Another mysterious incident happened when a gathering of devas visited Ãcariya Mun. Their leader began a conversation with him, stating: “Your stay here has caused much delight in all the devas. We all enjoy an extraordinary sense of happiness due to your all-embracing aura of compassionate love that permeates through the heavens and spreads across the earth. This aura that radiates from you is indescribable and wonderful beyond compare. Because of it, we always know where you are. This aura of Dhamma emanates from you and streams out in all directions. When you are teaching Dhamma to the monks, novices and lay people, even the sound of your voice resonates unbounded through the higher and lower realms. Wherever devas live they hear your voice– only the dead are deaf to it.” I would like to write a bit more about this conversation between Ãcariya Mun and the deva. Although I cannot vouch for its accuracy, I heard it from a reliable source. Ãcariya Mun took up the conversation with this question: “If my voice really resonates as you say, why don’t human beings hear it as well?”

The leader of the devas replied: “What would humans know about moral virtue? They couldn’t care less. They use their six senses to make evil kamma and create the conditions for hell within themselves all the time. They do this from the day they are born until the day they die. They are not nearly as concerned about moral issues as they ought to be, given their status as human beings. There are very few indeed who are interested in using their senses in any morally beneficial way. The amount of moral virtue in their lives is really quite limited. By way of comparison: in the time that it takes one human being to die and be reborn, repeatedly ten or even one hundred times, the average deva has yet to pass away even once—not to mention the brahma devas who have exceptionally long lives. The population of humankind is vast, and this in turn means a vast amount of negligence, for those who are heedful are few and far between. Mankind is supposed to safeguard the sãsana, and yet people themselves know precious little about the sãsana or moral excellence. “Bad people know only evil. Their sole claim to being human comes from the fact that they are breathing. As soon as their breathing stops, they are immediately buried under the weight of their own wickedness. The devas know about this. Why shouldn’t they? It’s no secret. When a person dies, monks are invited to chant auspicious verses of Dhamma for the deceased. Why would an evil person listen then? From the initial moment of death, his consciousness is completely bound up by his evil kamma. So what chance would he have to come and listen to Dhamma? Even while alive he wasn’t interested. Only the living can hear Dhamma – if they have the interest and desire. But it’s obvious that they’re not really interested. Haven’t you noticed them? When have they ever shown an interest when the monks chant Dhamma verses? Because they show no interest, it’s obvious that the sãsana is not truly embedded in their hearts. The things that they’re most infatuated with are sordid and disliked even by some animals. These are just the kinds of things that immoral people have always enjoyed more than anything else; and they never ever grow tired of them. Even when they are near death they still hanker after such things. We devas know much more about humans than humans know about devas. You, venerable sir, are a very special monk. You are quite familiar with humans, devas, creatures of hell, and beings of all sorts. That is why devas everywhere pay homage to you.”

When the deva had finished speaking, Ãcariya Mun asked him for clarification: “Devas possess divine sight and divine hearing, enabling them to see and hear over great distances. They know about the good and bad of human affairs better than do humans themselves. Couldn’t you find a way to make humans more aware of right and wrong? I feel that you are more capable of it than we human teachers are. Is there any way you could do this?”

The deva replied: “We devas have seen many humans, but we have never seen one as impeccable as you, sir. You have always extended loving kindness to devas and humans alike while acquainting them simultaneously with the great variety of beings in existence, from the grossest to the most refined. You have tried to teach them to accept the fact that devas, and countless other spheres of existence, really do exist in this world. But still, generation after generation, from birth to death, people have never actually seen these beings. So what interest would they have in devas? At most, they may catch a glimpse of something strange, and, without considering the matter carefully, claim they have seen a ghost. How could they possibly hope to receive any advice about matters of good and bad from us devas? Although devas are constantly aware of them, humans aren’t the least interested in knowing anything about us. By what means would you have us teach people? It’s really a hopeless situation. We just have to let kamma and its results take their course. Even the devas themselves constantly receive the results of their kamma. Were we free from it, we would all attain Nibbãna. Then we wouldn’t have to remain in this difficult situation so long.”

