Rebuking the Five Desires

Root Text: What is meant by "rebuking desire" is rebuking the five desires. Anyone who wishes to sit in meditation and cultivate calming and insight must rebuke them. The five desires are the world's own form, sound, smell, taste, and touch. They are constantly able to deceive and delude every ordinary being, giving rise to craving attachment. If one can come to know their fault deeply, and thereby keep no close company with them, this is what is called rebuking desire.

Commentary: What is meant by "rebuking the five desires" is rebuking and casting off the five desires of form, sound, smell, taste, and touch. "Desire" carries the sense of craving and needing — and because these five desires are the five roots that lead down into hell, anyone who wishes to sit in meditation and cultivate calming and insight must rebuke them. That is: fine sights the eye sees, fine sounds the ear hears, fine smells the nose smells, fine tastes the tongue tastes, fine touches the body craves — all of these lead a person into craving attachment, constantly deceiving and deluding every ordinary being, giving rise to attachment born of craving. If one can come to know their fault deeply, one thereby keeps no close company with them; since all five desires are able to bring about offense, keeping no close company with them means none of this fault arises — and once none of this fault arises, they are rebuked of themselves, without one even needing to rebuke them at all.

Root Text: The first is rebuking desire for sights. This means the fine, dignified form of a man or woman — well-shaped eyes and long brows, red lips and white teeth — and worldly treasures of every fine color, blue, yellow, red, white, crimson, purple, azure, and green, every kind of exquisite hue — able to make a foolish person, on seeing them, give rise to craving, and thereby commit every kind of evil deed. Just as King Bimbisāra, because of desire for form, entered an enemy kingdom in person and stayed in the chamber of the courtesan Āmrapālī; and King Udayana, tainted by desire for form, cut off the hands and feet of five hundred ascetics — such offenses as these, of every kind.

Commentary: First, rebuking desire for sights. Know that the single word "rebuke" is itself the essential method of putting in real effort, the correct track for entering the gate of practice at all — one must rebuke it by every available means. This means the well-formed, dignified appearance of a man or woman — well-shaped eyes are long brows, "red" means crimson, "white" means pale — that is, red lips and gleaming teeth, bright eyes casting a fine glance, every kind of lovely, delightful form — a foolish person, seeing this, gives rise to craving attachment: this is craving attachment to the form of a sentient man or woman, the direct fruit of past karma made visible. There is also another kind of person whose attachment to the love of a sentient man or woman is quite indifferent, giving rise to no such clinging, yet who loves the world's own precious, valuable treasures instead — gold, silver, lapis lazuli, coral, amber, and the rest of the seven treasures, and every fine, radiant, exquisite hue of blue, yellow, red, white, crimson, purple, azure, and green. A wise person, seeing these, understands them to be, from the start, illusory, and gives rise to no craving — but a foolish person instead gives rise to attachment born of craving, and, deluded by it, goes on from there to commit every kind of evil deed, storing up calamity across many kalpas to come.

The affair of King Bimbisāra is cited as proof of this: this king, out of craving attachment to desire for form, disregarded the gravity of his own kingdom and willingly entered an enemy state in person, dwelling alone in the chamber of the courtesan Āmrapālī. And King Udayana, tainted by delight in form, went so far as to cut off the hands and feet of five hundred ascetics, committing a grave offense. One should know how many heroic men, past and present, have failed to become, within this vast ocean of desire, a slave to passion, a demon of lust — as it is said, "you love my heart, I am moved by your form" — passion and its debts repaid, entangling each other across endless kalpas, with no end ever in sight. How sorrowful! The harm desire for form does to a person is, in truth, worse than a wild beast running loose — we ordinary beings ought to reflect on this with alarm, and rebuke it.

Root Text: The second is rebuking desire for sounds. This means the sound of harps, zithers, and flutes, of string, bamboo, metal, and stone instruments, and the sound of men and women singing, chanting, or reciting praises — able to make an ordinary being, on hearing it, fall into attachment, and thereby give rise to every kind of evil deed. Just as the five hundred ascetics dwelling in the Snow Mountains, on hearing the song of a kiṃnara maiden, at once lost their dhyāna-concentration, their minds becoming as if drunk and deranged — such causes and conditions as these make known the fault of sound.

