Knowing the “I,” Not Through the “I”: Reversing the Stream of Dependent Origination

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Knowing the “I,” Not Through the “I”: Reversing the Stream of Dependent Origination - Upasaka Zhining

As long as an “I” is doing the knowing, we remain caught in the endless wandering of fabrication. This article explores how to use the wisdom of “going against the stream” to illuminate the subtle clinging hidden deep within the aggregate of consciousness, recognize the silent Knower, and thereby find the true exit from the infinite loop of saṃsāra.

 

Note: This text is adapted from Chapter 11, “Worldly Liberation,” of the book Worldly Addiction and Worldly Liberation.

Disclaimer: This article is not intended for beginners. It is specifically written for intermediate and advanced practitioners who have already established a solid foundation in their practice. It is intended for those who can readily recognize the mental states of greed, aversion, and delusion, have cultivated a degree of concentration (samādhi), and are proficient at using their meditation object (kammaṭṭhāna) as an anchor to catch the wandering mind.

If you find yourself feeling “stuck”—sensing that while your awareness has become more stable, the “I who is meditating” has simultaneously grown more rigid and contrived—then this article is tailored for you. It will guide you to directly confront and break through the most hidden, “invisible wall” typically encountered in the middle stages of the path.

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If you have made it this far on the path, you have already learned a great deal.

You know what greed, aversion, and delusion feel like. Compared to your early days, you can now recognize and remember a wide variety of physical and mental states. You have developed a certain level of concentration (samādhi). You can use your meditation object as a background to observe the mind getting lost and wandering off. Sometimes, your mind can even remain stable (samāhita) for quite a while—clearly aware of the present moment without being drowned by emotions or swept away by thoughts. That state feels wonderful: it is clear, tranquil, and brings a reassuring sense of, “I know how to meditate now.”

And then you realize you are stuck.

You haven’t regressed; rather, you are spinning in circles. The more you practice, the more you feel an indescribable friction. Your awareness seems increasingly solid, but at the same time, the “I who is meditating” has become incredibly rigid. You begin to notice that behind the awareness, there is always an observer, an “I,” staring at the movements of the mind, ever-ready to “know” it, “label” it, and “manage” it.

This “I” works diligently, but it never rests. This is an invisible wall that almost every earnest practitioner will eventually crash into.

Hitting this wall does not mean you have practiced incorrectly, nor does it mean your previous efforts were in vain. It means you have arrived at a deeper threshold. All your past practice was simply preparation to bring you here. Now, let us honestly confront the core issue: What exactly is this “I” that knows?

The Stages of Maturing Awareness

To understand this, please allow us to use a slightly imprecise but helpful metaphor. Let’s compare the “mind” to a “bicycle” and the “practitioner” to a “cyclist” to map out the stages of how awareness (sati) arises and matures:

• Phase 1: Cannot Ride If the bicycle stops, it falls over to the side, sinking into a thick, sluggish state of delusion (moha). If it moves, it either leans left (greed) or right (aversion). A person who hasn’t learned to ride is dragged along by the bike, crashing again and again, completely unaware of what is happening. This is the daily state of most people—dragged around by their defilements (kilesas) and habitual tendencies, drifting with circumstances, mistakenly believing they are “living their life” when, in fact, they are “being lived.”
• Phase 2: Starting to Practice The cyclist begins to practice. They discover the bike can fall in all sorts of ways: wanting, not wanting, satisfaction, dissatisfaction, restlessness, and sluggishness. If they aren’t careful, they fall with the bike. They fall, realize it, get back up, and keep riding. This is the foundational stage of practice—beginning to observe the mind, knowing its states, and sparking the first glimpses of mindfulness.
• Phase 3: Tastes of Balance Through continuous practice, the cyclist occasionally experiences the bike finding a brief state of balance. Though they don’t quite know how they did it, they taste the flavor of it—a dynamic, unforced stability that leans neither toward greed nor aversion. They begin to trust: the mind actually can abide in stability.
• Phase 4: Growing Proficiency Eventually, the cyclist becomes highly attuned to the bike’s tendencies. They realize that leaning left (greed) or right (aversion) doesn’t necessarily mean falling, nor does it require forceful correction. As long as they feel the lean the moment it happens, the body naturally adjusts. They also realize they don’t need to stare obsessively at the leaning; they just need to notice if they have zoned out. As long as they don’t space out for too long, the bike remains relatively stable. This corresponds to the practice of “using the meditation object as a background to catch the wandering mind.” The mind becomes stable; the observer is established. At this point, awareness is quite mature.
• Phase 5: The Subtle Turning Point After diligently watching out for mind-wandering—yet repeatedly still wandering—the cyclist suddenly makes a profound discovery: the very “self” that is “diligently watching out for wandering” has itself already wandered off. This discovery is the core theme of this article. It sounds convoluted at first, but upon careful reflection, it is absolutely true. The “I” that is “maintaining awareness” thinks it is being mindful, but its very operation is a form of fabrication (saṅkhāra), a form of clinging, and a highly subtle state of being lost. Realizing this is a genuine turning point on the path.
• Phase 6: Dropping the Cyclist When the cyclist truly understands this, they naturally let go of the “I who is trying so hard to ride.” The journey continues, but there is no longer a “cyclist” deliberately riding the bike.