“You say that one may attain Nibbãna when one’s kamma is exhausted. Do devas know about Nibbãna? Do they experience pain and suffering like other beings?”“Why shouldn’t we, venerable sir? All the Buddhas who have come to teach the world have taught without exception that we should transcend dukkha. They never instructed us to remain mired in suffering. But worldly beings are far more interested in their favorite playthings than they are in Nibbãna. Consequently, not one of them ever considers attaining Nibbãna. All devas remember and are very impressed by the concept of Nibbãna as it was taught by each and every Buddha to living beings everywhere. But devas still have a dense web of kamma to work through before they can move clear of their celestial existence and go the way of Nibbãna. Only then will all problems cease and this oppressive, repetitive cycle of birth, death and rebirth finally come to a halt. But as long as some kamma remains in an individual – be it good kamma or bad kamma – regardless of his realm of existence, dukkha will be present as well.”

“Are many monks able to communicate with devas?”“There are a few but not many. Mostly, they are monks who like to practice living in the forests and mountains as you do”“Are there any lay people with this ability?” “There are some, but very few. They must be people who desire the way of Dhamma and who have practiced the way until their hearts are bright and clear. Only then can they have knowledge of us. The bodily form of celestial beings appears relatively gross to those beings themselves, but is far too subtle for the average human being to perceive. So only people whose hearts are bright and clear can perceive devas without difficulty.” “In the scriptures it says that devas do not like to be near humans because of their repugnant smell. What is this repugnant odor? If there is such an odor, why do you all come to visit me so often?”

“Human beings who have a high standard of morality are not repugnant to us. Such people have a fragrance which inspires us to venerate them; so we never tire of coming to hear you discourse on Dhamma. Those, exuding a repulsive odor, are people whose morality stinks, for they have developed an aversion to moral virtue even though it is considered to be something exceptionally good throughout the three worlds. Instead, they prefer things that are repugnant to everyone with high moral standards. We have no desire to approach such people. They are really offensive and their stench spreads far and wide. It’s not that devas dislike humans; but this is what devas encounter and have always experienced with humans.”

When Ãcariya Mun told stories about devas and other kinds of spirits, the monks were mesmerized: They forgot all about themselves, the passing time, and their feelings of fatigue. They wished that, someday, they also would come to know about such things; and this hope made them happy to practice. This was also the case when Ãcariya Mun thought it necessary to speak of his past lives or the past lives of others. His audience became eager to know about their own past lives and forgot about overcoming dukkha and attaining Nibbãna. Sometimes a monk was startled to find his mind wandering in this way and admonished himself: Hey, I’m starting to get crazy. Instead of thinking about freedom from dukkha, here I am chasing after shadows of a past that’s long gone. In this way he regained his mindfulness for a while, but as soon as it slipped again he would revisit those same thoughts. For this reason, many monks found it necessary to censure themselves on a regular basis.

ÃCARIYA MUN’S STORIES about the devas and other visiting spirits were quite fascinating. In particular, he spoke about how the ghost world has its share of hooligans just like we do. Bad characters, who cause disturbances, are rounded up and imprisoned in a place which we humans would call a jail. Different types of offenders are imprisoned in different cell blocks, and all the cells are full. There are male hooligan ghosts and female hooligan ghosts. And then there are the very brutal types, again either male or female. Ãcariya Mun said that it was clear from the cruelty in their eyes that they would not respond to kindness and compassion.

