How can we truly avoid attachment to pleasant feeling? The advanced approach is to directly recognize the nature of pleasure itself. If you can do this, then no matter how much pleasure you experience, it will never give rise to suffering. What does it mean to “directly see the nature of pleasure”? It means that while you are enjoying happiness, your mind clearly recognizes that it is none other than the Dharma-nature (dharmatā). This is the highest state. While enjoying it, you understand that it is also inherently liberated, and therefore it will not give rise to subsequent afflictions. But we simply cannot do this. One must first realize the Dharma-nature. If you speak of “seeing its nature” but do not even know what that nature is, it becomes nothing more than empty words.
1 Experiencing the Illusory Nature of Pleasant Feeling
So what can we do? We can begin by experiencing its illusory nature. Many practitioners can do this, especially those in meditation centers. When happiness arises in daily life—stemming from a myriad of sources, such as eating delicious food or falling in love—those who have practiced “one-sided emptiness” should directly feel its illusory quality from within. This is different from great emptiness. Great emptiness directly recognizes the nature and allows pleasure to exist. In contrast, one-sided emptiness may cause the pleasant feeling to fade, turning into a state of “seeing it as false,” which carries a sense of suppression and antidotal practice.
So is it correct to constantly pit ourselves against pleasure? From the perspective of practice, yes—you actually can do that. Because if you do not suppress or counteract pleasant feeling, it may lead to future suffering. Without counteracting it, attachment (rāga) inevitably arises—there is no doubt about that. The very moment one experiences pleasure, attachment is already present. As soon as pleasure appears in the mental continuum (citta-santāna), the mind clings to it, and it is immediately deposited as a seed (bīja).
We are already very familiar with this process. If we once pass by a beautiful place and it brings us joy, without even thinking, we will definitely want to return when given the chance. If we come across a delicious bowl of noodles on the street, the memory sticks, beckoning us back whenever possible. If the attachment is strong, we will find every possible way to return, no matter what.
What does deep attachment look like? Take two lovers later separated by great distance as an example. It is like the old saying, “one dwells at the head of the Yangtze River and the other at its tail.” They will buy tickets, take boats, and do whatever it takes to be together at any moment.
So, while you are experiencing pleasure, attachment is already present. It is not that after the pleasure ends you then turn back to crave it. In fact, your very pleasure itself is attachment, because in that very moment you care about it and wish to experience it again.
From the perspective of practice, this mental pattern must be transformed. We must realize that such pleasure will definitely disappear, and if we cling to it, it will bring suffering. In fact, it has already caused much pain as it is. When causes and conditions change and that former happiness can no longer be recovered, you are left utterly devastated.
Why do we establish romantic relationships and marriage? Because we want to bind two people together and preserve that pleasant feeling forever. We invoke all kinds of principles—even drawing on religion, such as the biblical narrative of woman being created from man’s rib—to try to maintain that pleasure indefinitely. However, since this contradicts the principle of impermanence, everything inevitably declines. Even physical intimacy lose its spark over time.
Will emotions grow deeper over time? It’s hard to say. Familial affection might deepen, and mutual dependence can make the bond more solid. But what if one day the other person realizes they no longer depend on you? Much of dependence is also condition-based. Some couples say, “We may no longer have passion, but we have familial love—we are like family and cannot be apart.” The crux of the matter lies in that phrase: “cannot be apart.” But if one day he meets someone more attractive and suddenly realize he can actually leave, the relationship falls apart.
Of course, I am not denying that enduring familial love exists—nor could I. My own parents are an example; how could I deny that? Their love is almost “earth-shaking and spirit-moving,” and many fellow practitioners in Chengdu know this. But even that depends on certain conditions. Do such conditions exist in our time? Not necessarily. And even if they do, the outcome is uncertain. Moreover, such affection is no longer the same as romantic passion mentioned above—it has already transformed. You may say it is a positive transformation, and I agree. But for the sake of analysis, it has shifted from romantic passion to familial affection and we must acknowledge the distinction between the two.
If passion never changed and could continue forever, would you want it to transform? Of course not. But that is impossible. The principles of mind tell us it must change—because of impermanence. Therefore, when such attachment forms, we must remind ourselves: it is impermanent.
You might ask, “Doesn’t this destroy sweet love?” These words are directed at practitioners. You are a practitioner—are not you seeking liberation? If love remains sweet forever and the two of you happily descend into hell together, that is not acceptable.
Is it possible for two people to remain so perfectly sweet, deeply attached, and inseparable, yet still attain liberation after death? (Laughter from the audience—you obviously think the answer is no. Not necessarily—it is possible, through Pure Land practice. Practice diligently until your faith and aspiration surpass the desire to stay together. At the moment of death, if your thought is, “I must go to the Pure Land; I no longer wish to remain in this sweetness,” then it is possible. But if at death you think, “The Pure Land can wait—I must be with you,” then you won’t even reach the gates of Pure Land.
Have you seen Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? In the film, Chow Yun-fat tells Michelle Yeoh: “When I practiced, I was surrounded by light—I was on the verge of attaining the Dao, but I chose not to. I would rather become a wandering ghost to stay by your side.” Many young girls are moved to tears, but a practitioner would think, “You idiot—no renunciation at all!” Different worldviews lead to completely different interpretations.
We are practitioners, and our ultimate goal is liberation. Even if you are sweet and happy now, after death that sweetness cannot continue. Therefore, from the perspective of practice, even suppressing pleasant feeling is acceptable.
Some may ask: “I can’t suppress it, and I don’t even want to—is there another way?” Actually, there is. If pleasant feeling arises and you cannot eliminate it through the experience of one-sided emptiness, there is another method: continue with your happiness, but practice other aspects of the path simultaneously. Temporarily set aside the attachment, and tell yourself, “This is attachment, but I cannot yet let go of it. I will focus on other practice first to accumulate merit and purify obscurations—like secretly building an army in the background. Once my forces are strong enough, I’ll return and shatter it into pieces."
This approach also works—but it has a condition: you must live long enough. Even if you lack the life-or-death urgency to escape saṃsāra like “extinguishing a fire on your head”, it remains possible, provided you have another twenty or thirty years ahead of you, and assuming no "2012-style" apocalypse is on the horizon at all.
——Excerpted and adapted from The Arising and Remedy of Afflictions
This article is a preliminary translation draft and has not yet been reviewed or proofread by the speaker.