Phases One through Four represent the foundational and intermediate stages of practice. Phases Five and Six are the final milestones. In Phase Five, what exactly went wrong with the “I that diligently watches out for wandering”? To make this crystal clear, let’s look at a classic Zen story.

Four monks decided to hold a rigorous meditation retreat. They vowed to sit in the meditation hall for seven days and nights in absolute silence—swearing a strict vow of silence. They lit a candle to symbolize their determination.

The first day went smoothly. On the second night, a gust of wind blew in, and the candle flickered, about to go out. The first monk couldn’t help but blurt out: “Oh no, the candle is going out!” The second monk immediately snapped: “Hey, we agreed not to speak! You just broke the vow!” The third monk chimed in: “You’re criticizing him, but you just spoke too! You broke the vow as well!” A brief silence fell over the hall. The fourth monk slowly raised his head and, with a hint of smugness, said: “Ha! It seems I am the only one here who hasn’t spoken.”

Do you see it?

Every one of these four monks “knew” that the person before them was speaking—and immediately followed it up by speaking themselves. Inside each monk was an “I” judging, evaluating, and declaring. The fourth monk thought he was the most awake, but his statement, “I am the only one who hasn’t spoken,” was exactly that: speaking. This is precisely how the “I that knows” operates: As soon as it knows, it inevitably fabricates.

Whether it says something good or bad, whether it speaks aloud or only in the mind, whether it judges others or feels pleased with itself—once it “knows,” it cannot merely know. It is bound to follow up by thinking, speaking, or acting. This isn’t a flaw in your character, nor does it mean your “I” isn’t practicing hard enough; it is simply its natural mechanism.

Put this story into the context of meditation: The “I” that uses awareness to catch wandering is fundamentally no different from those four monks. It “knows” the mind has wandered, and then silently says, “Ah, wandering!”; then it casually takes a closer look at what it wandered to; then it finds the topic somewhat interesting; then it pats itself on the back for having been mindful several times…

From the very first step, this “I” is already lost in conceptual proliferation (papañca). But because it mistakes these actions for “mindfulness,” it completely fails to see its own delusion. This is the most common trap in the intermediate stages of practice: mistaking the fabrications of the “I that knows” for true awareness.

The four monks correspond to different levels of practitioners:

1. The First Monk: The beginner who catches a defilement arising—”Ah, greed has arisen!” They recognized it, but in the very act of recognizing, they fabricated.
2. The Second Monk: The sharper practitioner who catches the first layer of fabrication—”You were fabricating just now; that wasn’t pure awareness!” They caught the previous “I’s” action, but their own recognition was also a fabrication.
3. The Third Monk: The highly refined practitioner looking even deeper—”When you caught the first one, you fabricated too!” Yet, this observation is still fabrication.
4. The Fourth Monk: The practitioner who thinks they are entirely awake—”I am not fabricating at all; I am the only pure awareness here.” That very thought is the greatest fabrication of all.

There is no exit to this loop. As long as the “I” is the one doing the knowing, it will fabricate; once fabricated, another “I” will observe it; that observation is a new fabrication… No layer of the “I” holds the ultimate answer.

The true exit appears only when one of the monks suddenly realizes: “In saying this, I am speaking too!” This isn’t about stepping up to a higher vantage point to observe the loop; it is about completely, honestly seeing that you are inside the loop. In that single turning around of perception, the loop is broken.

How Does the “I” Operate?

Let’s use a concrete example to see this clearly. Suppose you are meditating, and your mind wanders off to think about a troublesome issue. Your awareness arises, and you “know” you were lost. What happens next?