Ghosts live in cities, just as we humans do. They have huge cities with leaders who supervise and govern them. Quite a few ghosts are inclined to be virtuous and thus earn high respect from both the ordinary ghosts and the hooligans. It’s natural for all ghosts to stand in genuine awe of those among them who tend to possess great power and authority. This is not merely a matter of flattery. Ãcariya Mun always claimed that the effects of evil are less powerful than the effects of goodness; and what he himself encountered in the ghost cities was further evidence of this. There are beings with accumulated merit who are nonetheless born into the ghost state as a result of their kamma, but, their virtuous characters never change, so they exercise great authority. One such individual is even capable of governing a large community. These ghost communities do not segregate into groups or castes as humans do. Instead, they adhere strictly to the authority of Dhamma principles. The effects of their kamma make it impossible for them to hold the kind of prejudice that people do. The nature of their existence is governed by the nature of their kamma – this is a fixed principle. The way we use authority in this world cannot, therefore, be applied in the world hereafter. Ãcariya Mun explained this matter in great detail but, I’m sorry to say, I can remember only a little of it.

Ãcariya Mun’s visits to the ghosts were done psychically through samãdhi meditation. As soon as they saw him they hurried to tell everyone to come and pay their respects to him, just as we humans would do. The chief ghost, who was very respectful of Ãcariya Mun and had great faith in him, guided him on a tour past the many places where the ghosts lived, including the ‘jail’ where the male and female hooligans were kept. The chief ghost explained to Ãcariya Mun the living conditions of the different types of ghosts, pointing out that the imprisoned ghosts were mean-hearted types who had unduly disturbed the peace of the others. They were sentenced and jailed according to the severity of their offense. The word ‘ghost’ is a designation given to them by humans; but actually they are just one type of living being among others in the universe who exist according to their own natural conditions.

ÃCARIYA MUN INVARIABLY liked to remain in and around mountains and forests for long periods of time. After having been in Nakhon Phanom for quite a while instructing the monks, he began to necessarily consider his own position. He often reflected on the nature of his own practice. He knew that he still lacked sufficient strength of purpose to finish the ultimate task before him. It became clear that as long as he continued to resist this call and remain teaching his disciples, his own personal striving would be delayed. He said that ever since he had returned from the Central Plains in order to instruct monks in the Northeast, he felt that his citta had not advanced as fast as when he was living alone. He felt that he had to accelerate his efforts once more before he could achieve the final goal and be free of all concerns about himself. At that time, Ãcariya Mun’s mother had been living with him for six years as an upãsikã.36 His concern for her made it inconvenient for him to go anywhere. So, having secured her agreement, he decided to escort her to Ubon Ratchathani. He then left Nakhon Phanom with his mother and a large following of monks and novices, cutting straight across the Nong Sung mountains, through Kham Cha-ee, and coming out at the district of Lerng Nok Tha in the province of Ubon Ratchathani. That year he spent the rains retreat at Ban Nong Khon in the Amnat Charoen district of Ubon Ratchathani province. Many monks and novices stayed there with him, and he trained them vigorously. While he was there the number of monks and lay devotees, who gained faith and came to train under him, steadily increased.

LATE ONE EVENING Ãcariya Mun sat in meditation and as soon as his citta dropped into calm a vision appeared of many monks and novices walking respectfully behind him in a nice, orderly fashion which inspired devotion. Yet, there were other monks who hurried past, walking ahead of him without respect or self-control. Others looked for an opportunity to pass him in a completely undisciplined manner. And finally, there were some who held pieces of split bamboo, using them to pinch his chest so that he could hardly breath. When he saw these different monks display such disrespect – even cruelly tormenting him – he focused his citta carefully to look into events of the future. Immediately, he understood that those, who walked respectfully behind him in a nice, orderly fashion which inspired devotion, were the monks who would conduct themselves properly, faithfully putting his teaching into practice. These were the monks who would revere him and uphold the sãsana, assuring that it would flourish in the future. They would be able to make themselves useful to the sãsana and to people everywhere by maintaining the continuity of traditional Buddhist customs and practices into the future. Honored and respected by people on earth and beings throughout the celestial realms, they would uphold the integrity of the sãsana following the tradition of the Noble Ones, so that it did not decline and disappear.