Commentary: Second, rebuking desire for sounds — this too divides into the sentient and the non-sentient. The non-sentient kind is the sound of harps, zithers, and flutes, of string, bamboo, metal, and stone instruments — such as, in our own age, the sound of the organ or the piano — while the sentient kind is the fine singing voice of a man or woman, whether a coquettish, seductive turn of phrase, or a lascivious, alluring word — every kind of delightful sound of this kind makes an ordinary being, on hearing it, fall into attachment, and thereby give rise to every kind of evil deed. Just as the five hundred ascetics practicing the path in the Snow Mountains, on hearing the song of a kiṃnara maiden, at once lost their dhyāna-concentration, their minds becoming as if drunk, as if deranged, thrown into endless disturbance. And just as the ascetic Devayāna, on hearing the soft words of Lady Śacī, thereupon gave rise to a thought of desire and lost his spiritual powers. From ancient times to the present, those who have fallen through desire for sound are too numerous to list one by one — a practitioner must rebuke and cast this away, and must never be deluded by the dust of sound.

Root Text: The third is rebuking desire for smells. This means the bodily fragrance of a man or woman, the fragrance of the world's own food and drink, and every kind of scented incense — a foolish person, not understanding the true mark of a smell, on smelling it falls at once into attached delight, and thereby opens the gate to the fetters of affliction. Just as a monk, standing by a lotus pond, smelled the fragrance of the flowers and felt delight arise in his mind; the spirit of the pond sharply rebuked him: "Why have you stolen my fragrance?" Because of this attachment to fragrance, every fetter that had lain dormant rose up again — such causes and conditions as these make known the fault of smell.

Commentary: This third kind is rebuking desire for smells. In general, worldly people are very often deluded by fragrance — because the nose smells a scent, the spirit-consciousness grows befuddled; this is offense created through the nose-faculty. A bodily fragrance in a man or woman may sometimes be a natural fragrance, the result of causes and conditions from a past life. As when a bhikṣuṇī, from reciting sūtras in a former life, constantly gave off the fragrance of orchid blossoms from her own mouth through the merit of that recitation; or an elderly monk, through reciting the Lotus Sūtra, constantly gave off the fragrance of sandalwood from his entire body — these are the effects of wholesome causes from long ago. Or it may be the fragrance of the world's own food and drink, or the scent of every kind of plant and incense, or even every kind of alluring perfume and powder devised by human beings — a foolish person, not understanding that every such fragrant mark is illusory, on smelling it gives rise to craving attachment, thereby opening the gate to the fetters of affliction, and sinking into a deep pit.

As when a monk, standing by a lotus pond, smelled the fragrance of the flowers and felt delight arise in his mind; the spirit of the pond emerged at once from the water and sharply rebuked him: "Why have you stolen my fragrance?" The monk replied: "Those lay people over there pulled and trampled the lotus flowers past bearing, yet you said nothing to them — I have only smelled their fragrance, and you rebuke me like this?" The spirit of the pond said: "They are householders, already covered from head to foot in offense, and so there is nothing left worth saying to them. But you are a monk, one of understanding — exactly like unblemished white jade — how could you let yourself sink through craving attachment to this mere fragrance?" And with this the spirit earnestly exhorted him, until the monk's own mind finally yielded — enough to show that the dust of fragrance is not to be craved and clung to, for it makes every dormant fetter rise up again. What is called a "fetter" is precisely an affliction, knotted like a coiled rope; "dormant" and "rising" mean that what had originally been subdued and made to lie dormant now flares up once more, hence "rising." Causes and conditions of this kind make known the fault of fragrance, which must be cast off at once.

Root Text: The fourth is rebuking desire for tastes. This means the bitter, sour, sweet, pungent, salty, and bland, and every other fine taste of food and drink and cooked dishes — able to make an ordinary being's mind fall into attachment, and thereby give rise to unwholesome deeds. Just as a novice monk, attached to the taste of cream, was, after death, born within a jar of cream itself, receiving the body of a worm there — such causes and conditions as these make known the fault of taste.

Commentary: This is the fourth of the five desires, rebuking desire for tastes. For one who puts in real effort in practice, all five desires — form, sound, smell, taste, and touch — are to be regarded as outward thieves, able to plunder the very household treasure of one's own mind, and so ought to be kept far away at once, never to be craved. As for "taste," there are five flavors: bitter, sour, sweet, pungent, salty, and bland, and every other fine taste of food, drink, and cooked dishes — these many flavors are able to make an ordinary person's mind fall into craving attachment, giving rise to unwholesome deeds. Examine the whole of humankind closely: who has not, out of greed for the pleasures of the mouth and stomach, taken life — netting and trapping creatures of water, land, and sky to supply their own palate, or even stealing another's property to satisfy the tongue's own craving? How great, indeed, is the harm done by desire for taste — wounding heaven's own principle, cutting off great compassion; nothing goes further than this. As in the old story of a novice monk attached to the taste of cream, who, after death, fell straight into a jar of cream and became a worm within it. A practitioner ought to know this fault, and rebuke it away.

