6-5 His Final Illness
最後的一場病
阿姜曼總共住在班農修寺有五年之久。日子一向很平順，但到了西元1949年三月－確切說來是那一年農曆四月十四日，他的身體出現了幾個病症，而那是他生命即將終結的徵兆。那一年，阿姜曼79歲。病症剛出現時，阿姜曼的身體看起來沒什麼大礙。但在簡單的咳嗽發燒之下10，一股強烈的顫動傳遍阿姜曼的身體，甚至有幾位近侍弟子也感受到了這股衝擊力。於是，阿姜曼在當下就知道了。就我們粗淺的觀察，老師似乎只是輕微發燒與咳嗽而已；但幾日之後，老師的咳嗽卻越來越嚴重，這就有些奇怪了。我們不禁擔憂起阿姜曼的身體，並暗自希望老師能早日康復。然而，阿姜曼清楚知道這就是他人生最後一次的生病－任何治療都不會見效。阿姜曼很早就對弟子們說明這是他最後的一場疾病，也表明了他不需要任何藥物；若有人帶來藥物請他服用，他會嚴肅地再次說明：
「我這次患的病，是生命已走到盡頭的疾病，任何藥物都無法治癒我了。我的身體已知道時間將至，目前它盡責地繼續呼吸，並靜待死亡的到來。你們面前的我，如同一棵還站著、但根系已死的大樹。無論人們如何替這棵樹澆水或施肥，此樹都不可能發出新芽、再開花結果了。死樹雖然還站著，但它自知某天必會轟然倒地。我或者樹都一樣，都將被「年老病」擊倒。其實，在這次疾病出現的許久以前，我就已經探究過我的狀況了。而這就是為何我一直提醒大家：千萬不能驕傲自滿。要趁我活著時，加緊精進修行。如此，這段時間你們遇到的問題我還能夠幫忙。若不在我活著時提出問題，只怕你們將來會浪費更多的時間。我是不會再活多久了。因緣聚合之物皆為無常，我也不例外，不久後我便要離開這世間了。不知道你們還記得嗎？三年前我就警告過，老師不能再繼續教導你們三年的時光。我還能多說什麼？我預言的事件，現在已經要來了。不論是人類或動物，業果都會按照時辰、準確無誤地在我們的身心上執行工作。它在我身體上的工作已近尾聲。再過幾個月，所有的工作都會完成。所以，這些藥物怎可能會有用，怎能阻止業果的進行呢？」
就這樣，阿姜曼的身體一天一天虛弱下去。由於已清楚表示不需任何治療，所以若有人前來勸他試試這或試試那，老師真的會生氣的。然而，有這麼多的人們前來提供醫療，要完全拒絕可不是件容易的事。每一位都會誇口說自己帶來的是最好的藥物，曾治癒過許許多多的人們，所以只要阿姜曼服用，疾病一定會就此痊癒。另一個困難是，每一個人都出於善意，每一個人都懇求阿姜曼服用他們的藥物，這增加了拒絕的難度。當然，人們會希望阿姜曼恢復健康，好繼續照顧所有的比丘眾與在家眾。面對這樣的情勢，阿姜曼只得經常告誡他們，有些病是無藥可治的，或許帶焚化屍體用的木柴來見他還比較有用。然而，阿姜曼越是拒絕，人們便越加懇求。於是，偶爾阿姜曼會退讓，並真的服用一些藥物。阿姜曼這樣做，或許是不想讓人們認為他已對病情絕望而陷入沮喪的心態吧？
隨著阿姜曼生病的消息傳開後，四面八方的人們開始湧向班農修。無論天氣如何，每天都有眾多的人們前來拜見，比丘眾與在家眾都有，雨季時從不間斷的雨勢或可形容人們的這股熱潮。班農修寺坐落在山谷中，四周都是茂密森林。若要從烏隆府至色軍府的主要公路上來到這裡，人們得在泥巴路上走個12至15英里遠的距離才行。儘管路況不佳，人們似乎一點都不擔心旅途的艱辛與不便。只有真的走不動的老人家，才會雇請牛車前去班農修寺。
阿姜曼天性不喜熱鬧，喜愛恬靜的生活。除非必要，跟隨他一起生活的比丘們可不會隨便打擾阿姜曼。因此，大眾的慰問與拜訪實在違反了他的天性。平常生病的時候，阿姜曼甚至不讓近侍弟子們照顧。只在非不得已的情況下，阿姜曼才會讓人照顧。若是如此，照顧者必須是一位心性謹慎的比丘。向來只有僧團裡最值得信賴的比丘才能擔當此項任務。這次由於阿姜曼的身體快速衰弱，一位謹慎的資深比丘已被選定，他將總管照顧阿姜曼的一切事項。考慮阿姜曼追求至善至美的天性，這位比丘必須注意各種細節，依場合依時機，決定什麼處置才是對阿姜曼最適當的照顧，並帶領其他比丘嚴謹執行。出於此原因，其他參與照顧的比丘也是經過挑選，這樣才能確保照顧者的行為不會與阿姜曼細膩的天性有所衝突。
面對從各地前來、希望能向阿姜曼表達敬意的比丘眾與在家眾，我們的應對方式如下：訪客們得在寺院的一處等候，待人數與時間皆適宜，主事的比丘才會走進阿姜曼的小屋，告知有一批信眾來訪。等阿姜曼同意後，主事比丘才會引導訪客們前去拜見阿姜曼。阿姜曼會與他們短暫寒暄與對話，接著訪客們會向阿姜曼頂禮，之後便請他們離開寺院了。在那段期間，我們一直是以這種方式來安排來訪事宜：在得到允許之前，每位訪客都必須等待；等到人數適當後，才會引導整批訪客去拜見阿姜曼。享有例外的是阿姜曼的資深弟子們，他們曾受阿姜曼指導，現在在各地修行、或著是已經在指導自己的弟子眾了。他們與阿姜曼之間的師生情誼深厚，一旦阿姜曼知道他們到來並允許後，這些阿姜們可直接進入他的小屋，與阿姜曼一對一談話。
幾個月過去了，阿姜曼的病情繼續惡化。雖然從沒有嚴重到一病不起，但阿姜曼總是滿臉病容、精神不振。這場疾病就有如一群暴民在邊區叛變，沒想到政府軍鎮壓不住，於是戰事逐漸擴大，轉變為全國戰爭，讓所有人民都受到影響。受影響最大的，當然是我們這些跟隨老師的弟子眾。弟子們心中最重要的事物就是阿姜曼，所以看到阿姜曼的身體越來越差，大家都感到心煩意亂，甚至是有些難過與沮喪了。弟子們平時談話的主題都是關於阿姜曼的身體狀況，就算中途說起別的事件，話題也很快會回到老師的病情上面。
儘管身體越來越差，阿姜曼並沒有忽略他對弟子眾的教學。雖然，阿姜曼現在無法長時間說法，但他對弟子們的慈悲不曾減少。在集會中，阿姜曼依舊會為比丘眾開示。接著，阿姜曼讓比丘們提問，他會簡要回答問題。之後，阿姜曼便離開會場，直接回去小屋休息。令人不敢相信的是，當阿姜曼上座為比丘眾說法時，他看起來一點都不像是生了重病的人。他仍會視機緣適切說法，內容生動活潑；他的聲音鏗鏘有力、中氣十足，其中的果決與堅毅絲毫不受疾病影響。若強調某項道理時，阿姜曼還能夠加快並加重他的語調，清楚呈現出重點來。無疑地，阿姜曼是以全部氣力為我們做開示，他毫無保留。若看到說法時的狀況，沒有人會相信阿姜曼已身染重病。只在說法結束後，我們才看得出老師的疲憊。於是，我們會趕緊散會，讓老師早點休息。
那段時期的集會，最令人印象深刻的一次是發生在阿姜曼生病幾天前所招開的集會。那一天正好是摩伽日，精確的日期是西元1949年2月的月圓日。那一夜，阿姜曼開示了許多法義。他從晚上八點開始說法，一直說到午夜時才結束，總共說法有四個小時之久！集會的比丘們皆被他那晚的開示徹底震撼了。對那些認真聆聽者而言，整個宇宙似乎已經消失，能感受到的只有阿姜曼那無所不包的法。阿姜曼那一晚的開示，一開始是讚揚了當年的1250位阿羅漢，他們於二月的月圓日，自動自發地聚集，前去拜見佛陀。
「在這一天，曾經有1250位阿羅漢聖弟子自動自發地聚集在佛陀的所在地。那次集會並非事先安排，更難得的是每一位與會者都已解脫煩惱，都是純潔無垢的阿羅漢聖者。佛陀為這一群僧眾所做的開示，是波羅提木叉經11，即是之後布薩日比丘眾一起念誦的經文。這個事件是布薩日的緣由，而佛陀的開示可說是為了這一群無垢聖者的清淨戒行而作的紀念。對比今日集會，雖然波羅提木叉經依然相同，但誦出經文的你們，卻無人證得解脫，你們每一個人都受煩惱所苦。想到這就不免令人失望：你們既已出家，你們與當年的阿羅漢聖弟子都是佛陀子嗣12；然而，你們仍未完成弟子的義務，只是徒具佛弟子之名而已。這讓我想到一位取名為「善士」的邪惡之徒，無論名字再好聽，他最後也會被自己的惡業壓得無法動彈。在佛陀時代，比丘們真誠且勤奮地修習佛法，他們成為了真正的佛弟子，知見清晰正確，戒德完美無瑕。如今，社會上有一些比丘的名聲顯赫，如同天上的太陽與月亮，但他們的所作所為卻與他們的名聲不相稱，只怕他們將來會跌落阿鼻地獄。以這樣的行持，怎能找到戒德、知見、或清淨呢？他們只是在積累煩惱，成就了如影隨形的惡業。但這就是潮流，所以現在怎可能有一群清淨的聖比丘眾在布薩日聚集呢？現今的人們只要一出家，便會對自己的比丘身份沾沾自喜；等到披上袈裟後，就開始認為自己是俗家人的典範了。然而，這些人根本還不知道什麼是佛教的戒德。若念誦波羅提木叉時，比丘們能夠多思惟經文中的法義，並嚴格奉行之，那麼他們終會了解戒德的真正意義。佛陀的教導可以濃縮在以下四句精簡的偈子裡：「諸惡莫作，眾善奉行，自淨其意，是諸佛教。」
「諸惡莫作，這說的是什麼？有的比丘們雖戒除了惡行，但他們的言語仍未良善；有的比丘們戒除了言語與行為上的卑劣，內心卻總想著邪惡之事。儘管已受戒出家，這些比丘們整天庸庸碌碌，他們是忙著製造惡業。忙碌一天後，隔天醒來繼續忙碌－惡業越積越多！就這樣日復一日，這些比丘們已經對自己的所做所為麻痺，不再反省了。他們相信自己已具足戒德，只等待尊貴的道果降臨在他們的身上。然而，他們永遠找不到清淨、盼不到道果，現起的只會是痛苦與煩惱。這樣的結果是必然的，因為找尋煩惱者能夠找到什麼別的事物嗎？只能找到煩惱而已。世間實在是不缺這一類是非顛倒的人們啊！」
對我們這些有學比丘眾，阿姜曼向來是這樣教導我們。阿姜曼希望弟子們能正確奉行戒律，並從中獲得洞見實相的能力。說完戒律之後，阿姜曼接著解說比丘眾該做的修行。他從禪定與觀智開始說明，一層一層地向上闡述，直到最後的關卡－究竟自由。那一晚，阿姜曼詳細解說了正法的各個面向，讓我們一窺修行之路的概括。但許多內容我已於前面章節中提過，所以我在這裡就不多做記錄了。阿姜曼開示時，所有的比丘眾都是端正且安靜地坐著。除了阿姜曼的開示外，大廳裡沒有任何聲響，每個人都全神貫注在阿姜曼的開示之中。
說法結束後，阿姜曼也做出了一個宣告，如同他之前在柴迪隆寺開示後所做的宣告。阿姜曼說：這次開示是他最後一次的「演講」－他不會再做出像這樣詳盡的說明了。果然，阿姜曼所言不虛，因為從那天後，阿姜曼就不再做出這樣長時間且全面的開示了。開示後一個月左右，阿姜曼體力的下降更是明顯。身體狀況持續衰退，直到最後的辭世。
儘管身體虛弱無力，阿姜曼依舊奉持著頭陀行。他堅持每日走至村落托缽，同樣日中一食，只由缽內取食。只要可能，阿姜曼絕不會輕易放下他平時的修行方式。漸漸地，阿姜曼體力衰退到無法走至村落。於是，他會走一半的路程，在中間點接受在家人的供養，之後再走回寺院。看到阿姜曼走路越來越困難，在家居士們與僧團的資深比丘們一起開會討論可行的辦法。大家的決議是，想請求阿姜曼走到寺院的大門，讓居士們在寺院大門處供養食物。會議中每一個人都知道，就算僧眾與在家眾一起懇請阿姜曼不再托缽乞食，阿姜曼也不可能答應這項請求。只要仍可以走路，阿姜曼一定會執行出家人應盡的義務。大家了解並尊重阿姜曼的意願，所以才做出在寺院門口供養的決定。每個人都希望能有一個解決方案，而且它不會與阿姜曼堅毅個性相衝突。於是，阿姜曼每天走到寺院大門處托缽乞食，直到他連大門口都走不到為止。接下來的日子，阿姜曼是走到寺院食堂托缽乞食。只在連幾步路都走不到的狀況後，阿姜曼才放棄了托缽乞食。即便這樣，阿姜曼依舊奉行日中一食與一缽食的頭陀行。親眼看見一位絕不退縮、絕不放下武器的心靈戰士，我們真是感動，阿姜曼的恆心與毅力折服了我們每一個人啊！