Walking past him carelessly without respect were the pretentious ones who thought they already knew it all. They considered their own meditation to be even superior to that of their teacher, disregarding the fact that he had previously guided them all in its proper practice. They were not the least bit interested in showing gratitude for his tutelage in matters of Dhamma because they already considered themselves to be clever experts in everything. And thus they behaved accordingly, which was ruinous not only to themselves, but also to the entire sãsana, including all the people who might come to them for guidance. Their minds poisoned by the errors of such monks, these people would in turn harm themselves and others, including future generations, without discovering whether they were on the right path or not.

The next group consisted of those who waited for the chance to pass him, signaling the start of a bad attitude that would develop and have repercussions for the future sãsana. Much like the previous group, they held a variety of erroneous views, causing harm to themselves and the religion as a whole. Together, they were a menace to the sãsana, the spiritual focus of all Buddhists. Because they failed to rightly consider the consequences of their actions, the sãsana was in danger of being utterly destroyed.

The monks who pinched Ãcariya Mun’s chest with pieces of split bamboo considered themselves to be astutely well-informed and acted accordingly. Despite their wrongful actions, they did not take right and wrong into consideration in thinking about their behavior. On top of that, they were bound to cause Buddhist circles and their teacher a great deal of discomfort. Ãcariya Mun said that he knew exactly who were among this last group of monks, and that they would cause him trouble before long. He was saddened that they would do such a thing since they were his former disciples who had his consent and blessing to spend the rains retreat nearby. Rather than treating him with all the respect he deserved, they planned to return and bother him.

A few days later, the provincial governor and a group of government officials came to visit his monastery. The delegation was accompanied by the very same disciples who had led the assault on him in his vision. Without revealing his vision to them, he carefully observed their actions. Together they requested his support in soliciting money from the local people in order to build several schools in the area. They explained that this would help the government. They had all agreed to approach Ãcariya Mun for assistance since he was highly revered by the people. They felt that the project would surely be a success if he were involved. As soon as he knew the reason for their visit, Ãcariya Mun immediately understood that these two monks were the principle instigators of this troublesome business. It was represented in his vision of the assault. Later, he asked both monks to come to him and instructed them in appropriate behavior for a practicing Buddhist monk – someone who’s way of life is rooted in self-restraint and tranquillity.

This story is recounted here to help the reader understand the mysterious nature of the citta: how it is quite capable of knowing things both apparent and hidden, including knowledge of things past and future, as well as of the present. Ãcariya Mun exemplified this ability on numerous occasions. He conducted himself with total detachment. His thoughts never concealed any ulterior, worldly motives. Whatever he said stemmed from his knowledge and insights and was purposefully spoken to make people think. His intention was never to fool credulous people or to cause harm.

What is recorded here was told to his close inner circle of disciples – not just anyone. Thus the writer might be showing bad judgment in exposing Ãcariya Mun’s affairs. But I think this account offers those who are interested something useful to dwell upon. Among present-day kammaååhãna monks, Ãcariya Mun’s experiences stand out for being uniquely broad in scope and truly amazing – both in the sphere of his meditation practice and the insights derived from his psychic knowledge. Sometimes, when the circumstances were appropriate, he spoke directly and specifically about his intuitive knowledge. Yet at other times, he referred only indirectly to what he knew and used it for general teaching purposes. Following his experience with the elderly monk, whose thoughts he read during his stay at Sarika Cave, he was extremely cautious about disclosing his insights to others despite his earnest desire to help his students see the errors in their thinking.

When he pointed out candidly that this monk was thinking in the wrong way, or that that monk was thinking in the right way, his listeners were adversely affected by his frankness. They invariably misunderstood his charitable intent instead of benefiting from it as was his purpose. Taking offense at his words could easily lead to harmful consequences. Thus, most of the time Ãcariya Mun admonished monks indirectly for he was concerned that the culprits would feel embarrassed and frightened in front of their fellows. Without identifying anyone by name, he merely gave a warning in order to foster self-awareness. Even so, the culprit sometimes became terribly distressed, finding himself rebuked amidst the assembled monks. Ãcariya Mun was very well aware of this, as he was of the most expedient method to use in any given circumstance.

