idha v± hura½ v±
Saggesu v± ya½ ratana½ paº²ta½
Na no sama½ atthi Tath±gatena
Idampi Buddhe ratana½ paº²ta½
Idampi Dhamme ratana½ paº²ta½
Idampi Saªghe ratana½ paº²ta½
Whatever treasure there may be in this world
or the next, Whatever jewels may be found even in celestial fields, None of these can compare with the jewel in the Tath±gata - the jewel in the Tath±gata is far higher.
This is the jewel in the Teacher.
This is the jewel in the Teaching.
This is the jewel in the followers of the Teaching.
All the wealth I had amassed, whether there in Burma or here in India, could give me merely earthly pleasures. All the merits I had gained by giving service before I learned Dhamma might have given me a new life in celestial planes, where I might have enjoyed still greater pleasures. But all these pleasures, earthly or celestial, would be ephemeral, bound to pass away; and must lead to disappointment and misery when they go. They are nothing compared to the happiness I have gained in receiving the jewel of Dhamma from my teacher - a happiness which keeps growing every day of my life.
Nor was the jewel given merely for ornament, without use. Sayagyi made it so clear that pure Dhamma is applied Dhamma. Intellectual appreciation of the teachings of the Buddha might have purified my mind at the surface level. But only the practice of Dhamma through Vipassana meditation penetrates to the depths of the mind and transforms it totally.
I could never have attained real happiness, real peace without learning this technique from that great, saintly person, my Dhamma father Sayagyi U Ba Khin. He did not try to impress people with his mental powers, or to convince them intellectually of the superiority of the Buddha' s teachings. He was, rather, a saint who lived the life of Dhamma, and whose every word carried the weight of his own experience. A man of such sterling character, practising pure Dhamma, full of love and compassion, devoting himself to serving others selflessly - this was my Dhamma father.
On this anniversary of his passing, I recall all his extraordinary qualities, and I bow down in deep respect to his memory and to the Dhamma which he lived and which he gave to me as an invaluable gift. May I prove worthy of his teaching. I know I still have a long way to go until I reach the final goal; but I also know that the royal road he showed me will certainly lead me there. With this confidence I keep walking on the path; and out of my own experience of Dhamma, I keep encouraging all others to take this path, and to come out of their suffering.
May all beings share this peace.
May all beings share this happiness.
May all beings share this Dhamma.
I do not wish to convert people from one organized religion to
another; I have no interest in any of these organized religions.
My interest is in Dhamma - the truth, the teachings of all
Enlightened Ones. If at all there is any conversion, it should
be from misery to happiness, from defilement to purity, from
bondage to liberation, from ignorance to enlightenment.
- S.N. Goenka