Gautama Buddha
The Time Before Buddha
Buddha's Youth
Buddha as a Monk
Buddha's Enlightenment
Buddha's Wandering Years
My lexicon describes Buddha as an »Indian founder of religion«. From this information one might assume that Buddha taught faith and founded a religion. In actual fact, however, men like Buddha, Confucius or Lao-tzu were seekers of the truth and men with enormous hearts. None of them taught anything about a God or demanded faith. Jean-Michel Varenne says in his book »Zen« that Buddhism is a religion without a God. He points out that Gautama's search is human through and through and not based on any divine assignment or prophecy. So his message of salvation is not based on any transcendental authority but addresses humans here and now. The Buddhist search has its roots in everyday life and does not refer to any heavenly condition.
I could not find the word »faith« in any of Buddha's aphorisms, but I repeatedly came across the words »search« and »knowledge«. In Buddha there was a burning desire for truth. He longed to solve the riddles of life and to be liberated from the wheel of earthly life to which, according to him, he and all humans are bound.
Many centuries before Christ, the Aryans, who had invaded India, formed a caste system, maybe to distinguish themselves from the dark-skinned indigenous population. At that time there were four castes: the warrior-kings, the priests (Brahmans), the peasants and the non-Aryans. Their knowledge was passed on in a sophisticated, poetic language, Sanskrit. The Aryans called their holy knowledge the »Vedas«. From the Vedic religion Brahmanism and Hinduism slowly evolved.
The great diversity of life in their country teaches Hindus that not all creatures are equal from birth. An endless ladder leads from the lowest human being to the higher ones, to the warriors, kings, saints and priests, and after having climbed thousands of steps, it finally ends in the tower of the Gods. The greater the pureness in thought, words and deeds during a human's life, the nearer the human comes to the divine.
The rules that govern the world and to which every creature has to conform represent the highest standards for a naturally and morally purified life and thus determine a creature's stage in its existence. This law is called Dharma.
For this reason every class of people has its specific customs, rules and limits, which are dominated by religious ideas. Nothing is left to mere chance, everything is laid down in rules. The basis of all customs is religion. Therefore the Hindus consider all their customs as inviolable, because they are deeply religious.
Towards the end of the age of conquests and migrations, apart from the elevated class of the Brahmans and the class of the noble warrior-kings (Kshatriyas), a third class, namely the Vaishyas, the class of the peasants, tillers and craftsmen, emerged. The population was therefore structured into castes of which each had to fulfil its specific task in Dharma. Under the rule of the three main castes, the mass of the people lived in poverty. This fourth caste, which were referred to as Shudras and would later be called Pariahs, were rejected as the »unclean«.
Since Dharma, according to Brahman ideas, is a natural law directly derived from the Gods, it was impossible to break out of this regime. Over the centuries numerous sub-castes proliferated and developed out of the four main castes because of local structures, mingling within the castes, division of work and internal splits. But the social separation – in particular the great gap to the foreign race of the Dravidians – remained, and there was no bridging this gap between the invaders and the indigenous population. Intermarriage was forbidden, even eating together was not allowed. If the shadow of a Pariah fell on the food cooking in the pots of an Aryan peasant, this peasant removed the pot and fed the food to the animals.
The members of the higher castes increasingly came to believe in only one God while the simple people kept believing in innumerable Gods and demons. For the members of the higher castes all creatures, animals, people, demons, angels and lower Gods are subject to only one, pure spiritual being. They call this being Vishnu or Shiva. Neither those believing in Vishnu nor those believing in Shiva are intolerant. They tolerate each other and realize that Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma and all the other Gods do exist, but for every group another God is the all-embracing spirit of the world.
The Soul or Self, the Atman, appears in all religious directions and is seen as a part of the great, super-personal Brahma – the world's spirit. Liberation from the many bonds of human existence, of fate and appearance, takes place in a thousand-fold existence and leads into the endless cycle of rebirths. The last collection of the Vedas are the mystic teachings of the Upanishads, in which a different religious world of beliefs is presented.