Some readers may feel uncomfortable with some of the things that are written here. I apologize for this; but I have accurately recorded everything that Ãcariya Mun related himself. Many senior disciples, who lived under his tutelage, have confirmed and elaborated on these accounts, leaving us with a vast array of stories.

GENERALLY SPEAKING, external sense objects pose the greatest danger to practicing monks. They enjoy thinking about sights, sounds, smells, tastes, bodily contact and mental images concerning the opposite sex. Though this is unintended, the tendency to do it is deeply ingrained in their personalities. Inevitably these were the primary subjects of Ãcariya Mun’s admonitions, whether given directly or indirectly. Monks had other kinds of thoughts of course, but unless they were particularly serious he wouldn’t take much notice.

The evening meeting was the most important time by far. Ãcariya Mun wanted the members of his audience to be both physically and mentally calm. He didn’t want anything to disturb them, or himself, while he was speaking, ensuring that his disciples received maximum benefit from listening. If someone allowed wild, unwholesome thoughts to arise at that time, he was usually struck by a bolt of lightning – right in the middle of the thoughts that absorbed him, right in the middle of the meeting. This made the monk, who dared to think so recklessly, tremble and almost faint on the spot. Although no name was mentioned, Ãcariya Mun’s disclosure of the content of the offensive thoughts was enough to send a shock through the guilty one. Other monks were also alarmed, fearing that in a moment of carelessness they themselves might fall prey to similar thoughts. When lightning struck continuously during the course of a Dhamma talk, his audience succumbed to the pressure and sat very attentively on guard. Some monks actually entered into a meditative state of complete tranquillity at that time. Those who did not attain such a state were still able to stay calm and cautious from fear that lightning might strike again if their thoughts strayed – or perhaps he hawk they feared was swooping down to snatch their heads!

For this reason, those monks residing with Ãcariya Mun gradually developed a solid foundation for centering their hearts. The longer they remained with him, the more their inner and outer demeanors harmonized with his. Those who committed to stay with him for a long time submitted willingly to his vigorous teaching methods. With patience, they came to understand all the skillful means he used, whether in the daily routine or during a discourse on Dhamma. They observed him tirelessly, trying to thoroughly follow his example as best they could. Their tendency to desire Dhamma and be serious about all aspects of daily practice increased their inner fortitude little by little each day, until they eventually stood on their own.

Those monks who never achieved positive results from living with him usually paid more attention to external matters than to internal ones. For instance, they were afraid that Ãcariya Mun would berate them whenever their thoughts foolishly strayed. When he did rebuke them for this, they became too scared to think of solving the problem themselves, as would befit monks who were training under Ãcariya Mun. It made no sense at all to go to an excellent teacher only to continue following the same old tendencies. They went there, lived there, and remained unchanged: they listened with the same prefixed attitudes, and indulged in the same old patterns of thought. Everything was done in a habitual manner, laden with kilesas, so that there was no room for Ãcariya Mun’s way to penetrate. When they left him, they went as they had come; they remained unchanged. You can be sure that there was little change in their personal virtue to warrant mentioning, and that the vices that engulfed them continued to accumulate, unabated. Since they never tired of this, they simply remained as so many unfortunate people without effective means to oppose this tendency and reverse their course. No matter how long they lived with Ãcariya Mun, they were no different than a ladle in a pot of delicious stew: never knowing the taste of the stew, the ladle merely moves repeatedly out of one pot and into another. Similarly, the kilesas that amass immeasurable evil, pick us up and throw us into this pot of pain, that pot of suffering. No doubt, I myself am one of those who gets picked up and thrown into one pot and then into another. I like to be diligent and apply myself, but something keeps whispering at me to be lazy. I like to follow Ãcariya Mun’s example; and I like to listen and think in the way of Dhamma as he has taught. But again, that something whispers at me to go and live and think in my old habitual way. It doesn’t want me to change in any way whatsoever. In the end, we trust the kilesas until we fall fast asleep and submit to doing everything in the old habitual way. Thus, we remain just our old habitual selves, without changes or improvements to inspire self-esteem or admiration from others. Habitual tendencies are an extremely important issue for every one of us. Their roots are buried deep inside. If we don’t really apply ourselves conscientiously, observing and questioning everything, then these roots are terribly difficult to pull out.