若與阿姜曼對比，我們一般人可能咳嗽幾下便會感到頭昏眼花，甚至還會無力到需要攙扶才能走到食堂用餐。這真是恥辱啊！煩惱們總是無憂無慮地歡笑著，因為我們會自行躺在砧板上，等待它們拿起利刃將我們剁成肉片。真是可悲啊！我們已不再是懵懂無知的孩童，怎能心甘情願地任煩惱們擺佈？有這種失敗主義的人們都該停下自己手邊的事情，思索一下阿姜曼是如何面對煩惱與修行。然後，在我們自己與煩惱的戰爭中，我們也該採用同樣的方式來武裝自己。如此，我們終將能依照佛陀的教法前進，不再只是以煩惱的僕人自居。
日子又繼續向前推進，阿姜曼的身體已嚴重到必須採取一些預防措施了。弟子們悄悄做出安排，每天晚上會有三到四位比丘在阿姜曼的小屋下方守夜。此項安排並沒有告知阿姜曼，因為我們擔心阿姜曼會認為這項雜務不必要且會增加僧團的負擔，我們怕阿姜曼會先開口說出「不行」這兩個字。但就算我們不說，阿姜曼可能早已察覺此事了。在接下來的日子，一組一組的比丘們會輪流守夜。每組比丘安靜坐在阿姜曼小屋的樓梯下方，幾小時後再換下一組的比丘，守夜工作到天亮時便停止。弟子們自行守夜是從那一年的雨安居時期開始。一段時間後，阿姜曼的病情更加嚴重，我們開會決議要先去詢問阿姜曼的意見，希望他能同意有兩名比丘在他小屋的走廊上靜坐守夜。得到同意後，夜裡便有兩名比丘坐在阿姜曼小屋走廊上，另外還有兩名比丘坐在他的小屋下方。其實，不只是輪班的比丘們才會照護阿姜曼的需求，所有比丘們也都會特別留意夜裡寺院是否有突發狀況發生。
等到雨安居一結束，越來越多的資深弟子們從泰國各地趕來班農修寺，他們來向阿姜曼表達敬意並詢問是否有任何需幫忙的事情。在那段時間，阿姜曼的身體已相當不穩定，他時常有無法呼吸的感覺。最後，阿姜曼招集了所有弟子眾，交代他們該如何處理他的後事。
「我的病情已到最後階段，現在該是計劃我死後之事的時候了－準備工作必須及時完成。正如我一再提醒的，我就要死亡，此事已迫在眉睫。而且，我的死亡將會是一個大事件，受到影響的不僅是人民而已，還有許多的動物會受到牽連。我要讓你們知道，我不希望在班農修村去世。若在這裡去世，許多的人們會來到這裡參加喪禮，而為了供應人們的飲食，這裡的家禽家畜將會被大量宰殺。我只是一個垂死之人，但我的過世卻可能讓數量眾多的動物跟著我一起死亡。這是因為人們來到班農修村參加葬禮，但村落裡卻沒有市場可提供已處理好的肉品，村民們將會宰殺家禽家畜出售。從受戒以來，我未曾有過傷害任何動物的念頭，更別提是促成動物們死亡了。慈悲向來是我的心念中的主要部分，我時時散發慈心，好與眾生一起分享我的喜悅。所以，我不希望有任何動物會因我而失去寶貴的生命，我絕不贊同我的喪禮竟然是讓動物們恐懼的來源之一。」
「我要你們先帶我到色軍府，並讓我在那裡過世。色軍府府城有一個大型的食物集散市場，所以若我在那裡過世，動物們的性命較不會受到影響。你們看看，我現在還在世，比丘眾與在家眾已經源源不絕地前來，村莊內的人數每天都在增加－這對村莊的負擔太大了。若我真的去世，到時聚集到這裡的人們不知道會有多少人！許多人們會前來悼念我的死亡，那是件好事，但不是我該關心之事。我已經準備好－任何時間死亡我都可以。對於捨離色身，我完全不會遺憾，我已徹底研究過身體，我清楚了解身體不過只是四大元素的暫時聚合。現在聚合事物即將解離，四大元素回到各自原本的狀態，有什麼好不捨的呢？我該關心之事是如何能守護此村禽畜的生命。我不希望牠們受一刀之厄，我不希望我死後村落攤販上擺滿禽畜的屍體，那會令人感到遺憾。幸好現在還有些時間，還來得及解決。為了那些可能因喪禮而被宰殺的動物們，我要求你們盡快安排我離開此村落。我的願望就是不要讓禽畜們的生命因我而受到傷害。對於此事你們有不同的意見嗎？如果有的話，現在就提出來。」
在場的每一個人都沒有說話，肅穆與難過的氣氛籠罩著我們。如同佛陀法語：求不得是苦！每個人都了解，不管阿姜曼人是在色軍府或是班農修，阿姜曼的逝世已快要來臨－弟子們的祈願註定落空，這件事已沒得商量！在這樣的氣氛下，大家都默然不語，所有弟子眾都同意了阿姜曼的建議。
不過，在這次會議開始之前，班農修的村民們就曾經表示過，若阿姜曼在此處取涅槃，他們會備感榮耀。「我們會準備好葬禮的一切事物。或許我們不富裕，但我們是最忠誠的佛教信徒。我們對阿姜曼充滿敬意，我們會盡一切力量安排好葬禮，我們不會讓旁人看笑話、不讓旁人譏笑我們無法辦出一個像樣的葬禮。我們不想要背負這樣的臭名聲！不論任何事發生，全體村民都會為阿姜曼奉獻出我們的一切。畢竟，阿姜曼是我們的燈塔、是我們的皈依處。我們不允許別人把阿姜曼帶到他們的城市去。若有人想這麼做，我們一定會全力反對，就算犧牲生命也在所不惜。」
所以當我們向村民們說明為何阿姜曼非走不可的原因時，他們的表情是那麼地失望與難過；但村民們也知道阿姜曼的設想有其道理，他們不能反對此事。另外，他們真是太尊敬阿姜曼了，所以聽到這是阿姜曼的決定後，儘管內心已在淌血，他們只能接受阿姜曼的決定。村民們對此事的理解與尊重，證明了他們願意犧牲一切的精神。我永遠敬佩這樣忠誠且如法的在家居士們，相信所有讀者也都有同感吧！
許多阿姜曼的資深弟子眾都參加了這次會議，他們了解阿姜曼這麼說，就表示時間所剩無幾，運送事宜必須盡快。公開阿姜曼的決定與理由後，所有僧眾與在家眾皆無異議，大眾決定當天便要造出一個適合阿姜曼的擔架，能夠安全且舒適地移動阿姜曼。第二天一早，一大群僧眾與在家眾帶著剛做好的擔架，等在阿姜曼的小屋外。那一天，空氣中瀰漫著一股濃濃的哀傷，所有人都是沉默不語，大家都意識到一位最值得尊敬、最值得珍惜的聖者即將離去。這哀傷如此沉重，在場的每一個人幾乎都要承受不住了。
在比丘眾用過飯、一切都準備就緒後，聚集在小屋周圍的送行民眾便忍不住眼淚了。情緒開始湧上，哀戚的氣氛蔓延，許多人開始放聲哭泣。一些沙彌與比丘眾站在人群中，他們同樣受到了這股情緒的影響，原本壓抑在內心深處的哀戚開始浮現，眼角淚水悄悄流出，滴在他們衣襟上。接著，阿姜曼出現了，他是由幾位資深弟子攙扶著走出小屋－那一刻，哀戚情緒更是強烈了。大家看著阿姜曼被攙扶走下台階，然後躺上擔架。此時，混雜著敬意、依戀、分離、與絕望的情緒突破了最後一道堤防，再也沒有人能夠忍得住眼淚。老老少少的男女、沙彌眾與比丘眾，所有人都放聲大哭，人們也只有大哭才能釋放那最深沉的哀傷了。儘管我是與阿姜曼一起離開的僧眾之一，我同樣管不住自己的淚水，我同樣跌入這股抑鬱與悲傷的漩渦裡。空氣中充滿著人們的哀嚎與悲泣聲。人們大聲喊著、期盼著：「請您趕快好起來，請您不要離開這個世界，我們無法承受這個打擊。」在這個時候，村民們的心幾乎都已破裂成碎片了。雖然村民們知道，阿姜曼離開是為村民好，他不願村民們擔下喪禮的準備事宜；但看到這幾年最尊敬、最信賴的導師躺在擔架上離去，村民們不禁悲從中來，那是撕心裂肺之痛－阿姜曼在他們的眼前離去，而他們無法挽回任何事！
隨著阿姜曼離行隊伍的前進，一波一波的哀泣聲也漸漸由寺院向村外的方向傳遞出去。沿路上滿滿都是想見阿姜曼最後一眼的民眾，每個人都被哀傷的潮水淹沒。當隊伍經過面前時，任何人的心頭都感到像是被一記重錘擊中，世界突然喪失了色彩，只有一片蒼白還留著。即便是不知世事的樹木與小草，似乎也在阿姜曼離去的那一刻就開始枯萎、死去。這些年來，阿姜曼與弟子們一直待在班農修寺內生活與修行；各地的在家居士們都會來此處尋求皈依與避護。雖然之後寺院仍會有比丘居住，但這個位在森林中的聖殿似乎已被遺忘，突然變得冷冷清清。畢竟，寺院內最茂盛、最高大的樹木已被移走，想在樹下休憩的人們再也感受不到以往的舒適與寧靜了。而沿路上的村民們，他們是一群願意為教法、為阿姜曼犧牲奉獻的在家居士眾。現在他們只能站在路旁，目送自己的聖者離去。那股發自心底的悲泣，相信所有聽聞者都會跟著一起流下眼淚。
護送隊伍慢慢離開了村莊，民眾躁動不安的聲音已在背後的遠方，但是仍有數百名比丘與民眾繼續跟著隊伍前進。這些人沉默地走著，神情肅穆，而臉上的淚痕還在，任何人都可以看得出他們心中的哀傷。他們沉默地走著，猶如在參加最親密家人或朋友的喪禮。剛才已大哭過一場，他們現在盡量不哭泣，試著讓自己接受這個事實。隊伍中沒有一個人說話，每個人心中反反覆覆地想著那些不可能實現的願望，但自己又明白一切已是定局。其實阿姜曼還未死去，只是人躺在擔架上而已；但是氛圍實在太過哀傷，不禁讓人覺得這是在運送阿姜曼遺體準備去火化的過程。然而，大家也完全瞭解此事即將發生－阿姜曼永不會再回來班農修，而火葬也在不久的未來了！我們越想越是難過；然而，我們卻停不下思緒。就這樣，每個人都沮喪地向前走著。除了絕望，心中還是絕望。
我必須承認自己的修行仍不夠－整段路程我的正念不知道在哪裡？我只想著自己即將失去生命中最重要的導師，而我還有許多問題與疑惑，我之後能請教誰呢？從班農修到菲南尼空區的距離大約有15英哩遠，而我渾渾噩噩地走著，對其他的細節幾乎毫無印象。我只記得我走在阿姜曼擔架的後方，腦中反覆想著阿姜曼將會死去、我以後又會如何如何想念他這類的事情。阿姜曼生病的那段日子，剛好是我修行的關鍵時期，我正遭遇關卡，還有許多問題未解。可想而知，我多麼希望阿姜曼能夠痊癒，能夠繼續指導我。然而不管我再怎麼祈禱，最後我總會得到同樣的結論：別再做夢了！很快我就不能向阿姜曼請益，未來我肯定會陷入黑暗之中。
在這段炎熱且顛簸的旅程中，阿姜曼的身體狀況似乎保持穩定－他看起來不像是一位身染重病的病人。從我的角度看去，阿姜曼整段路程都像是在睡覺；當然，阿姜曼是不會在白天昏睡的。到了中午時分，我們抵達一塊有著許多樹木的林地。因為有民眾隨行，我們詢問阿姜曼是否能在這裡稍作休息。阿姜曼馬上用清晰的聲音回答：「我們現在到哪裡了？」聽到這熟悉的聲音，我馬上被洶湧而出的愛戀給牢牢捉住。為什麼這聲音對我有這麼大的影響力？突然間，我又陷入幻想，我又開始想像阿姜曼跟從前一樣健康。