1. Step 1: You say to yourself internally, “Ah, wandering.” (Already fabricating)
2. Step 2: You inadvertently recall what the troublesome issue was. (Continuing to fabricate)
3. Step 3: You think, “Well, it is a tough problem, no wonder the mind went there.” (Still fabricating)
4. Step 4: You analyze: Why is it so tough? You identify a few reasons. (Still fabricating)
5. Step 5: You conclude with satisfaction: “Good thing I have mindfulness, I caught that several times today.” (Still fabricating)

The entire process was lost in delusion from Step 1. But the “I” believes it was mindful the whole time, completely blind to the truth. “Knowing, followed by fabricating”—this chain runs automatically; you don’t even have to start it. Once the “I” knows, it must think; once it thinks, it judges; once it judges, it develops a preference; once it has a preference, it clings.

So, can we forcefully cut this chain? Many practitioners try this: after knowing, they use sheer willpower to stop the mind from thinking, violently cutting off the subsequent fabrication. The result? The “I” just frantically fabricates a new “me” who is supposedly cutting off the fabrication. What is produced is an artificial “non-fabrication”—a sticky, suppressed silence where true awareness is buried even deeper.

No matter what you do, as long as the “I” is the one doing it, it is 100% fabrication (saṅkhāra). This is not a philosophical tongue-twister; it is a reality you must taste and penetrate in your actual practice.

Understanding this, we realize: the root of the problem isn’t what the “I” is doing, but the “I” itself. However, this doesn’t mean the “I” needs to be violently annihilated. There is a more subtle distinction we must make here.

Two Natures: The Crazy Person and the Mute Simpleton

At this point, the practitioner begins to understand that there are two fundamentally different natures existing simultaneously. We just used to mix them up.

1. The Fabricating Nature

This is what we generally call the “mind”—the thing that gets happy, gets angry, knows, thinks, feels, and fabricates. Its very nature is to continuously fabricate. This isn’t a problem; it’s just its natural characteristic. Sometimes it fabricates wholesome thoughts, sometimes unwholesome ones, sometimes neutral ones, but the fabricating never stops. Trying to stop it from fabricating is like trying to stop fire from being hot—it is a war against nature, destined to fail.

2. The Non-Fabricating Nature (Pure Knowing)

This is a function of knowing that is entirely unattached to any “self.” It does not think, speak, judge, or try to fix anything. It simply knows the arising and passing away of all fabrications exactly as they are. It is like a mirror, but even more absolute—because a mirror still has the conceptual label of being a “mirror,” whereas this knowing lacks even a “knower.” Masters of the Thai Forest Tradition refer to this as Phu Ru (The Knower). This is merely a conventional term; in essence, it is “clear comprehension without the clinging to a self.”

Venerable Luang Ta Narongsak gave a vivid analogy that perfectly illustrates the relationship between these two:

• “Fabrication” is like a Crazy Person—he talks, argues, judges, and thinks incessantly. That is his nature, and it cannot be changed.
• “The Knower” is like a Mute Simpleton—he is so “simple” he doesn’t know how to think, fabricate, or desire; he merely knows what arises and what passes. He is so “mute” he cannot speak or argue; he can only silently be aware.

The Crazy Person and the Mute Simpleton exist simultaneously. The Crazy Person is making a chaotic racket, while the Mute Simpleton simply, quietly knows all of it—without participating, without judging, without getting sucked in. This, and only this, is pure awareness.

	State	Actual Meaning	The Master’s Metaphor
	Fabrication (Saṅkhāra)	The fabricating mind	The “Crazy Person”
	The Knower (Phu Ru)	Unfabricated clear awareness	The “Mute Simpleton”

Think back to the four monks: every one of them was a “Crazy Person.” Because they knew, they had to speak; they had to fabricate. The one who truly didn’t speak wasn’t a hypothetical fifth, wiser monk. It was the “Mute Simpleton” who never had anything to say in the first place. He was always there, just drowned out by the noise of the Crazy Person.