ÃCARIYA MUN DEPARTED from Ban Nong Khon with his mother at the beginning of the dry season. They stayed one or two nights at each village until they arrived at his home village, where Ãcariya Mun resided for a time. He instructed his mother and the villagers until they all felt reassured. Then he took leave of his family to go wandering in the direction of the Central Plains region.

He traveled leisurely, in the style of a dhutanga monk: he was in no particular hurry. If he came upon a village or a place with an adequate supply of water, he hung up his umbrella-tent and peacefully practiced, continuing his journey only when he regained strength of body and mind. Back then, everyone traveled by foot, since there were no cars. Still, he said that he wasn’t pressed for time; that his main purpose was the practice of meditation. Wandering all day on foot was the same as walking meditation for the same duration of time. Leaving his disciples behind to walk alone to Bangkok was like a lead elephant withdrawing from its herd to search alone for food in the forest. He experienced a sense of physical and mental relief, as though he had removed a vexatious thorn from his chest that had severely oppressed him for a long time. Light in body and light in heart, he walked through broad, sectioned paddy fields, absorbed in meditation. There was very little shade, but he paid no attention to the sun’s searing heat. The environment truly seemed to make the long journey easier for him. On his shoulders he carried his bowl and umbrella-tent, the personal requisites of a dhutanga monk. Although they appeared cumbersome, he didn’t feel them to be burdensome in any way. In truth, he felt as though he were floating on air, having relieved himself of all concern about the monks he left behind. His sense of detachment was complete. His mother was no longer a concern for him, for he had taught her to the best of his ability until she developed a reliable, inner stability. From then on, he was responsible for himself alone. He walked on as he pondered over these thoughts, reminding himself not to be heedless.

He walked meditation in this manner along paths free of human traffic. By midday the sun was extremely hot, so he would look for a pleasant, shady tree at the edge of a forest to rest for awhile. He would sit there peacefully, doing his meditation practice under the shade of a tree. When late afternoon came and the heat had relented somewhat, he moved on with the composure of one who realized the dangers inherent within all conditioned things, thus cultivating a clear, comprehending mind. All he needed were small villages with just enough houses to support his daily almsround and, at intervals along his journey, suitable places for him to conveniently stay to practice that were far enough from the villages. He resided in one of the more suitable places for quite some time before moving along.

Ãcariya Mun said that upon reaching Dong Phaya Yen forest between the Saraburi and Nakhon Ratchasima provinces, he discovered many forested mountain ranges that brought special joy to his heart. He felt inclined to extend his stay in the area in order to strengthen his heart, for it had long been thirsting to live again in the solitude of the mountains and forests. Upon coming across a suitable location, he would decide to remain awhile and practice meditation until the time came to move on again. Steadily he wandered through the area in this way. He would tell of the region’s forests and mountains abounding in many different kinds of animals, and of his delight in watching the barking deer, wild pigs, sambor deer, flying lemurs, gibbons, tigers, elephants, monkeys, languars, civets, jungle fowl, pheasants, bear, porcupine, tree shrews, ground squirrels, and the many other small species of animals. The animals showed little fear of him when he crossed paths with them during the day when they were out searching for food.

Those days, the forested terrain didn’t really contain any villages. What few there were consisted of isolated settlements of three or four houses bunched together for livelihood. The inhabitants hunted the many wild animals and planted rice and other crops along the edge of the mountains where Ãcariya Mun passed. Villagers there had great faith in dhutanga monks, and so he could depend on them for alms food. When he stayed among them, his practice went very smoothly. They never bothered him or wasted his time. They kept to themselves and worked on their own so his journey progressed trouble-free, both physically and mentally, until he arrived safely in Bangkok.

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