難道這位三界共同尊敬的聖人要拋棄我了嗎？我心都碎了，我就快成為孤兒了。要不是阿姜曼的慈悲教導，我哪能從苦悶的修行生活中品嚐到佛法的真諦，但是現在他真的要離我而去了嗎？以上雜七雜八的念頭，就是我在聽到阿姜曼聲音後直接衝出來的想法。或許有些讀者會認為我是不是有些瘋癲，但我對此沒有疑慮－我完全承認我的瘋癲！只要能讓阿姜曼痊癒，我會心甘情願地與他交換，我會代替他死去。若阿姜曼真的這樣想過，我想都不必想，我會欣然交出自己的性命。事實上，我瘋癲到我一直在等待阿姜曼開口叫我為他而死；但是，阿姜曼怎麼可能會接受我的犧牲啊！我還是得回到世間的實相上，那即是：凡出生於世者都走在相同的道路上，而道路的終點必是死亡，無人能有例外。
依照計畫，前往色軍府府城的旅程會分為兩個階段。首先，我們會花一天的時間走到菲南尼空區的班斐寺。我們將在那裡停留幾天，讓阿姜曼好好休息，之後才以搭車的方式前往色軍府府城。我們是在那天的上午九點離開班農修村。而在天黑不久前，護送隊伍才抵達了班斐寺13。此段旅程會用上一整天的時間，是因為我們取道一條較遠但平緩些的路線。隊伍是繞著山脈的邊緣迂迴前進，這讓阿姜曼與一些跟隨前往的老年人與婦女們能夠較為輕鬆。抵達班斐寺後，我們請阿姜曼住在一個大帳篷裡。比起傳統的小屋，住在帳篷裡更方便比丘們提供照料，也方便比丘眾或在家眾前來向阿姜曼頂禮問安。
阿姜曼停留在班斐寺的時間比預計多了幾天，這段時間他的身體狀況持續惡化。與此同時，每一天都有許多的比丘眾與在家眾前來拜訪，有些人甚至是在天黑之後才來拜訪。大家都希望能見到、並能親自向阿姜曼頂禮。這些人雖然之前就聽過阿姜曼的名聲，但他們大多是此時才第一次前來拜見。人們聽到了這個訊息：阿姜曼無疑是當今仍在世的一位阿羅漢聖者，而且他很快就將般涅槃。另外還有謠言：能見到阿姜曼的人們將會擁有幸福與財富，而沒有見過他的人們簡直就是白活了一生！於是，許多人們都急著前來拜見阿姜曼，大家都不希望自己浪費掉這千載難逢的好機運。
在抵達班斐寺的隔天一早，阿姜曼便詢問隊伍何時才會再次出發。阿姜曼告訴弟子們，在班斐寺內死亡並不是他的計畫－弟子們必須立刻帶他到色軍府府城。資深弟子們則回答，他們計畫在這裡停留幾天，好讓阿姜曼的身體復元，幾天後才繼續前往色軍府府城。於是，阿姜曼就不再多說甚麼了。第二天，阿姜曼又問了何時出發的問題；資深弟子們再次說出同樣的理由來回答阿姜曼。阿姜曼又沉默了。只是再過幾個小時後，阿姜曼又會再次詢問。那一天，阿姜曼一直不斷詢問，到底何時才會出發去色軍府。阿姜曼那天還說了，若再拖下去，他可能無法活著抵達了。
到那天的晚上，資深弟子們明確請求阿姜曼先在班斐寺住上十天後再出發。然而，四、五天過去了，阿姜曼又開始催促弟子們趕緊帶他去色軍府。資深弟子們要不沉默以對，要不就是重複曾說過的理由。阿姜曼則一邊催促他們，一邊指責他們太會拖時間：
「你們是希望我死在這裡嗎？我早告訴過你們，我要在色軍府府城去世。已快要沒時間了，趕緊帶我去那裡，別再拖下去了！」
在班斐寺的最後三天，阿姜曼立即出發的要求更是頻繁與強烈。在班斐寺的最後一晚，阿姜曼甚至拒絕躺下來休息。他緊急把我們這些隨侍弟子找來床邊，阿姜曼明確告訴我們他不能再活多久了。阿姜曼還說當晚就該帶他出發，以確保時間來得及。接著，阿姜曼要我們把他扶起朝向色軍府府城的方向，接著他盤腿進入禪定。從禪定退出後，阿姜曼告訴我們，再也不能等了，必須立刻離開。於是，我們趕緊把資深弟子眾找來。他們則告訴阿姜曼，行程已經確定，明天早上一定會出發前往色軍府府城。聽到這項保證後，阿姜曼的焦慮稍稍減輕一些，但他依然不願就寢。阿姜曼大聲向弟子們說明他對此事的看法：
「我的時間已要結束，我不能撐多久了。我們最好是今晚離開，這樣才能確保在死亡來臨前，我就已經抵達色軍府。我背負身體內的各種元素太久了，它們現在都在炙熱燃燒中。我就要永遠放棄身體，以後再也不必掛心伴隨身體而出現的種種疼痛與折磨。我現在正站在深淵的邊緣，難道你們不了解我可能隨時死亡嗎？這副身體已經完全無作用了，你們沒有理由讓我維持在這種煎熬的狀態。你們真的了解我為何要到色軍府的理由嗎？目的地是色軍府府城，所以我們現在才會在這裡。你們為什麼還要拖延行程呢？這裡是色軍府府城嗎？你們為什麼不立刻帶我過去？我要現在出發！還在等什麼呢？眼前的這副身骸有什麼用處？它完全沒有用，甚至連做成魚飼料也不夠格！」
「我已經告訴過你們：我的身體已經到達極限－它就是無法再拖下去了。是不是這裡沒有人願意照我說的去做呢？我已經明確說過我希望你們怎麼做，你們這樣也不聽。若你們一直保持這種態度，你們怎可能發覺出實相？我還在世的時候，你們就這樣固執，不照我說的去做；一旦我死去，你們怎麼可能管好自己、怎可能循正道而行？我所說關於我身體的事情，我知道那是百分之百正確；我也已經詳細說過我死後情況會如何發展。然而，你們卻固執地不願照我的計畫進行。你們的表現實在太令我失望，你們如何能培育出智慧呢？如何能讓正法繼續久住呢？」
在班斐寺的最後一夜，阿姜曼的態度是異常地強硬－他整晚不睡以示抗議。而我現在的推論是，那一夜阿姜曼或許擔心自己若躺下入眠，可能明天早上他就起不來了。但是在那天晚上，我們沒有人能理解他為何要整夜不睡。直到一段日子後，我才想通這背後的原因。
到了隔天早上的七點鐘，幾輛省公路局的卡車開到了寺院附近，這是準備護送阿姜曼到色軍府府城的車隊。邱瓦娜夫人是這次護送隊伍的負責人，她恭敬地詢問阿姜曼待會是否能坐上其中的一台車，讓他們用機動車輛載運至色軍府府城？阿姜曼欣然答應了這個請求。阿姜曼只回問了是否有足夠的座位運送所有隨行比丘眾？車隊人員回答，車隊有三輛卡車是用來運送比丘眾的。若這三輛卡車無法一次載送所有僧眾，卡車會再次回來載運餘下的比丘。了解安排後，阿姜曼就不再說話，保持靜默了。等到僧眾用過餐，一位醫生為阿姜曼注射了鎮靜劑。這樣的安排是為了讓阿姜曼在旅程中能夠輕鬆些，因為當時省道的路況並不好，路面盡是坑洞。接受注射後，阿姜曼被安置在擔架上，接著被運送至停在寺院外圍的一輛卡車上。不像現在，當時沒有馬路能夠直接進入寺院。不久之後，阿姜曼沉沉睡去，車隊也開始了前往色軍府府城的旅程。在那一天的正午時分，車隊抵達了目的地。
抵達時，阿姜曼仍在睡覺。他被抬下卡車，安置在蘇達瓦寺的一間小屋內。阿姜曼整整睡了一天，直到午夜他才醒來。在阿姜曼醒來前的一個小時，他的身體狀況開始明顯變化，他偶爾劇烈咳嗽，偶爾完全不呼吸－這正是阿姜曼之前已預見的狀況。此情境彷彿是在向我們這些又聾又瞎的弟子們說：現在看清楚了嗎？這就是為什麼我一直要你們別再托下去的原因。病情已是末期，而我也要趕快脫離這副苦難身軀了。若你們還不明白，那麼現在仔細看清楚；若只用說的你們不相信，那麼看清楚後再好好想想。到底你們看到的是什麼？我說的是真還是假？現在開始別再聽而不聞、視而不見、不願用心思惟；否則，你們將永遠找不到拯救自己所需要的智慧。現在看到的狀況應該能讓你們深思－千萬別認為自己能夠掌控一切。
如同佛陀的法語：五蘊確實是一個重擔。在那天的凌晨，阿姜曼開始經歷了四大元素分崩離析的過程－那是極為強烈的苦痛，一位真正智者絕不會想再次經歷這過程。那天晚上，整個寺院一片死寂，沒有人敢隨意走動或著說話，每個人都被這片死寂震懾住了。過沒多久的時間，一些大阿姜們聽到消息後都急忙趕來寺院，其中包括了達瑪恰迪長老。阿姜們是在凌晨時分來的，他們進入阿姜曼的小屋後便依序地入座。雖然儀態依舊沉穩，但阿姜們都為阿姜曼的狀況擔憂不已。阿姜曼的呼吸越來越弱，隨時都可能停下來。這個時候，一些負責照顧的沙彌與比丘們也進入小屋，他們是為了記錄阿姜曼過世的時間並幫忙處理突發狀況。所有人員都安靜地坐著，他們坐成三排面向阿姜曼。坐在第一排的是達瑪恰迪長老、一些大阿姜、與資深弟子們；其餘較資淺的沙彌與比丘們則是依序坐在後面兩排的位置。小屋內每一個人都哀戚地看著阿姜曼，眼睛無有一刻移開。此時，沒有人哭出聲來，但眼眶內盡是淚水－那是代表著絕望的淚水。所有人都知道奇蹟不會發生，即將發生的事就要來臨。若生命是有意義的，它的意義似乎也在那時候突然消失了。
一開始時，阿姜曼是以「右獅子臥」的姿勢躺在床上。擔心這姿勢會讓阿姜曼更加疲憊，幾位比丘小心地取下放在他背部的枕頭，想讓阿姜曼平躺下來。然而，阿姜曼注意到此事後，他又試著從平躺移成右獅子臥，但這時阿姜曼已沒有力氣可以完成姿勢的轉換。當他還在掙扎時，幾位資深阿姜試圖重新擺好背部的枕頭；但他們又注意到阿姜曼那時已氣若游絲，他們怕自己的介入反而會讓事情更糟，因此便不再調整姿勢了。於是，阿姜曼離開人世時，他既不是平躺也不是右側獅子臥，而是介於這兩個姿勢之間。在當時的情況，我們真的不適合去調整阿姜曼的姿勢。在場的在家居士、沙彌、比丘、阿姜們也只能無奈地看著阿姜曼的生命慢慢消失。所有人絕望地坐在原地，仔細觀察著那越來越慢、越來越輕微的胸廓起伏。
幾分鐘過去了，阿姜曼的呼吸更是微弱，他明顯就要死亡了，沒有人敢把視線移開。他的呼吸持續變弱變慢，讓人無法辨別是否他還在呼吸。幾秒鐘後，呼吸似乎已經停止；但它結束得這麼隱微，在場沒有人能夠確定阿姜曼是何時去世。在死亡的過程中，阿姜曼的外貌與表情沒有任何改變、身體也沒有任何的移動－這件事與一般人的死亡極為不同。因此，儘管在場所有人都是目不轉睛地注視阿姜曼直到最後，但仍沒有一個人能夠有把握地說：「就是在這一刻，阿姜曼離開了這個紛擾不堪的世界。」
眼見沒有生命跡象後，達瑪恰迪長老試探性地說道：「我認為阿姜曼已經去世了」。同時，他看了一下自己的手錶，當時是上午2點23分，於是阿姜曼正式死亡時間就紀錄在這個時刻。聽到這幾個字，我們的心頭猶如被一記重錘擊中，瞬間往萬丈深淵跌去。看著那已無生氣的身體。我們每個人都垂下了頭，淚流滿面。起初，屋內還有人發出幾下咳嗽聲或低沉的喃喃自語，但絕望的情緒漸漸地淹了上來，房間被死寂淹沒。我們的心完全被掏空了，還坐在那裡的身體不過是個空殼而已。這可怕的死寂持續了好長一段時間，外面的世界似乎離我們好遠好遠。從這個時間起，阿姜曼就不再存在於這個「世俗世界」了，他已進入了至臻至善的境界，再也沒有任何「因緣而生之事物」能夠打擾到他了。
我坐在阿姜曼的身旁，強烈地悲傷將我鎖住，我幾乎就要心碎而死！沒有了阿姜曼，我無法掙脫內心的灰暗與哀傷，我找不到任何事物可以緩解我的失落與痛苦。我想「槁木死灰」或許可以描述我在那一刻的感受吧。