A few crucial clarifications regarding this metaphor:

• The “Simpleton” isn’t actually stupid. His “foolishness” lies in his absolute refusal to play the game of fabrication. The urge to analyze, judge, and manage upon knowing—he simply lacks it.
• The “Mute” isn’t suppressing the urge to speak. He literally has nothing to say. The Crazy Person speaks because he has opinions and emotions to vent. The Mute Simpleton has none of these, so silence is natural. You do not need to “kill” the Crazy Person—he is merely the natural functioning of the five aggregates and six sense bases. Attempting to destroy the Crazy Person is attempting to destroy life itself.
• Knowing that they exist simultaneously is the core work of meditation. It is not about creating a Mute Simpleton, nor about destroying the Crazy Person. It is about clearly seeing that they are two entirely different things. Though they co-exist, their natures are diametrically opposed. Not mixing them up—this is the true meaning of “un-deluded awareness.”

The Venerable Master also offered a vital warning: Any effort to “turn yourself into the Mute Simpleton” is entirely futile—because that is just the Crazy Person putting on a Mute Simpleton costume. The innate characteristic of the “Knower” is the Mute Simpleton. It does not need to be manufactured; it only needs to be recognized. The moment the Crazy Person (fabrication) is seen exactly as he is, the Mute Simpleton (the Knower) naturally reveals itself—not because of anything you did, but because the fog obscuring it has dissipated.

So, how does this loop manifest as a bottleneck in our actual practice?

Three Common Dilemmas

With this understanding, let’s examine the most common traps encountered in the intermediate stages of practice—places where people get stuck for years without knowing why.

Dilemma 1: The more you practice, the more “off” it feels. When you first started, you likely felt great—a sense of freshness, a grounding feeling of “I finally found the right path.” But as you go deeper, something feels wrong. You have awareness, but the “I who is maintaining awareness” has grown increasingly tense. You can abide peacefully while sitting on the cushion, but the moment you stand up, it shatters. In daily life, the slightest trigger makes awareness vanish. Most confusingly: the harder you try, the more unnatural it feels; but if you relax, you worry you are being lazy. This is a very real dilemma. You haven’t practiced wrong; rather, the “I who meditates” is exposing its inherent limitations.

Dilemma 2: Awareness becomes a performance you put on for yourself. When “I must be mindful” becomes a rigid goal, the flavor of awareness sours. A subtle tendency to “perform for oneself” arises. You’ve clearly lost your mindfulness, but the “I” refuses to admit it, feeling that losing mindfulness is shameful. So, it rationalizes: “Ah, I mindfully noted that I was lost!”—cleverly packaging the state of delusion into an achievement of awareness. Or, you start collecting “mindfulness points”: evaluating your sits, counting how many clear moments you had today, treating meditation like hoarding spiritual currency. This is just another form of clinging. Once awareness becomes a performance or an object of accumulation, it devolves from natural knowing into forced maintenance; from clarity into stiffness.

Dilemma 3: Deep meditative states, but defilements remain intact. This might be the most hidden and dangerous trap. Your concentration (samādhi) deepens. Your mind is incredibly still on the cushion; you might even access deep absorption (jhāna), feeling boundless clarity. Yet, in daily life, your anger and greed remain entirely intact. Friction with others happens just as easily; specific triggers still make you explode. This indicates your practice is entirely weighted toward concentration (samatha), lacking liberating insight (vipassanā). No matter how deep your samādhi is, without the wisdom to see reality as it is, the roots of defilement are left completely untouched. They are just temporarily suppressed under the weight of concentration. True practice requires continuous observation and insight right in the messy, active reality of daily life, not just hiding in a tranquil sanctuary to enjoy clarity.

These three dilemmas all point to the exact same core issue: The “I that meditates” is using practice to fortify the self, rather than using practice to see through the self. Seeing through the “I” leads to liberation; fortifying the “I” leads deeper into saṃsāra (the cycle of rebirth). Practitioners on both paths look equally serious, diligent, and devoted—but their directions are completely opposite.

The litmus test is simple but requires brutal honesty: After a few years of practice, have your actual habitual defilements (kilesas) substantially decreased? Have your relationships with others become more natural and harmonious? Are you more at ease when facing suffering? Has your clinging to “self” truly loosened? If none of these have occurred, you urgently need to re-evaluate the direction and mechanics of your practice.

The Many Faces of the “I”

Once you understand the mechanics behind these dilemmas, looking back at common meditation deviations makes everything clear. These deviations are simply the “I” wearing different masks.