In the solemn verses of the priests' secret teachings it is explained how, in the innumerable stages of existence, all living creatures have a divided body: on the one hand they have an earthly, material body and on the other hand an ethereal body which accompanies the soul on its journey through time until it finds salvation, while the other body is the dense body which dies and is reborn again and again.
Spiritual life in India became more and more manifold and diverse. The peasants and craftsmen lived in fear of the spirits and gods, they clung to the rules, the laws of the castes and ancient traditional rites, they made sacrifices in holy caves, on hills with carved wooden temples or at lotus ponds, they worshipped animals, trees and mountains and felt lost in the whirling circles of the supernatural, they dwelt on the edges of the abysses of enchantment and magic. But many thinkers, searchers, struggles – Brahmans, poets, princes, knights or merchants – abandoned everything that had satisfied them in their lives until then and withdrew to the solitude of the mountains or forests. They became ascetics, begging holy men; for them it was not the sacrifices of the priests, nor ambitious activities amidst the people that led them out of the deadly cycle of births, it was meditation, renunciation, pondering and spiritualization that led to salvation.
They all sought salvation. Existence with all its contradictions hurt these sophisticated people who had grown weary of fighting. The only thing their heart longed for was to smilingly become one with the soul of the world – self-realisation.
On all roads saintly penitents wandered through the country and taught the thousand ways to attain the divine – but every man has to go his own way.
In about the middle of the sixth century B.C., there were sixteen Aryan states in the region between Peshawar – the capital of the state of Gandhara – and Ujjain, of which the kingdoms of Magadha and Kosala were the most important ones.
In the northeast of the country, at the foot of the Himalayas, was the kingdom of the Sakyas. It was a land of light-skinned, tall people whose rich noble and merchant families spent the warm seasons not in the towns but in lovely parks with airy pavilions and flower-bordered ponds.
In one of these parks – the Lumbini estate – a son named Siddhartha Gautama was born to the Sakya King Shuddhodana and his wife. The boy, whose mother died young, grew up under the care of one of his father's concubines. His childhood was alternately spent in the capital of the kingdom, Kapilavatthu, and the wide, fertile park landscape of the country. The Sakya court in Kapilavatthu was, like so many other courts of the tiny kingdoms of the region, the intellectual and cultural centre of the country. The court officials were poets or philosophers, people came together to listen to the singers who performed the verses of the Vedas or of ancient heroic songs that dated back to the time of conquest, and they gathered around mysterious saints in order to listen to them when they read from religious books.
Siddhartha received his first impression of the eternal powers which shape the world in thoughtful, allegoric tales which he was told by his teachers. With his legs crossed, Siddhartha rested on a pillow in the richly furnished, painted apartment of his father's house and listened to the storyteller's words:
„And the minister, who was a wise man, spoke to the king, who had lost all his joy of life, and advised him to make a pilgrimage. So the king took a vacation and went on pilgrimage. While settled down on the beach praying to the God of the Sea, suddenly a tree with a golden trunk and branches abundantly covered with jewels and sprouts emerged from the sea, and on the tree – settled on a palanquin pillow – a lovely maid with a lute in her hand was sitting. And the maid sang the following verses:
»The seed which one sows in the land of deeds – whether good or bad – will be harvested by him according to the eternal law. On fate the entire world with all its Gods, spirits and humans depends. And the deeds of a former life – whether good or bad – give cause for rebirth or destruction of all humans…«
After having sung these verses, the mermaid disappeared into the waves in the same manner as she had appeared. But the king returned to his city…”
Solemn and voluminous sounds the voice of the storyteller, but the boy Siddhartha still hears the echo of the mermaid's words.
What meaning does all pleasure in life have when in the end inevitably there is death? What does it mean to be a prince, to have a rich house and to play with jewels when all one's deeds, thoughts and events culminate in rebirth?
But the boy was still young, only a child who rejoiced when spring returned after a long and cold winter, and who felt the abundance and wonders of summer and the liberating freshness of winter. In front of the gates of the city Kapilavatthu, huge rice fields abundantly bearing fruits extended between canals, locks, woods and groves, soaked with the abundant waters coming down from the Himalayas. When the rains were over, the Sakyas moved out to the countryside. Long-horned zebu oxen slowly trod under the yoke, and wooden ploughs worked the steaming earth.