經過一段時間的沉默後，資深弟子吩咐比丘眾整理好阿姜曼的臥具與房間。阿姜曼的屍體先不移動，仍安置在原本的睡墊上，只是姿勢被調整回平躺的姿勢。後續的事宜會在天亮後召集大眾共同開會討論。小屋整理完畢後，僧眾陸續離開阿姜曼的房間，除了少數人還留守在小屋外的走廊，其餘的人都離開了阿姜曼的小屋。現在，阿姜曼死亡的衝擊力到處都可被觀察到了。儘管小屋周圍掛著許多燈籠，阿姜曼的弟子們似乎仍看不清路況，他們腳步不穩，走著走著甚至還會跌倒。看到這樣暈頭轉向地亂走，說他們是吃了迷幻藥也不為過。有幾位比丘應該真是暈過去了，旁人怎麼叫他就是叫不醒，或許是他們覺得人生已不再有意義了吧？那天的深夜，寺院內真是極度混亂，每一位比丘都沉浸在哀慟與失落之中。比丘們想睡也睡不著，但又不知自己能為僧團做些甚麼。許多人失去正念，無意義地到處亂走。以上的狀況就是比丘們在失去生命中最重要的導師、最重要的典範後，真實發生的情景。比丘們曾經有阿姜曼為他們指路、為他們看照危險。現在阿姜曼逝世了，比丘們瞬間失去了以前擁有的安全與歸屬感，只得獨自面對生命中的無常。他們感覺自己變得渺小，深陷寒冷與黑暗中；他們找不到立足之地，彷彿世界空無一物。在那個悲傷時刻裡，比丘們實在無法端正思維，他們想不起眾生總是能由佛法中找到真實的庇護；他們已被悲傷吞噬，一個陰暗且不確定的未來突然呈現在面前。於是他們更加思念阿姜曼，那是他們曾經有過的皈依，那是他們能安心交付身心的庇護之所。
我這樣說並沒有要藐視佛、法、僧三寶的意圖；但在那個時刻，佛、法、僧似乎離我很遙遠。我無法專注在佛法僧上，我無法由它們獲得庇護。畢竟，佛法僧三寶不像阿姜曼那樣有效力、那樣親切。阿姜曼總在我們的身旁，他能夠時時激勵我們，並為我們指出該前往的方向。若有解不出的問題，我們總可以去請教阿姜曼。不論問題看似多麼急迫或重要，只要阿姜曼一開口解說，纏在一起的線頭總是會自行鬆開，於是我們能理出頭緒。追隨阿姜曼修行與生活的點點滴滴，我都銘記在心。在他離開人世後，這些記憶更是蜂擁而出。我只想到以後誰能替我解決疑惑呢？還有誰會這樣慈悲教導我呢？我還能聽從誰的指導呢？我害怕以後再沒有人會理我，而我這樣無知，我如何能突破目前的困境？阿姜曼離世後，我再也不能輕易得到問題的答案了。我越想越是洩氣，我要如何靠自己摸索出脫離目前困境的方法。照我現在的狀況，我應該找不出方法，只可能找到痛苦與絕望吧！我記得自己呆坐在阿姜曼屍體的前方，彷彿我也跟著阿姜曼逝世了。我想不出我該如何做才能減輕這種痛苦與失落。我像是一個還在呼吸的死人，我感受不到自己的身體，感受不到時間的流逝，我只感受到悲傷、困惑、與絕望。這是自出家以來，我頭一次感覺自己困在絕境中－我找不出方法、找不出合適的人能幫助我脫困。每看一次阿姜曼的屍體，我就不自覺地再次流淚。淚水從我的臉頰流下，浸濕了我的衣領，我根本止不住它們。我的胸口因為強烈的哭泣而開始疼痛，喉嚨的黏膜也漸漸地腫了起來。我感覺自己無法呼吸，我幾乎要昏死過去。
最後，我總算恢復了一些正念，我向內沉思，並訓誡自己：你這麼傷心，你是真的要隨阿姜曼一起死亡嗎？阿姜曼逝世時可是毫無牽掛，那是解脫所有煩惱之聖者的表現；若現在死去，你是因為愛戀而死，你是因為貪瞋癡而死，那只會為你帶來更多的傷害。無論你多麼思念阿姜曼、甚至你因為思念而死去，這對於阿姜曼或對於你都不會有任何的利益。阿姜曼還在世時，他絕不會叫我們思念他到死亡的程度。若你執意如此，那也只是世俗貪愛的表現而已。或許你思念阿姜曼的理由與修行有關，這勉強與正法扯上一些關係；但它已被世俗貪愛染污，這不是一位佛教比丘該做的事情。你立志要證得最高的果位，有遠大志向的比丘不該如此不智。思緒稍微回來後，我再接著思惟：佛陀曾經說過：「能如法修行，即是在禮敬佛陀；能證得正法，即如親見佛陀。」顯然地，我現在的思念不如法。若要符合法，我必須先端正思維，我必須依照教導，這才是思念阿姜曼的正確方式。若我得死去，我不能白白死去。我必須從阿姜曼教導過的訓練方式中擇一修行，我必須是在嚴格訓練中因修行而死。如此，我才能自豪地說，我是在正法中死亡。要思念阿姜曼就必須以正確的方式進行，我絕不能用世俗且不合理的方式去思念他－那毫無意義，我只是在傷害自己而已！
就這樣，我重新建立起一些正念與智慧，不讓我心中的混亂漩渦繼續擴大，我避開了被貪瞋癡活活悶死的下場。
10. 阿姜曼逝世的日子是西元1949年11月10日，死因是肺結核病。
11. 波羅提木叉意譯為隨順解脫，為佛教出家眾所應遵守的戒律。後世僧團將波羅提木叉的內容收集一處，就形成波羅提木叉經。
12. 字義上，sãkyaputta是指釋迦族(Sakyan)的後裔。釋迦牟尼佛為釋迦族人，因此sãkyaputta一詞轉為佛教比丘的別稱。
13. 由班農修村至班斐寺，較短的另一條路是12英里遠。
Ãcariya Mun had already lived for five years at Ban Nong Pheu monastery when, in March of 1949 – precisely on the fourteenth day of the fourth lunar month – his body began exhibiting signs indicating the approaching end of his life. By then, he was 79 years old. On that day there appeared the first symptoms of an illness that was to worsen until it finally brought to a close his long life 10 – a day that sent tremors through Ãcariya Mun’s body elements and shock waves through the community of his close disciples. Initially there was a light fever, accompanied by a slight cough. But as the days passed, the symptoms steadily worsened, never showing the slightest improvement. Obviously abnormal, the constant decline in his health worried us all. But Ãcariya Mun himself clearly knew that this was to be his final illness – an illness no type of medical treatment could cure. He informed his disciples of this from the very beginning and from then on never showed any interest in medicines. On the contrary, he seemed annoyed when someone brought him medicines to take. This he expressed in no uncertain terms:
“This is the illness of an old man who has reached the end of the line. No matter what kind of medicine I take, it will never be cured. All that’s left is the breath in my body, biding its time, awaiting the day it finally ceases. I’m like a dead tree that’s still standing: no matter how much you fertilize and water that tree, it is impossible to make it sprout and flower again. This old dead tree now stands anticipating the day it will topple over and go crashing to the ground, felled by this very same illness. I thoroughly investigated my condition long before the symptoms appeared. That is why I’ve been warning you all: Don’t be complacent. Hurry up, intensify your efforts now while I am still alive. In that way, I can help you resolve any problems you may have in the meantime. Missing this opportunity now may cause you to waste a lot of time in the future. I will not be here much longer. Soon I shall depart this world, in keeping with the law of impermanence that follows constantly on the heels of all conditioned things without exception. Three years ago I warned you that I would not last more than three years. What more can I say? What I’ve told you, I know to be inevitable. The work that the round of saÿsãra performs inside the minds and bodies of human beings and animals alike continues unerringly along its natural course. In just a few months time it will complete its final task within this body of mine. How can it possibly alter its appointed task?”