• Deviation 1: Labeling, talking, judging. In the beginning, many use mental noting: “This is greed,” “This is anger,” “Mind wandered,” “Awareness arose.” This is perfectly fine initially and helps map out the mind. But if relied on too long, the “I who labels” becomes rock-solid. It knows, so it speaks; speaking is a new thought, so that thought must be labeled… True awareness is just knowing, without any action. “Labeling” is the fabrication of the “I” after knowing; it is absolutely not awareness itself.
• Deviation 2: Chasing peace, clinging to stillness. As practice deepens, the mind occasionally enters profound silence. All thoughts stop. It feels wonderful, comfortable, and pristine. The practitioner begins to chase this feeling, treating it as the ultimate goal. This is a massive trap. This stillness is itself a fabrication—it is “a fabricated non-fabrication.” The mind sticking to this peace is still clinging. More importantly, inside this artificial stillness, true active awareness is usually smothered, and the mind is actually dull.
• Deviation 3: Trying hard to “be mindful.” “I must be mindful”—this very thought is a fabrication. The harder you try to “have awareness,” the more the “I who tries” is reinforced. It uses increasingly more energy to sustain that state, terrified of losing it. The result: awareness becomes tight, fragile, and utterly dependent on the exhausting effort of the “I.” True awareness requires zero maintenance; it manifests naturally. It cannot be “sustained” into existence.
• Deviation 4: Fabricating “non-fabrication.” Someone learns that “fabrication is the problem,” so they desperately force themselves not to fabricate. They pin the mind down to not think, not move, not react. But how is this different from a piece of dead wood or a rock? This is using fabrication to mimic the appearance of the unfabricated. The core is still fabrication. Masters refer to this as “dead-wood meditation”—it looks like awakening, but is actually just an artificially frozen mind.

The common root of all these deviations is failing to see this truth: No matter what you attempt to do, as long as “that I” is doing it, it is 100% fabrication. The way out is not to “do it more correctly,” but to see the “I” that is trying to do it.

Knowing the “I”, Not Through the “I”

Let’s return to the story of the four monks. Where is the actual turning point? It is not in a fifth “monk who doesn’t speak” showing up—because that would just be replacing one “I” with another. The true turning point occurs when one monk suddenly turns his gaze inward and realizes: I am doing it too. “Oh my, I am also the one speaking!” In that one internal pivot, everything changes.

It is not the “I” knowing the “objects,” but “knowing the I that has been constantly knowing.”

This might sound like wordplay, but in actual practice, the difference is between heaven and earth:

• In the former, there is always an “I” acting as the observer, sitting high above, watching the mind rise and fall. This “I” appears awake, but it is a product of fabrication, secretly maintaining its own existence.
• In the latter, the “I” itself becomes the object being observed. When it is seen, it loses its hidden vantage point.

In the very fraction of a second that it is “seen,” a profound transformation occurs. The “I” drops. It isn’t beaten down, destroyed, or suppressed—it is simply seen, and thus it naturally falls away.

The moment the “I” drops, something remarkable happens: There is no “I” being aware, yet awareness remains. There is no one riding the bicycle, but the journey continues. This awareness belongs to no one, relies on no effort, needs no maintenance, and requires no protection. Because it was not obtained through fabrication, it cannot be lost through negligence. This, and only this, is true awareness. At this point, you will realize that all the previous instructions about “cultivating awareness” were merely provisional, skillful means (upāya) for the earlier stages.

When you begin to penetrate the fact that the “I”—the one desperately trying to “maintain mindfulness” or “label states”—is fundamentally the aggregate of volitional formations (saṅkhāra) driven by ignorance (avijjā), your practice shifts. It is no longer just observing phenomena; it becomes a dissection of the very root of saṃsāra. The “Knower” that thought it was the observer is exposed as an illusion manufactured within consciousness (viññāṇa) because it was blind to reality.

To see clearly how this microscopic illusion weaves the massive net of cyclic existence, we need to temporarily zoom out and look at the grander Dhamma: how this operates within the framework of Dependent Origination (Paṭicca-samuppāda).

Re-examining the Links of Dependent Origination

When a practitioner observes reality with a stable and neutral mind, they can directly realize the links of Dependent Origination and the cycle of cause and effect across the three times (past, present, and future), seeing that the wheel of saṃsāra spins as follows:

• From the perspective of the Past: The continuous interaction of “Ignorance ⇄ Taints ⇄ Ignorance ⇄ Taints…” in past lives generated the Volitional Formations (Saṅkhāra) that run through everything.
• From the perspective of the Present: These “Formations” manifest in this life as the perpetual cycle of “Consciousness → Becoming → Consciousness → Becoming…” (i.e., Knowing ⇄ Fabricating into existence).
• From the perspective of the Future: The perpetual fabrications of this life will manifest in the future as the recurring phenomenon of “Birth → Aging and Death → Birth → Aging and Death…”

The Three Deadlocks

Observed through time, saṃsāra appears linear (past, present, future). But observed through space, saṃsāra is actually constructed of three circular, interlocking deadlocks. These lock beings into the cycle across the Phenomenal, the Process/Becoming, and the Ultimate dimensions. In computer programming, this is called an infinite loop: a loop where the termination condition (in the Dhamma, the “uprooting of ignorance”) is never met. The code executes infinitely, burning all resources, with no escape.