Siddhartha lay under an elephant tree, the sun conjured pearls of light into the leaves, bees and bugs hummed in the branches. Grasses softly rocked in the gentle spring winds, and powerful life radiated from Mother Earth.
A feeling of being one with all existence overcame the young Siddhartha. He wanted to reach out and embrace the earth, grass and trees, clouds and wind and mountains, and he wanted to merge into the great silence of the universe. When silently staring up to the leaves of the trees or to the blue of the endless depth of the sky, questions entered the boy's mind, questions that the priests and saints had tried to answer in their discourses and similes during the long evenings of the rainy season: What is the meaning of this life, where does our way take us, what is the aim of our existence?
In that country religion was everything, the mystery of eternity dominated every form of life. But there were no really compelling and fundamental teachings. The farmers who ploughed their fields, worshipped innumerable Gods alongside Shiva, the three-eyed God who is enthroned up in the Himalayas and brings destruction or prosperity upon mankind, or Kali, his thousand-armed wife, or the wise God with the elephant head. The Brahmans in the small wooden temples on the hills believed in Brahma as the world’s soul Brahma and in a cycle of Gods surrounding Brahma. They spoke in ancient Sanskrit and knew all the verses of the Vedas.
Siddhartha, too, had been introduced to the three stages of Vedic teachings by his educators: Mantra, which means worship, Brahmana, which stands for theology, and Sutra, which means guidance.
He closed his eyes in order to immerse himself into the world of this faith: maybe Brahma, the world’s soul, is the aim, and attaining it is the way to salvation. A thousand times the divine powers of Brahma climb up and down a thousand steps to the universe, depending on one's merits, accomplishments and pureness, or sin, bonds or guilt.
The boy Siddhartha still huddled under the elephant tree. He saw the pulsating life surrounding him in a different light, the abundance of the plants, the radiation and breathing of the earth and sky, the humming of the bees and the heavy pace of the zebu oxen drawing the plough. All this is a mysterious accord of many voices. One must strive for Brahma – the only and spiritual – must gradually liberate oneself from everything material and mortal in order to gain peace and security in one's heart.
In a low voice the lips of the boy formed the words from the Vedic books:
„The body is not permanent, riches do not last forever, and death is always imminent, so why do we gather merits? Man only becomes invincible, loveable, mild, generous, affluent, and glorious through security in life. But unclouded joy does not exist in the world and never will exist.”
No – security in life does not exist anywhere in this world. Death, pain, lament and fugacity are always imminent. As if in a vision the boy saw the fate of human life: a huge wheel to which all creatures are tied, a wheel which keeps turning without mercy, up and down and up again, in an endless – and as it seemed to him – meaningless motion. There is no way out. Brahma is unreachably far away.
In the evening Siddhartha related a parable to the courtiers who listened to him:
„As the flame only continues burning when nourished with new fuel, a creature only exists as long as it nourishes its will to live by clinging to the world and its pleasures. Existence is like a flame that burns in the second or third night watch. Its fuel is different from the flame nourished in the first night watch, but still it is a continuation of the same flame. How else could fire be sated if not by extinguishing it? How else should redeeming darkness finally come if not by no longer nourishing the flame and letting it die?“
The pain which had overcome the boy Siddhartha for the first time in the middle of spring when life around him had reawakened, returned again, became more conscious, more tormenting. His boyish fears of the ancient Vedic Gods had disappeared. No longer did he believe in the existence of Brahma's five worldly guards: Indra, Varuna, Yama, Soma and Vishnu. No longer did he believe in the four heavenly winds, the sun, the moon and stars.
Siddhartha sought profoundness, the ultimate element which has to be concealed somewhere behind the image of the Gods. Although he had risen above the faith of the peasants and shepherds, he did not detest their beliefs – India is patient.
It was spring again, the Sakyas cultivated their fields and walked out to the groves of Kapilavatthu. The Pariahs worked in the rice fields; the oxen ploughed the furrows to the sound of whips and the tinkle of small bells. Siddhartha, the prince, sat alone under a rose apple tree, at some distance from the singing and chatting young people. Stared fixatedly straight ahead – he had begun to discipline his mind with the art of yoga, the ascetic exercises for self-realisation – he controlled his breath and sank into solitude.