With each passing day his symptoms gradually worsened. Showing no interest in medicines of any kind, he was clearly annoyed when people came and urged him to try this remedy or that cure. But so many people arrived offering ‘cures’ that he had a hard time resisting them all. Each one touted the effectiveness of the medicine he was offering, insisting that if he took it he was sure to get better, for it had already cured many others. They all pleaded with him to try their medicines out of compassion for them. They wanted him to get better so he could continue to be of service to his many followers for a long time to come. He often warned them that medicines were useless for his illness; that only firewood for cremating the corpse was appropriate. But the more he protested, the more they beseeched him. So occasionally he yielded to their appeals and took a small dose of medicine. He was concerned that people would feel disappointed if they believed he had given up on his condition.
As news of his illness spread across the region, people began arriving from all directions to visit him at Ban Nong Pheu. Traveling from locations far and near in all kinds of weather, a steady flow of monks and laity poured in like the waters from a monsoon rain. Ban Nong Pheu was situated in a valley surrounded by thick forest some twelve to fifteen miles from the main highway between Udon Thani and Sakon Nakhon. Though people had to travel by foot to see him, they appeared undaunted by the distance and the difficulties it posed. Only the elderly, unable to make the journey on foot, hired ox carts to take them there.
By nature, Ãcariya Mun always preferred to live alone quietly. Even the monks living with him were discouraged from bothering him unless absolutely necessary. Consequently, receiving large numbers of well-wishers disagreed with his natural inclination to remain aloof from such tiresome affairs. When sick, he had always been reluctant to allow even his close disciples to take care of him, though he did make certain exceptions. When he did allow it, the monks attending to his personal needs had to be very circumspect in his presence. Only monks deemed trustworthy were selected for these duties. As his health deteriorated, a discerning senior monk was appointed to oversee all arrangements for his health care. Since by nature Ãcariya Mun was very thorough and meticulous, this monk had to decide what action was appropriate in each instance and then see that the other monks carefully followed this regimen. For this reason, monks attending on him were carefully chosen to ensure their behavior did not conflict with his subtle temperament.
The lay people and the monks, arriving from various locations around the region with hopes of seeing him to pay their respects, were first asked to wait until an appropriate time could be arranged. When the monk handling these matters felt the time was right, he entered Ãcariya Mun’s hut to inform him about the visitors. Once permission was granted, the visitors were taken to see him. After Ãcariya Mun had spoken to them for awhile, they respectfully took their leave and departed. The monks at Ban Nong Pheu monastery had always arranged visits in this manner for those who came to see him. Visitors were invariably asked to wait until permission was granted; and then, they were escorted to his hut in groups at the time which he had agreed to receive them. The exceptions to this rule were senior disciples, who enjoyed a special, close relationship with him, being ãcariyas in their own right. Once Ãcariya Mun was informed of their arrival and had given his consent, the ãcariyas went straight in to converse with him in private.
As the months passed, his condition continued to deteriorate. Although the symptoms never became very severe, he always felt unwell. His illness resembled an armed insurgency gradually escalating into a full scale war, consuming everything in its path, and leaving its victim decimated. His disciples were deeply affected. He occupied a special place at the center of their hearts, so his failing health left them all distraught. Feeling sad, even dejected, they were not so cheerful as before. Every conversation began with the topic of Ãcariya Mun’s illness and moved on to something else, only to return to his health again as the conversation ended.