Specifically, there are three deadlocks:

• The Phenomenal Deadlock (“Birth ⇄ Aging/Death”): This is manifested in the physical cycle of life—being born to die, dying to be born, endlessly.
• The Process/Becoming Deadlock (“Consciousness ⇄ Becoming”): This is the cycle between Viññāṇa (consciousness/knowing) and Bhava (becoming/existence). My cognition generates fabrication; my fabrication solidifies my “existence”; this existence then reinforces my cognition… cycling endlessly.
• The Ultimate Deadlock (“Ignorance ⇄ Taints”): This is the mutual feeding between Avijjā (ignorance of the Four Noble Truths) and Āsava (the taints/effluents of sensuality, becoming, and ignorance). Ignorance allows the taints to flow; the taints reinforce ignorance. This is the primary engine driving all of saṃsāra.

Thus, “Ignorance” and the “Taints” form a perpetual motion machine, supplying the fundamental power for wandering in the six realms.

Three Kinds of Knowing

Summarizing what we’ve discussed, if we look at the “door of cessation” in Dependent Origination, we find three different levels of “knowing.” Each can address the “three deadlocks” mentioned above to different degrees:

1. Knowing via the Aggregate of Consciousness (Viññāṇa-kkhandha): This can only observe the “Phenomenal Deadlock.” It is the most basic sensory function: the six sense bases meet the six sense objects, producing the six consciousnesses. This knowing has a fatal blind spot: it cannot directly perceive a “deluded mind” (the state of being lost/mind-wandering), because a deluded mind is precisely the absence of mindfulness. This level of knowing barely helps loosen the outermost phenomenal knot.
2. Knowing through the “I”: This can observe both the “Phenomenal” and the “Process” deadlocks. It manifests as an “I” (an observer) watching the operations of consciousness—it can know whether the mind is currently mindful or lost. This corresponds to the practice of “using the meditation object as a background to catch the wandering mind.” It helps loosen both the phenomenal and process knots. However, this knowing also has a blind spot: the “I” that catches the wandering is still a seed of fabrication. The “I” can never see that the “I that catches the wandering” is itself a fabrication.
3. Knowing the “I”: This cuts through all three—the Phenomenal, the Process, and the Ultimate deadlocks. It manifests as using wisdom to see that the very “I” used to do the knowing is hiding inside consciousness; it is a product of fabrication (saṅkhāra). When this reality is thoroughly penetrated—when all fabrications (including the “I” that thought it was the observer) are seen as impermanent (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and non-self (anattā)—the mind completely realizes the Four Noble Truths. Ignorance vanishes, and all three deadlocks are shattered simultaneously.

The first two types of knowing flow downstream with Dependent Origination—knowing, and then fabricating (just fabricating in more and more refined ways). The third type flows upstream. It sees the truth of consciousness (viññāṇa), which reveals the truth of fabrication (saṅkhāra), which exposes ignorance (avijjā). Under the light of this wisdom, the entire causal chain instantly loses its power source. This is the true meaning of the sutta phrasing: Going against the stream, seeing that consciousness depends on formations, formations depend on ignorance, thereby penetrating the Three Marks of Existence, realizing the Four Noble Truths, and leaping out of Dependent Origination.