Pious penitents had told him about the twenty-four Jaina ascetics – the conquerors of the world – and about Vardhamana, the great hero, who had found the way out of all duality. Vardhamana was only slightly older than Siddhartha. He had been born in Videna, in the north-eastern Himalayas, offspring of a noble family of warrior-kings. At the age of twenty-eight he renounced his riches, his princely rule and all his happiness. Within only twelve years he turned himself into a pure ascetic and founded a monastic order. Followed by his disciples, the omniscient ascetic now wandered through the country at the foot of the mountains.
Siddhartha had learned the art of yoga from one of his emissaries – that means exertion and control of the body and its instincts.
The white-robed monks of Vardhamana teach of the transmigration of souls. Release, the end of reincarnation, can only be achieved when the soul has consumed everything fateful and everything binding the person to earthly life: only then – when released from its weight – is it possible for the soul to ascend to the highest summits of the world.
There was silence around Siddhartha, the sun no longer shone for him, the Earth lay deep beneath him, and his soul dwelt in the endless solitude of the summits. But then he returned to reality, he found himself captivated in a body which was subject to all the pain of the world. His transfiguration was only a dream, an illusion, the restlessness in his heart had remained.
As the son of a king he was married at a young age. His young wife bore him a son, Rahula. Years of futile pondering about insoluble problems passed by. Siddhartha was now twenty-nine years old. Many people envied his riches, the wonderful heritage of his marvelous palace, the forests and fertile fields of his kingdom, the numerous Dravidian slaves he owned, his beautiful wife and his nice son.
But to him all his property and even the love to his relatives seem to be bonds that tied him fast to the eternally turning wheel of existence.
Do children really mean joy, Siddhartha asked himself. Can our wishes protect them from disease, death or disappointment? What is property? A chain that ties our soul, ties it to the earthly. Nothing can really be owned. The shadow of transience falls over everything.
After long internal battles, the twenty-nine year old prince decided to leave everything behind that he owned – his wife and son, riches, power and realm – and to search for the ultimate truth and the meaning of life.
First he decided to go to the holy town of Benares where numerous wise men, scholars, pandits, ascetics, artists and musicians lived.
The atmosphere there was extraordinarily intellectual. There were a number of masters and teachers who were prepared to pass on their knowledge. Siddhartha met a famous pandit, a legal scholar, who, without hesitating, taught him religious dogmas and doctrines.
As an extraordinarily gifted student Siddhartha quickly comprehended the main principles of the doctrines and soon proved able to take part in discourse with the most learned. He gave speeches and joined in discussions with other pandits in the shade of parasols placed on the banks of the river Ganges.
His own way, however, was different. His needs could not be satisfied by learnedness. Endlessly long disputes about the inconsistency of the teachings tired him.
Siddhartha became aware that this scholastic method was not leading him anywhere except to temporary intellectual satisfaction. But it certainly did not guide him towards the truth of existence. While studying the holy texts he did not find any answers to his painful questions about the meaning of human existence.
Therefore Siddhartha gave up the discursive, logical thought that might increase one's personal fame, but did not enhance insight.
Having left his first master he wandered into the forests and joined the yogis, the ascetics and hermits. For some time Siddhartha joined an old man who wanted to teach him painlessness by making pain into a habit. So they inflicted pain upon themselves, they slept on beds of nails, cut themselves, deprived their bodies of food, drink and sleep to elevate their minds above the material.
But the universe kept silent, the Gods concealed themselves. All the self-torturing did not lead the way out of darkness.
Then the son of the Sakya king found another teacher, an ascetic who had enormous willpower and wanted to tame the body through magic and manipulation of his will. He wanted to free the soul from the bonds of the earth. For a long time Siddhartha remained in a desperately rigid position which was meant to liberate his mind from the wheel of existence.
But eternity kept silent, the method of the ascetic only brought on stupefaction but certainly no freedom. Finally Siddhartha wandered on alone, without any companions. He was a tall, thin monk with a shaven head who carried a beggar's plate and lived on the alms of benevolent, pious people. After a long pilgrimage he reached the river Naranjara in the kingdom of Magadha, and he settled down near the citadel of Uruvela.