Despite failing health, Ãcariya Mun did not neglect his teaching obligations. His compassionate concern for his disciples never diminished, though he was no longer able to expound the Dhamma in such detail as before. Having finished his talk, he briefly answered questions and then promptly adjourned the meeting to return to his hut for a rest. Incredibly though, while sitting there expounding Dhamma to the assembled monks, he showed no signs of his illness. He spoke with characteristic resoluteness in a sharp, lively fashion, his voice booming loudly as if he never had been sick. When he wanted to emphasize a point, the tempo of his voice quickened dramatically to drive the point home. He held nothing back as he spoke. His whole demeanor belied his true condition. Only after he finished speaking did we all realize how exhausted he was. So we quickly adjourned to allow him a chance to rest.
One evening shortly before his illness began, on the occasion of Mãgha Pýjã, the full moon day of February 1949, Ãcariya Mun began expounding Dhamma to the assembled monks at eight P.M. and did not finish until midnight, speaking for a total of four hours. The power of the Dhamma he delivered that night truly amazed the whole assembly of dhutanga monks who were gathered for that occasion. To those listening, the entire universe appeared to have vanished without a trace, replaced in their awareness by the flow of his all-encompassing Dhamma, radiating forth in every direction. He began by paying tribute to the 1,250 Arahants who had come together spontaneously on this full moon day in the time of the Buddha.
“On this day 1,250 Arahants assembled spontaneously at the Lord Buddha’s residence without prior arrangement. They were all individuals of the utmost purity, completely free of kilesas. The Lord Buddha himself delivered the Pãåimokkha exhortation 11 that day, making the occasion a visuddhi uposatha; that is, an uposatha observed among monks who are all absolutely pure. Compare that assembly with the one gathered here today. You listen to the Pãåimokkha being recited among monks who are all absolutely tainted – not one of you is completely free of kilesas. It is dismaying to think that, having ordained as a monk, each of you is a son of the same Buddha as those Arahant disciples.12 Yet, in your case it is just an empty claim lacking any real substance; like a person having the name ‘Goodman’ who, on the contrary, is so weighed down under his own evil doings he can hardly move. In the Buddha’s day, monks practiced the Dhamma truly and so became true monks with a true understanding which concealed nothing false. Today, the fame and celebrity of some monks is so great that they rival the sun and the moon, yet their actions sink to the depths of avïci. Where will they ever find virtue, truth, and purity? They merely accumulate a mass of kilesas and create the evil kamma that goes with them. Since monks today are not engaged in uprooting the kilesas from their hearts, how can visuddhi uposatha possibly arise? Once ordained, they are satisfied with their exalted status as Buddhist monks, taking for granted that this makes them models of virtue. But they have no idea what the true virtues of a Buddhist monk really are. If they understood the meaning of the Pãåimokkha exhortation that the Lord Buddha delivered, they would know the true nature of virtue. He condensed the essential meaning of virtue into this concise statement: Refrain from all evil, develop goodness and wisdom in abundance, and purify the mind until it is bright and clear. This is the essence of the Buddha’s teaching.
“Refraining from evil, what does it mean? Some people refrain from acting in evil ways but still speak in evil ways. Others may not act or speak in evil ways but still like to think in evil ways. They continue to amass evil within themselves from dawn to dusk. Waking up the next morning, they resume – amassing more evil. So it continues, day in and day out, and they are not interested in reflecting upon their actions. Convinced they are already virtuous people, they wait around expecting a state of purity to arise from virtue that exists in name only. So they never find a state of purity; instead, they find only defilement and disquiet. This is bound to happen, for anyone intent on looking for trouble is sure to find it. What else would they find? There is no shortage of such things in the conventional world we live in.”
This was Ãcariya Mun’s way of explaining the underlying, natural principles of virtue to practicing monks in the hope that they would gain a profound insight into the Truth. He then went on to explain the way of practice that begins with samãdhi and wisdom and ends with the ultimate attainment – absolute freedom. Discussing all areas of practice fully and openly, his exposition that day held nothing back. But, since much of what he said has already been covered in previous talks, I shall not elaborate any further here. The assembly of monks sat perfectly still the entire time he spoke, no one making the slightest sound to interrupt the cadence of his voice as he delivered this eloquent discourse.
As he finished speaking, he made a similar remark to the one he previously made at Wat Chedi Luang monastery in Chiang Mai. He said, in effect, that this talk would be the ‘final encore’ of his old age – never would he give another such talk. His words that night were prophetic, because from that day on he never gave another profound and lengthy exposition of Dhamma. One month later his illness began, and his health steadily declined until he finally passed away.
Despite the physical difficulties he suffered as a result of that degenerative disease, he insisted on making the effort to walk to the village for almsround and continued eating only one meal a day from his alms bowl, as he always had. He did not simply abandon these practices. Eventually, when he felt that he could no longer walk the entire distance, he made an effort to walk at least halfway through the village before returning to the monastery. Seeing that so much walking caused him great difficulty, lay supporters and senior monks conferred and decided to invite him to walk only as far as the monastery gate, where offerings of food would be placed in his bowl. Had they requested him to abstain altogether from going on almsround, he would surely have demurred – so long as he was still physically able, he felt obliged to continue. So everyone had to respect his wishes. They wanted to avoid doing anything that might conflict with his resolute temperament. He continued walking to the front gate for alms until he became too weak to make it there and back. At that point, he began walking only as far as the refectory to collect alms. Only when he could no longer walk at all did he stop going for alms. Even then, he continued to eat just one meal a day, which he took in his alms bowl. The rest of us had to respect his wishes each time. We were all amazed at the endurance of this noble sage who, refusing to forsake his fighting spirit, conceded nothing to the kilesas.
As for the rest of us, we would probably be so dispirited at the very first sign of sickness that someone would have to carry us to the refectory to eat. It is truly disgraceful: the kilesas always laughing at us as we lie hopelessly on their chopping block, waiting for them to shred us to pieces like so much raw meat. What a pathetic sight! Here we are full-fledged human beings willingly putting ourselves at the mercy of the kilesas. All of us who carry this shame on our conscience should stop and reflect on Ãcariya Mun’s mode of practice. We can then adopt it to safeguard us in our struggle with these defilements. In that way, we will always remain faithful to our Buddhist principles – instead of just being the kilesas’ whipping boys.
Eventually, Ãcariya Mun’s condition became so serious that the rest of us felt obliged to undertake certain precautions. We quietly arranged for groups of three or four monks to keep a vigil every night sitting beneath his hut. We arranged this ourselves without informing him, though he may have been intuitively aware of it. We were concerned he might forbid us to do it, reasoning that it was a burden on the monks and thus an unnecessary nuisance. Every night small groups of monks took turns, sitting silently beneath his hut in continuous shifts that lasted until dawn. Each group stayed for several hours until it was replaced by the next. This routine was already well established by the beginning of the rainy season retreat that year. When it became obvious that his illness had become very debilitating, we conferred among ourselves and decided to request his permission for two monks to be allowed to sit in meditation on his verandah. With his consent, two monks were always seated on his verandah from then on, and two more were seated down below. Besides the regular shifts of monks who kept watch on him, others were quietly overseeing the whole arrangement throughout the night.
The end of the rains retreat saw an increasing number of senior disciples begin arriving from their own retreat locations to pay him their respects and help look after his needs. By that time his condition was critical, and becoming more and more unstable by the day. Eventually, he called all his disciples together one day to remind them of the proper way to handle his impending death.
“My illness has now reached its final stage. It is time to think about what will happen when I die – preparations must be made in time. As I’ve told you many times, I am going to die – this much is certain. My death is destined to be a major event affecting not only the general public, but animals as well. I want you to know that I do not wish to die here at Ban Nong Pheu. If I die here, it will be necessary to slaughter large numbers of farm animals in order to feed all the people coming to my funeral. I am only one dying person, but the death of this one person will in turn cause the deaths of a great many animals. Crowds of people will travel here to attend my funeral, but there’s no market in this village where foodstuffs can be purchased. Since ordaining as a monk I have never for a moment considered doing harm to any animal, to say nothing of killing them. Compassion has always been the foundation of my conscious existence. I am continuously extending the spirit of loving kindness and dedicating the fruits of my merit to all living beings without exception. I do not want to see any animal lose the life it cherishes so dearly. I could never countenance having my own death become a source of enmity between myself and the world’s animals.
“I want you to take me to Sakon Nakhon so I can die there. That town has a large marketplace, so my death should not affect the lives of so many animals. I have yet to die, but monks and lay people are already arriving here in a steady stream, their numbers increasing each day – clear evidence of the scale of the problem. Now think of how many people will come when I finally do die. Many people will mourn my death, but that is not my concern. I am ready for death – whenever and wherever it happens. I have no regrets about parting with my body. Having already investigated it thoroughly, I know that it is merely a combination of elements that have joined together temporarily, only to break apart again and revert back to their original elemental nature. What is there to be attached to? What I am concerned about is safeguarding the local farm animals so they won’t have to perish as well. I don’t want to see animal carcasses laid out for sale all up and down the roadsides here. That would be extremely regrettable. Fortunately, it’s not too late to remedy the situation. I am asking that you arrange for my departure as soon as possible for the sake of all those animals that would otherwise die as a result of my death. It is my express wish that their lives be protected. Does anyone have anything to say? If so, speak up now.”
Not a single person in the group spoke up. An atmosphere of quiet despair pervaded the assembly. As the Buddha said: yampiccaÿ na labhati tampi dukkhaÿ: not getting what one wants is truly a form of dukkha. Everyone realized that whether he went to Sakon Nakhon or remained at Ban Nong Pheu, in either case the situation was hopeless – he was going to die. So the meeting remained silent. There was just no way to resolve this dilemma. In the end, everyone willingly agreed to his request.
Prior to the meeting, the residents of Ban Nong Pheu village had made it known that they would feel honored to have him die there. “We will manage all the funeral arrangements ourselves. We may be quite poor here but our hearts are rich in faith and respect for Ãcariya Mun. We will do everything we possibly can to arrange the funeral here. We won’t let anyone look down on us saying that the villagers of Ban Nong Pheu couldn’t cremate the body of even one ãcariya – instead, it had to be done elsewhere. We don’t want that kind of reputation. Whatever happens, all of us here are ready to offer ourselves to Ãcariya Mun, body and soul. He will remain our cherished refuge until the day he dies. We can’t allow anyone to take him away. We will resist to the last breath any attempt to do so.”