Three Kinds of Delusion (Getting Lost)

From a practical standpoint, as we become highly skilled at using our meditation object as an anchor to catch the wandering mind, we will sequentially recognize three distinct layers of delusion and clinging:

1. Lost in Sensory Contact: This is the coarsest delusion. The eye sees something beautiful and gets sucked in; the ear hears something pleasant and gets trapped; the mind feels something agreeable and clings. People with no meditation background live almost entirely in this heavy delusion. All worldly addictions—deep attachments to phones, entertainment, food, romance—are just variations of this delusion. As practice matures, the mind detaches somewhat, able to be aware of sense contact without instantly falling in.
2. Lost in Internal Fabrications: When the mind unhooks from the first layer, you discover that even after knowing the sense contact, the “I” still fabricates. It knows, so it thinks, judges, and plans… This is the second layer. The mind isn’t lost in external objects, but it is lost in internal mental activities—lost in the conceptual proliferation (papañca) that follows knowing. Many practitioners who think they are quite advanced are stuck here for years. They think they are observing the mind, but they aren’t; they are obscured by this finer layer of mental fabrication.
3. Lost in the “I that knows”: When the mind detaches from the second layer, it touches the most subtle layer of all: the “I that knows” itself. This “I” is extremely subtle, hiding deep within consciousness (viññāṇa). Because it doesn’t immediately or actively fabricate, it is incredibly easy to mistake for “Enlightenment.” Practitioners think, “I am living purely in the Now,”¹ or “I am one with the universe.”² But this “I” is actually a seed. It looks quiet now, but the moment conditions ripen, it will take root, sprout, and bear the bitter fruit of fabrication. It is the absolute bedrock of all defilements—the supreme headquarters of saṃsāra.

Why does understanding these three delusions matter practically? It matters because: until full awakening, the practice of “using a meditation object as a background to catch the wandering mind” remains your most vital, foundational tool. Do not make the mistake of reading advanced concepts like “The Knower” or “Knowing the I” and assuming you can skip the hard, foundational work. Without solid skills in observing the mind, these advanced concepts will just become an even more sophisticated intellectual delusion. Venerable Luangpor Pramote once openly admitted that he himself was stuck twice in the second layer of delusion, and once in the third layer, unable to progress until his master sharply pointed it out. For us ordinary practitioners, this profound warning should be carved into our hearts.

Even a Stream-enterer (Sotāpanna) still needs to continually rely on their meditation object to catch the deluded mind. The mind of a Stream-enterer still gets lost in coarse sensual objects quite frequently. A Once-returner’s (Sakadāgāmī) mind still gets lost in subtle sensual objects. A Non-returner’s (Anāgāmī) mind wanders much less, primarily getting caught only in the third layer of delusion. It is only when one becomes a fully awakened Arahant that the mind entirely ceases to confuse itself with fabrications, and thus, never gets lost again.

The Three Taints (Āsavas)

Having understood the three deadlocks and three kinds of knowing, we need to look specifically at what exactly is inside that “Ultimate Deadlock.” In the Sabbāsava Sutta (MN 2), the Buddha called the root defilements that keep beings wandering in saṃsāra the “Taints” (Āsavas or effluents). The term is highly evocative: it implies a container that is slowly, imperceptibly leaking. You think everything is fine, but without you noticing, your vital essence drains away. There are three taints:

1. The Taint of Sensuality (Kāmāsava): This is the deep-seated thirst for sensory pleasure. It isn’t just obvious lust or greed; it includes the microscopic, continuous seeking of comfort. Lying down is slightly more comfortable than sitting, so you shift your weight; eating something tasty causes a tiny flutter of attachment; scrolling past something you like makes you linger just a second longer. These incredibly subtle tendencies are all faces of kāmāsava. Its depth lies in how it infiltrates almost every choice we make. We think we are making “free choices,” but usually, we are just coasting on the momentum of this taint.
2. The Taint of Becoming (Bhavāsava): This is the clinging to “existence” itself. It is finer than sensuality—it’s no longer about sensory pleasure, but about being something. “I want to be a good person,” “I want to be an awakened being,” “I want to enter that blissful meditative state,” “I want to maintain this peacefulness”… This includes a meditator’s attachment to jhāna, the protection of a “still” state, and the identification with being the “Knower.” All of this is the taint of becoming.
3. The Taint of Ignorance (Avijjāsava): This is the fundamental blindness to reality. It is more hidden than the other two because it hides directly inside “how I understand the world.” Its most common manifestation is the clinging to “self,” such as believing there is an eternal soul (eternity belief) or that death is total annihilation (annihilation belief). But it goes far beyond that: it is the blindness to the Three Marks of Existence, the Four Noble Truths, and Dependent Origination. This misreading of reality is the ultimate source of all suffering. Ultimately, any view that does not align with the reality of “impermanence, suffering, and non-self” stems from the taint of ignorance.

The “Taints” and “Ignorance” form a flawless, sealed loop: Ignorance breeds the taints, the taints obscure wisdom, without wisdom you cannot shatter ignorance, and thus ignorance continues to breed taints… This loop is saṃsāra. The process of practice is first draining this loop of its momentum, and finally leaping out of it altogether.