„And there I saw a beautiful stretch of land, a lovely woodland grove, and a clear flowing river with a pleasant ford, and a village for support close by. So I said to myself: Beautiful is this land, a lovely woodland grove, and a clear flowing river with a pleasant ford, and a village for support close by. This is good for the striving of a noble youth who desires to strive. So I sat down there and thought to myself: this is the right path for my efforts.”
And so he sat beneath a huge pipal tree and meditated about life and death.
„Birth and rebirth are laws of nature – so I have to overcome them. Aging seems to be a law of nature too, so I have to overcome aging as well. And disease seems to be given by nature, too. So I have to overcome disease. And death, too, is a law of nature – so I have to gain immortality. Pain is a natural law – so I have to overcome pain. And all that is impure is part of nature too – so I have to overcome the impure.”
Once again he tried to violently subjugate his own body, he fought against his body in order to suppress his desires and passions.
„I will grit my teeth, I will press my tongue to the palate and with my mind I want to suppress, oppress, force down my thoughts.”
He forbade himself any kind of movement and reduced his breath, nutrition and the movements of his body to a minimum. His self-torture lasted days, even weeks.
The news about the holy penitent who was sitting under the pipal tree of Uruvela spread fast. Reverent locals took up position on the far side of the grove, and five ascetics sat down near to Siddhartha to join in his penitential exercises, his torment and his efforts. But everything was in vain. The body cannot be tamed by exerting external power, the gate remains closed. The method of asceticism is wrong. Only a strong body can achieve the aim. So Siddhartha changed his mind and started eating again. A vision reflecting the old youth days returned to his mind – when as a boy he sat underneath the rose apple tree in front of the gates of Kapilavatthu and practised his gentle, spiritual yoga meditation, when the feeling had overcome him to be one with everything – the mountains, the earth and the grove, and when for the first time he had an inner vision.
The five ascetics abandoned him. They considered him an apostate. There no longer seemed to be anything wonderful or ascetic about him. A monk who eats and breathes, a man who looks up to the sky with a smile, is no longer a saint. The place became more and more deserted, the peasants returned to their villages. Siddhartha alone remains huddled under the huge roof of foliage of the pipal tree. In calm, reposeful days and nights his refined spirit wanders through the mysteries of the four stages of meditation:
He whose
suffering comes to an end
Already here on Earth,
Is free of burden,
And liberated from all bonds.
He who
suppresses all wishes,
Who realizes his path and his wrong path,
Becomes wise
And inclined to the supreme.
He who is and
stays alienated
From the world and his brothers,
Finds peace,
And needs neither home nor house.
He who shies
back from weapons and war
And quarrelling and killing
And loves the beasts,
And loves the plants...
Can be a priest.
In blessed clarity he realizes the correlations of existence: right from the day of our birth desires and wishes awaken and the suffering starts when these wishes and desires are not satisfied.
„By observing and realizing, my soul was saved from the corruption of lust, and my soul was saved from the corruption of growth, and my soul was saved from the corruption of ignorance…
I have attained knowledge:
I am redeemed. Destroyed is the cycle of birth and rebirth, complete the holy change, consumed the duty. There is no return to this world…”
But this isolation was only the first stage of meditation. In this stage he broke away from entanglements and suffering. For the first time he felt the pure sensation of innermost tranquility. Joy and satisfaction flowed through his body. Then he cut the five bonds of the heart in the second stage of meditation: The heart has to liberate itself from all desires of wanting, feeling, seeing and eating, yes even in striving for inner composure. Not to want anything, not to desire anything, not to long for anything – that is freedom.
His purified, transfigured mind delved into the third stage of meditation: for also the divine joy of catharsis is a bond from which he had to liberate himself.
Now pain and pleasure, joy and satisfaction have left the saint. His sense of pleasure and pain was drowned in a feeling of painless and joyless inner tranquility. Equanimity and vigilance completely filled the enlightened one; nothing tied or bound his pure spirit.