So when hearing Ãcariya Mun’s explanation for being taken away, their disappointment was palpable, but they felt they couldn’t object. Although they venerated him so much their sadness and disappointment at hearing his reasons nearly broke their hearts, they were forced to accept his decision. They truly deserve a lot of sympathy. Their willingness to sacrifice everything in their devotion to Ãcariya Mun is a gesture I will always treasure. I’m sure that all of my readers feel the same way.
Many of Ãcariya Mun’s most senior disciples attended the meeting, aware as he spoke that he must be moved as soon as possible. After he had announced his decision and stated his reasons, and there being no dissenting voices, the monks and laity who were present all agreed to construct a stretcher suitable to carry him on the long journey from Ban Nong Pheu to Sakon Nakhon. The next day, a large crowd of lay supporters and monks brought the stretcher to his hut, awaiting his departure. An immense sorrow overcame everyone that day. They realized they were about to lose somebody whom they so deeply cherished and revered. It was a sorrow so great that local people and monks alike could barely contain their emotions.
After the morning meal was over and everyone awaited in readiness for the journey to start, emotions began to run high in the crowd surrounding his hut as the local people, gathered to see him off, gave vent to their despair one last time. Many monks and novices swelled the crowd; they too felt the strain. The deep sadness depressing their hearts slowly welled up, and tears flowed quietly, dampening their cheeks. At that moment Ãcariya Mun appeared, carried by a group of his senior disciples – a moment of further heightened emotion. As the monks carried him down the steps and placed him on the stretcher, the mixture of affection, respect, and despair that everyone had kept bottled-up inside freely poured out: men, women, monks, and novices were no longer able to hold back their flood of tears. Onlookers wept openly, expressing an unrestrained and deep sense of sorrow. I myself could not avoid getting caught up in the despondent mood pervading that sad occasion, despite the fact that I was accompanying Ãcariya Mun when he left. The air filled with sounds of weeping and crying. People called out, begging Ãcariya Mun, “Please get better: Don’t pass away from this world leaving us forever in unbearable sadness.” They were almost inconsolable at that point. In his great compassion, he sympathized with how poor their community was. This they knew; yet they couldn’t help but feel terribly miserable watching the cherished treasure over whom they had faithfully kept watch for so many years slip away from them forever. He was departing now, and there was nothing they could do to prevent it.
As Ãcariya Mun was carried past, the sounds of their heartfelt laments surged along the path, a tidal wave of grief inundating the hearts of those who lined the route. As he passed by, everything appeared gray and bleak, as though their lives had suddenly been snuffed out. Even the grasses and trees, though insensible to the unfolding scene before them, appeared to wither up and die in response. As Ãcariya Mun left the peaceful shade of the forest sanctuary where he and his disciples had lived so contentedly – a place where so many ordinary people had come to find shelter over the years – the monastery suddenly felt deserted, even though many monks still remained. Suddenly it no longer had that enormous tree with the thick, broad foliage that had always given so much peace and comfort to all who came to shelter there. The heartrending, anguished cries of those wanting to offer their undying devotion to the sãsana was an immensely sad, forlorn sound indeed. They were witnessing the departure of the one man who embodied the high ideals of their unshakable religious faith.
Long after the procession had passed through the village and the sounds of inconsolable grief had faded into the distance, hundreds of monks and lay people continued to walk behind his stretcher, their long, drawn faces mirroring the somber, cheer-less spirit of the occasion. Walking along in complete silence like mourners in a funeral procession of a close friend or relative, they did their best to come to terms with the heartbreak. No one spoke a word, but in their hearts they pondered long and deeply on their shattered hopes, the overwhelming feeling being that all was now lost. It seemed then as if we were taking his corpse away to dispose of it, even though he was still very much alive. The realization that all hope was now gone, that he would never return again, had fully sunk in. The more we thought about it, the sadder we became. Yet we couldn’t stop thinking about it. We all walked along in a kind of melancholy daze, contemplating thoughts of despair.
I must confess to being shamefully inadequate in this regard – the whole journey I thought only of how I was about to lose my one true refuge in life. No longer would there be someone to rely on when questions arose in my practice, as they so often did. The distance from Ban Nong Pheu to the district seat of Phanna Nikhom was approximately fifteen miles; but the long hours of walking passed almost unnoticed. Walking behind him, knowing he was dying, I thought only of how much I was going to miss my teacher. I desperately wanted him to continue living at the time. His final days corresponded to a crucial stage in my own meditation practice, a time when I had many unresolved problems to work out. No matter how much I pondered this predicament, I always arrived at the same conclusion: my dependence on him would have to be terminated soon. This made the future look bleak.
His condition remained calm and stable throughout the long journey – he did not display any obvious signs of ill health. In fact, he appeared to be lying fast asleep, though of course he wasn’t sleeping at all. Around midday, the procession reached a cool, shady grove of trees. We asked Ãcariya Mun’s permission to take a short rest for the sake of the large group of people accompanying him. He immediately asked, “Where are we now?” The moment I heard his voice I was caught off guard by a surge of affection and emotional attachment. Why was I so deeply moved by this wonderful, welcome sound? It seemed, suddenly, as though Ãcariya Mun was his old self again.
Is this beloved paragon of the three worlds truly going to abandon me, a poor orphan whose heart is about to break? Will his pure heart, whose kind assistance has always helped to breathe life into my spirit, really withdraw from my life and disappear – forever? Such were my immediate feelings the moment Ãcariya Mun spoke up. Some people may consider this a somewhat crazy reaction. But I have no misgivings – I willingly admit this kind of craziness. For Ãcariya Mun’s sake, I was so crazy I would gladly have volunteered to die in his place without the least concern for my own life. Had it been his wish, I would have happily laid down my life – no second thoughts. I was prepared at a moment’s notice to sacrifice my life for his. But, alas, it was impossible for him to accept any sacrifice I might be willing to offer. The truth is that everyone in the world must inevitably travel the same route: whatever is born must die. There are no exceptions.
The journey to Sakon Nakhon was planned in two stages. The first day we walked as far as Ban Phu monastery in Phanna Nikhom district, where we were to rest for a few days, allowing Ãcariya Mun a chance to recuperate before moving on to Sakon Nakhon. 13 Leaving Ban Nong Pheu at nine o’clock that morning, the procession eventually reached Ban Phu monastery shortly before dark. The journey had taken all day because we followed the more circuitous route, skirting the edge of the mountains, to make it easier for him and the many elderly men and women determined to follow him all the way. Upon arriving, we invited him to rest in a low pavilion where his needs could easily be attended. It was also a convenient place for monks and lay people to pay him their respects.
Ãcariya Mun’s sojourn at Ban Phu monastery dragged on for many days, his condition steadily worsening the entire time. Meanwhile, each new day brought visiting crowds of monks and lay people from the surrounding area. Some even came at night. All were eager for a chance to meet him and pay their respects. Though well aware of his illustrious reputation, most of them had never made his acquaintance. They had heard the news that he was certainly a modern-day Arahant who would soon pass away into Nibbãna. It was rumored that those who met him would be blessed with good fortune, while those that didn’t would have lived their lives in vain. So they were all anxious to benefit by coming to pay him homage. They did not want to feel they had wasted their birth as human beings.
The very first morning after arriving at Ban Phu, Ãcariya Mun demanded to know when he would be taken to Sakon Nakhon. He told his disciples that it was not his intention to die at Ban Phu – they must take him on to Sakon Nakhon without further delay. His senior disciples replied that they planned to wait for a short while for him to recuperate, then they would proceed to Sakon Nakhon as he requested. So Ãcariya Mun let the matter drop for awhile. The next day he again asked the same question. His senior disciples repeated their reasons and he remained silent, only to bring it up again later. Time and again he demanded to know when they would take him to Sakon Nakhon. He said that, by waiting too long, he would fail to make it in time.
In the end, they asked him to extend his stay at Ban Phu monastery for a full ten days. By the time four or five days had passed, he was pressing them constantly to take him to Sakon Nakhon. Each time, his senior disciples either kept silent or repeated their previous justifications for staying. Repeatedly he pressed them, scolding them for waiting so long.
“Are you going to have me die here?! I’ve told you from the very beginning – I am going to die in Sakon Nakhon. My time is almost up. Get me there in a hurry! Don’t wait so long!”
During the final three days, his demands to be taken to Sakon Nakhon became increasingly vociferous. During his last night there he flatly refused to lie down and sleep. Instead, he urgently called the monks to his bedside and told them unequivocally that he could not remain alive much longer. He insisted on being taken that very night to be sure of arriving in time. He then had us prop him up, sitting cross-legged in samãdhi and facing in the direction of Sakon Nakhon. As soon as he withdrew from samãdhi, he told us to prepare to leave – he was waiting no longer. We rushed off to call his senior disciples. They informed him that he would definitely be taken to Sakon Nakhon the next morning. Following this assurance, his sense of urgency lessened somewhat, but he still refused to go to sleep, speaking openly about how he felt:
“My time is almost up, I cannot hang on much longer. It would be better to leave tonight. In that way, I will be sure to arrive in time for that critical moment which is now fast approaching. I have no wish to shoulder the burden of this flaming mass of body elements any longer. I want to discard the body once and for all so that I needn’t be concerned with this great pile of pain and suffering ever again. I am literally on the verge of death right now. Don’t you monks realize that I could die at any minute? My body is completely useless now. There is no justifiable reason to keep me in this state of physical torment. All of you understand my reasons for going to Sakon Nakhon – that’s why we came here in the first place. So why do you still insist on delaying my departure? Is this Sakon Nakhon? Why don’t you take me there immediately? I want to go right now! What are you waiting for? What use is a corpse? It’s not useful for anything, not even for making fish sauce!