This is not done through forceful suppression, but through seeing things exactly as they are: seeing the emptiness of the taint of sensuality, seeing the illusion of the taint of becoming, and finally seeing ignorance itself. Every genuine moment of clear seeing is the arising of wisdom. When wisdom arises by one degree, the taints diminish by one degree; as taints diminish, ignorance recedes; as ignorance recedes, wisdom arises more easily. This reverse, upward spiral is the only correct way the path truly advances.

The Traces of the Path to Liberation

Many people study volumes of Dhamma theory, yet their understanding of liberation remains fuzzy. “Uprooting defilements” sounds like a distant myth; “Realizing Nibbāna” sounds like a mystical, unfathomable experience. Let’s explain this in plain English.

The fundamental problem of an unawakened person (puthujjana) is that they mistake the “fabricated mind” (the operation of the five aggregates) for an “I,” a truly existing Self. Because they deeply believe there is a real “I,” the survival and comfort of this “I” becomes the most important thing in the universe. To protect this “I,” one must constantly chase pleasure (greed), violently repel pain (aversion), and maintain a continuous state of blindness to the whole charade (delusion). This isn’t an issue of moral failing; it is a profound cognitive error—mistaking something illusory for something real.

Realizing the fruit of Stream-entry (Sotāpanna) means this foundational cognitive error is seen through with one’s own eyes. This isn’t an intellectual understanding in the head; it is a genuine, visceral insight: this thing called “I” is merely the arising and passing of fabrications. There is no real, stable, independently existing “Self” to be found anywhere.

It is exactly like images on a movie screen. If you don’t realize it is just a projection of light and shadow, you believe the characters on the screen are real. Once you see through the illusion and realize it is just light hitting a canvas, the spell is broken. Even if you keep watching the movie, you will never be fooled by that illusion again. A Stream-enterer is someone whose “illusion has been permanently shattered.” They still have defilements and desires, but the three fundamental fetters (identity view, doubt, and clinging to rites and rituals) have been genuinely and irreversibly eradicated. This is the first true, point-of-no-return on the path to awakening.

To conclude, let us reflect on the precise instructions left by several great masters of the Thai Forest Tradition.

Venerable Ajahn Mun: “Continually establish mindfulness and wisdom, observing body and mind at all times without heedlessness or laziness, until all defilements extinguish themselves.”

Venerable Luang Pu Dun: “The mind sent outside is the cause of suffering. The result of the mind sent outside is suffering. The mind seeing the mind is the path. The result of the mind seeing the mind is the cessation of suffering.”

Venerable Ajahn Chah: “Just know, let go. Do not judge, do not interfere.”

Venerable Ajahn Maha Bua: “Investigate the mind with unyielding mindfulness and wisdom, seeing through all the mind’s fabrications and defilements, until it drops all fabrications on its own.”

Venerable Luangpor Pramote: “To have mindfulness to know the body and mind as they are, with a mind that is stable and neutral.”

At first glance, these teachings may seem to emphasize different things. But as your practice deepens, you will find that they all point unwaveringly in the exact same direction. That direction is not found in profound philosophical concepts, nor in mystical meditative states. It is found right here, in the ordinary reality of every present moment.

May you continue forward relentlessly, until “Birth is destroyed, the holy life has been lived, what had to be done has been done, there is no more coming to any state of being.”

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1. Cf. teachings such as those found in Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now. The state described in such works as “abiding in pure awareness/Being” generally corresponds to the cultivation of highly refined consciousness (viññāṇa-kkhandha). While this is a sublime state of worldly tranquility, the view that treats a certain “Being” or “Presence” as an eternal refuge is a classic representation of the third kind of delusion—a subtle form of eternalism (sassata-diṭṭhi). ↩

2. Experiences of this nature are frequently promoted in modern “New Age” movements that advocate states of “Oneness,” or by certain spiritual traditions emphasizing “pure awareness.” When a practitioner’s concentration (especially formless jhānas) or divine abodes (brahmavihāras) are profound and mental activity is extremely subtle, the sense of internal/external duality vanishes, producing the earth-shattering experience of “I am one with the universe.” However, as long as there remains an “experience of oneness” or a “subject experiencing oneness,” this is fundamentally the result of expanding the “illusion of self” to infinite proportions. It remains a prime example of the third kind of delusion. ↩

 

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