In the radiant light of his soul he finally saw the long series of his earlier forms of existence and the chain of suffering which is prolonged by every rebirth. His mind realized that the entire universe is filled with this suffering which fatally results from humans' burning lust for life. But he had defeated the lust for life and had thus defeated death. He entered the soft, gentle fields of Nirvana. The seedling for any further rebirths was destroyed, the chain of life had come to an end.
Forever have
I found salvation,
That is the last of my lives,
And there is no more rebirth...
Opened are the doors to eternity:
Who has ears to listen, come and listen...
This was the bliss of the fourth stage of meditation. Siddhartha, the Sakya son, had become Buddha, the Enlightened One. His being had become radiant, comparable to the bright sun. The wheel of existence passed him by far away.
„Blessed is the solitude of the joyful one who realizes and sees truth. Blessed is he who is able to bridle himself and never does harm to anybody! To be blessed means to totally overcome passion and all desires! Blessed is he who is able to repress the pride of his defiant self!”
The face of the Enlightened One was radiant. Power and security exuded from him…
Was there anything else to do?
The dark roof of foliage of the pipal tree spanned over the head of the enlightened one. Like a window to Nirvana some blue spots of the sky could be seen between the leaves; far away – like the flowing water – a restless life roared, bugs rustled, grass and trees waved in the wind, people lived…
Yes – there was still another thought which reached out to Buddha like a shadow: people, brothers and sisters, still live under the yoke of fate. Should the secret of salvation that he had gained for himself be divulged to the world? Would those surrounded by darkness, those blind with passion, understand him? Would contact with the world, going out to the people, not once again cast a shadow over the inner radiance of his soul? Would it not be exhaustion and pain again?
For a long time the sublime one pondered, meditating underneath the tree at Uruvela. Then the enormous kindness that flowed to him from his newly gained freedom won over, and he decided to communicate his knowledge and to preach to the unredeemed the joy of salvation.
The thirty-six year old thought of the five monks who had once stayed with him here at Uruvela and who had considered him an apostate. Where may they be now?
And with his divine, refined eyes which saw far beyond human limits, he saw the monks near Benares, at the seer's stone in the deer park…
Gautama Buddha headed for Benares, the great city on the holy river Ganges. He searched for the people…
Benares had for a long time been the most sacred place of pilgrimage of all Indian peoples. Located in the heart of India right on the river Ganges, the city with its palaces, temples and tombs extended down to the river banks in several terraces. Broad steps led down to the majestic river which, like a yellow-gray glittering ribbon, flowed past the city. On the hills there were the wooden palaces of the princes which were artfully painted and decorated with the finest wood carvings; splendid temples for the ancient Gods Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma rested under gilded roofs; huge crowds of people moved down the stone-clad steps which led to the purifying river.
Upako, a naked penitent, standing a little aside from the bustle of the crowds, spoke to Ananda, a noble youth who sought enlightenment. „My spirit has been hurt by the cruelty of life. See there, Ananda, how frenzy, pain and worry dwell among the crowds, see the beaten thief beside the pride of the prince, see the fortunes accumulated by the merchants next to the bitter poverty of the Sansis. Hunger, greed, fear and hopelessness dominate the masses.”
Ananda was one of the many men who had left their families, heritage and land behind, yes even the sign of their caste, and tried to find the gateway leading to eternity. Neither with the priests of the cults, however, nor with the penitents and ascetics has he found enlightenment.
Suddenly, amidst the crowd, an unknown monk with a shaven head and a long beard appeared. He wore a yellow garment, and radiance flowed from him so that the crowds parted to let him pass, and the noises of the streets ceased. Gautama Buddha walked through the streets of Benares.
Driven by some inner compulsion, Upako and Ananda followed the saint. At the Dasamedh Stairs they caught up with him, and Upako said to the Enlightened One:
„Serene, oh brother, is your face, bright is your complexion and pure! For whose sake, oh brother, have you gone out into the world? Who is your master? In whose teaching do you believe?”
The Enlightened One smiled and answered:
„It is in myself that the light of sacred knowledge shines. Enlightenment has come over me, for me there will be no further rebirth, my friends. Since I have won true knowledge and understanding, an understanding of the world of the Gods, of Brahma, the highest wisdom of all beings, I am happy.”