“I have already told you: my body has reached its limit – it simply cannot last any longer. Isn’t anyone here interested in listening to me and doing what I say? I have explicitly stated what I want you to do, still no one seems to listen. If you insist on adopting such an attitude, how will you ever discover the Truth? If here in my presence, while I’m alive, you are so stubborn, refusing to believe what I say, how will you ever manage to be good, reasonable people once I’m dead? I know what I told you to be absolutely true. I have explained the whole situation to you in a carefully considered, reasonable manner. Yet, you stubbornly refuse to comply. I am beginning to lose hope that any of you will develop the principles of sound judgment needed to uphold the sãsana.”
Ãcariya Mun was very adamant the last night at Ban Phu – he absolutely refused to sleep that whole night. I suspect he was afraid that, in his condition, he might never wake up again. At the time none of us there with him could figure out his reason for staying awake all night. Only later did the real reason occur to me.
At seven o’clock the next morning, several trucks from the provincial highway department arrived to escort Ãcariya Mun to Sakon Nakhon. Mrs. Num Chuwanon, as head of the escort, invited him to ride in one of the vehicles. He readily agreed and asked only whether there were enough vehicles to carry all of the many monks who were scheduled to accompany him. He was informed that three trucks had come. If these were not sufficient to transport all the monks who wanted to go, a return trip would be made to pick up the rest. Understanding the arrangement, Ãcariya Mun remained silent. After the monks had eaten their meal, a doctor injected him with a sedative so that he would not be disturbed by the bumpy ride. In those days, the roads were quite rough – full of potholes and in generally poor condition. Having received the injection, he was placed on a stretcher and carried out to one of the trucks parked at the edge of the field, there being no road into the monastery. Soon after, he began to fall asleep. The convoy of vehicles then began the trip to Sakon Nakhon, arriving there at exactly noon.
Upon arrival, he was carried down from the truck and placed, still sleeping, in a hut at Wat Suddhawat monastery. He remained asleep the entire day, not waking until about midnight. Within an hour of his waking those critical symptoms – of which he had repeatedly forewarned his seemingly deaf and blind disciples – became more and more apparent, as if to say to us all: Now do you see? This is why I kept insisting that you hurry to bring me to Sakon Nakhon. I want to quickly rid myself of this messy heap of suffering. The symptoms are fully obvious now. If you still don’t understand, then take a look. If you still don’t believe what I was telling you, then watch carefully and consider with all your heart what you see appearing before you at this moment. Was I telling you the truth or not? Stop being so deaf, blind, and thoughtless from now on. Otherwise, you will never find the wisdom needed to save yourselves. What you are witnessing right now should inspire you to think deeply – so don’t be complacent.
Bhãrã have pañcakkhandã: the five khandhas are indeed a heavy burden. In the very early hours of the morning he began to take leave of this heavy burden – this heap of intense suffering that no truly wise person wants to encounter again in the future. The monastery was absolutely quiet that night. No one milled about to disturb the stillness. Shortly, some important ãcariyas, like Chao Khun Dhammachedi from Wat Bodhisomphon monastery in Udon Thani, arrived at his hut, having come in great haste as soon as they heard the news. As they entered, they hurriedly sat down in a calm, composed manner, though their hearts were actually troubled by the obvious deterioration in his condition. It was a poignant reminder that he could pass away at any moment. Monks arriving to monitor his condition sat silently in three rows facing him. Important senior disciples, led by Chao Khun Dhammachedi, sat in the front, the more junior monks and novices filling the remaining rows. All sat in complete silence, their eyes fixed on Ãcariya Mun. Their lower eyelids were moistened by tears they couldn’t hold back – such was the intensity of their despair. They knew all hope was lost, for nothing at all could be done to change the inevitable. They felt as if their own lives were losing all meaning.
At the beginning, Ãcariya Mun was lying on his right side in the ‘lion’s posture’. Fearing this might exhaust him, some monks gently removed the pillow supporting him so that he came to rest lying on his back. As soon as he became aware of this, he tried to shift back to his right side, but he no longer had the strength to move. As he struggled to turn on his side, some senior ãcariyas attempted to reposition the pillow so that it again supported his back. But noticing how very weak he was, they decided to stop, fearing that it might just make matters worse. Consequently, when Ãcariya Mun finally passed away he was lying neither on his back nor on his right side, but slightly propped up somewhere in between. It was simply impossible to adjust his posture further under the circumstances. His disciples, mostly monks and novices with a few lay people, sat in total despair as life slowly ebbed from his body. So apprehensive were they about his imminent death, they had almost forgotten to breathe.
As the minutes passed, his breathing gradually became softer and more refined. No one took their eyes off him for it was obvious the end was fast approaching. His breathing continued to grow weaker and weaker until it was barely discernible. A few seconds later it appeared to cease; but it ended so delicately that no one present could determine just when he passed away. His physical appearance revealed nothing abnormal – so different from the death of the ordinary person. Despite the fact that all his disciples observed his final moments with unblinking attention, not one of them was able to say with any conviction: “That was precisely the moment when Ãcariya Mun finally took leave of this dismal world.”
Seeing no apparent signs of life, Chao Khun Dhammachedi rather tentatively said, “I think he’s passed away.” At the same time he glanced down at his watch – it was exactly 2:23 A. M. So that was taken as the time of death. When death had been confirmed, the impact of his passing was reflected in the grief-stricken, tearful faces of all the monks who sat crowded around the lifeless body. There followed an anguished few moments of low coughs and soft, incoherent mutterings before the whole room sank into a mood of silent despair which is beyond the power of words to describe. Our hearts were plunged into unbearable feelings of emptiness; our bodies sitting there appeared to be mere empty shells. Several long moments of stilled silence ensued when the whole world appeared to cease momentarily while Ãcariya Mun abandoned his conventional existence and entered into the domain of Ultimate Happiness where no vestige of conventional reality could disturb him ever again.
I myself very nearly died of a broken heart along with him as I sat by his side steeped in pensive sorrow. I could not manage to shake off the gloomy, somber mood that clouded my heart as he departed the world. I could do nothing to alleviate the extreme pain of the loss I felt. ‘Living dead’ fittingly describes my sense of hopelessness at that moment.
After a period of silence, his senior disciples had the monks neatly rearrange his bedding. They laid out his body there for the time being, with the understanding that next morning they would consult together about making further arrangements. This accomplished, the monks began filing out of his room. Though a few remained on the verandah outside the room, most of them went down below. Even though the whole area surrounding the hut was illuminated by brightly-lit lanterns, his disciples stumbled around blindly in dejection, unsure where they were going. Appearing somnolent, almost drugged, they wandered aimlessly back and forth. Several monks actually fainted at the time, as though they too were about to expire because life no longer held any meaning for them. The entire monastic community found itself in a chaotic state of confusion late that night; all were inconsolable over the terrible sense of loss they suffered. Monks milled around absent-mindedly, having no clear idea where they were going or why. Such was the power of utter despondency arising from the departure of that shining beacon which so illuminated their lives and brightened their hearts. Suddenly, all sense of comfort and security had evaporated, exposing them to the uncertainty of living on without a reliable refuge. This cold, dark constriction in their hearts left them feeling that nothing substantial remained in the entire universe, nothing they could hold to for support. Failing to consider that beings throughout the universe have always managed to find a source of refuge, at that moment they appeared to face a bleak and uncertain future, as if dire misfortune were engulfing them all. Ãcariya Mun had been the one, true refuge. To him they could always confidently entrust themselves, heart and soul, without reservation.
I mean no disregard to the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, but at that moment they seemed somehow very distant, making it difficult to reestablish them as a viable refuge. They did not appear to project the same affirmative presence that Ãcariya Mun did; he was always close at hand and ready to help resolve our doubts and provide us with inspiration. Approaching him with pressing problems that we were unable to solve on our own, these same burning issues invariably dissolved away the moment he offered a solution. This salient recollection, so deeply engraved on my heart, profoundly affected me when he passed away. I could think of no other person capable of helping me solve my problems. Who else could I find with such compassion for me? Who else’s advice could I trust? I was afraid of being left alone, depressed, and hopelessly stuck with my own store of ignorance. Gone were the easy solutions I had found while living with him. The more I thought about this dilemma, the more discouraged I became about finding a safe, painless way out on my own. In my ignorance, I saw no way forward at that moment; only misery and despair stared me in the face. Sitting there in front of his dead body, as though I myself were dead, I could think of no way to save myself and relieve my misery. I sat brooding, a living, breathing ghost, completely oblivious to time or bodily fatigue. This was the first time in my life as a monk that I felt so gloomy, frightened, and confused—and there was no one to help me, no means of extricating myself from this distress. Each time I glanced down at Ãcariya Mun’s still, lifeless body, tears welled up in my eyes and flowed down my cheeks. I was helpless to stop them. My chest heaved and sobbed as an uncontrollable emotion arose and lodged in my throat, nearly suffocating me.
Eventually I regained enough presence of mind to reflect inwardly, admonishing myself: Do I really intend to die of a broken heart right now? He died free of concerns and attachments, which are matters of the kilesas. If I were to die now, I would die as a result of my concerns and attachments. That would be harmful to me. Neither my despondency nor my death is of any use to me, or to Ãcariya Mun. When he was alive, he never taught us to miss him to the point of death. This kind of longing is the way of worldly people everywhere. Even though my reason for missing him is associated with Dhamma, it is still contaminated by worldly concerns, and thus hardly worthy of a Buddhist monk. Such thoughts are especially inappropriate for someone like me who has set his sights firmly on achieving the highest level of Dhamma. The Lord Buddha stated that whoever practices the Dhamma properly is, in fact, worshipping the Buddha, that whoever realizes the Dhamma, realizes the Buddha as well. It is clear that my longing is not in perfect accord with Dhamma. To be in perfect accord with Dhamma I must practice precisely what Ãcariya Mun taught me. This is the correct way for me to show how much I miss him. Should I die while engaged in those harsh training methods that he recommended, I shall feel confident that my death is in harmony with the principles of Dhamma. This is the only sensible way to behave. I must not obstruct my own progress by longing for him in an unreasonable, worldly manner – I’ll only harm myself.
In this way I regained mindfulness, allowing reason a chance to intervene and forestall the maelstrom raging in my heart at the time. And so I avoided being buried alive in my own futility.