The two seekers of truth, Upako and Ananda, bowed down in front of the Enlightened One and his knowledge. They listened to Buddha's sermons of self-realisation, and from then on they followed him wherever he went. They had found their master – the master had found his first disciples. Others joined them - a selection of the brightest men and youths. Twelve of them became his steady companions, and Ananda became his favorite disciple.
Years of teaching and wandering through the beautiful country passed by. Princes and statesmen, scholars and kings met the Enlightened One. He opened the door to Nirvana for everyone, the gate to salvation from the torture of becoming and changing; he spoke to the Pariahs and the powerful of this world alike, because for him all beings were equal – they were all chained to the wheel of rebirth. Everyone that approached the Enlightened One received his gentleness and kindness. They called him the »shepherd« - »he who walks out to fetch home erring lambs«.
The misfortunate and outcasts threw themselves at his feet; they were released. Criminals repented in the face of his enormous kindness and suppressed their passions. Only a core group of his disciples and monks, however, surrendered to total self-contemplation. And only a few of them actually took the four vows of the order:
The path which the Enlightened One showed to his monks demanded two deeds: The first one is to walk out to the world – to leave home and family, cut any kind of bonds to earthly life. He demanded poverty, wandering and detachment from any external ties.
The second task was to find oneself, the procedure of self-realisation that Buddha experienced under the tree in Uruvela. But this ultimate aspect is dependent upon grace and a silent, lonesome height which everyone has to gain for himself.
There was no constraint, no rigid organization among Buddha's monks. The new way was not a religion in the traditional sense, but an opportunity which one may seize or not. Therefore the Enlightened One also rejected the eagerness of some younger disciples who wanted to establish set rules or regulations. Redemption means calmly pacing forward on the middle path – no self-torture through scruples or exaggerated asceticism.
Sometimes the Enlightened One stayed with rich merchants or at some prince's court; but mostly he preferred to stay at calm, beautiful places which reminded him of the woodlands in his home country. And he often taught in the »Stony Hermitage« or the »Forest of the Conqueror Anathapindika.«
He lived according to his teachings to set an example for his monks. With an enraptured smile on his face he wandered through the villages with their mud huts and reed roofs. He was very careful not to step on any bug in the dust of the road, he saved bees that had fallen into ponds, and he chose his steps in such a way so as not to break any flower.
For forty years Buddha wandered as a teacher amidst the people. His teachings spread everywhere in Northern India.
Then when the monsoon rains poured down from the sky, the Enlightened One fell seriously ill. Once again his will was able to subdue his decline, and he suppressed the weakness of his body, but he knew that the hour was near that would lead him to the eternal spheres. Fear overcame his disciples; Ananda lamenting turned to his master.
“Are you to pass away from us, won't you speak to your community once again?”
“I have spoken my whole life long, Ananda. What had to be said was said. Now I have nothing more to say.”
Tired, he closed his eyes, and for a moment he sank into deep reflection. But then he raised his voice once again, and his face was radiant with transfiguration.
“Like a mother protects her child, her only child, with her life, you shall create immeasurable love towards all beings. You shall create immeasurable love towards the whole world, towards the world above and the world beneath you, in all directions – unlimited shall your love be and without hostility or enmity. But you shall not bind yourself in love to one single being.
You shall learn this love: the redemption of your heart…
By not growing angry one can overcome anger; evil can be overcome by doing good; greed can be overcome by giving; and liars can be overcome by the truth! Those who inflict pain on me and those who give me joy – I am the same to all of them; I know neither sympathy nor displeasure, joy and pain, honour and dishonour are balanced out in me; I do not distinguish between them. This is the completion of my equanimity…
And one shall not kill, not a single being shall you kill, nor shall you condone anybody else's killing any other being; but you shall refrain from doing harm to any being regardless of whether it is strong or weak and shivers out of fear of the world…”
Once again the Enlightened One was silent for a long time, then he turned to Ananda and added:
„I am an old man, Ananda, my way lies behind me. I am eighty years old now and like a fragile cart badly fixed with cords. My monks, remember that you are your own light, you need no new leaders – everyone shall be his own master. Nobody should try to play the leader.”
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