Root Text: The fifth is rebuking desire for touch. This means the soft, fine smoothness of a man or woman's body, warm to the touch in cold weather, cool to the touch in hot weather, and every other fine sensation of touch — a foolish person, without wisdom, sinks down through it, giving rise to an obstruction of the path. Just as the One-Horned Sage, through desire for touch, thereupon lost his spiritual powers and was made to be ridden upon the neck by a courtesan — such causes and conditions as these make known the fault of touch.

Commentary: Fifth, rebuking desire for touch. This desire for touch is the most severe of all, the very root of birth-and-death. A sūtra says: "Every sentient being sustains its own life precisely through desire for form" — meaning desire broadly, sexual desire in particular. Because each of the first four desires has its own bounded scope — form belongs to the eye alone, sound to the ear alone, smell to the nose alone, taste to the tongue alone, each of the four faculties receiving only its own corresponding dust — only this desire for touch pervades the entire body all at once. What is called "desire for touch" is the soft, fine smoothness of a man or woman's body, caressing one another, warm to the touch in cold weather, cool to the touch in hot weather, and every other kind of especially fine, wondrous sensation of touch — a foolish person without wisdom sinks down through it, and it is able to obstruct a practitioner's own progress along the path. As in the story of the One-Horned Sage of old, who lost his spiritual powers through desire for touch, and, in his anger, made a vow that brought down a drought upon the land — and who was later seduced by a courtesan, lost his powers through desire for touch, and was made to be ridden upon his own head and neck. From this we know that the fault of desire for touch is graver and more perilous than any other — how can one not be utterly careful of it!

Root Text: The method of rebuking desire set out above is spoken in the Mahāyāna treatise.

Commentary: Long ago there was a practitioner who constantly put in effort beside streams and beneath forests, yet for a long time gained no benefit from it. One night he saw a turtle emerge from the water — it was deep in the night, the world hushed and still, the moon bright and the stars few — when a jackal came to prey on it. Wherever the jackal bit at its head, the turtle drew its head in; wherever it bit at a leg, the turtle drew that leg in — until the jackal, worn out from the effort of biting, had not managed to harm the turtle in the slightest, and went off elsewhere.

From this the practitioner came to a realization: what is the jackal? It is precisely the outward realm of the five sense-objects. What is the turtle? It is precisely a likeness for us practitioners ourselves; and its head, tail, and four limbs are precisely our own six inward sense-faculties. For we sentient beings, across measureless kalpas, have let our six faculties constantly grasp and cling to the six sense-objects, unwilling to gather them in and hold them to one place — and so, life after life, kalpa after kalpa, we have wrongly suffered the wheel of rebirth, wrongly undergone birth-and-death, and so have been preyed upon by the jackal. If one can only learn this method of the turtle, then birth-and-death, however unresolved, resolves itself of its own accord! The practitioner then said: "Of late I have learned the turtle's own method — wherever there is a place to draw the head in, I draw the head in." Let practitioners take this turtle as their own mirror.

Root Text: It is further said: how sorrowful — sentient beings, constantly troubled by the five desires, yet go on seeking them without end. The more one obtains of these five desires, the more severe they become, like adding firewood to a fire, its flame growing ever fiercer. The five desires bring no true pleasure — like a dog gnawing a dry bone. The five desires only increase strife — like birds fighting over a piece of meat. The five desires burn a person — like holding a torch against the wind. The five desires harm a person — like stepping on a venomous snake. The five desires have no substance — like what is gained in a dream. The five desires do not last — borrowed for only a moment, like a spark struck from flint. A wise person, reflecting on them, sees them as no different from a hated enemy or thief. Yet worldly people, deluded, crave and cling to the five desires until death, unwilling to let them go, and afterward undergo measureless suffering and affliction.

Commentary: "How sorrowful" is an expression of lament. "Sentient beings" means every being of the six destinies, who are constantly deluded by the dusty objects of the five desires, unable to see through them or discern their true nature — not only unable to cast them off, but seeking them without ever being satisfied; hence "seeking them without end." These few lines reveal precisely how genuinely severe the demonic power of the five desires truly is.

What follows makes clear the very manner in which the five desires harm a person. The more one obtains of them, the more severe they become in turn, just as adding firewood to a fire only makes its flame burn fiercer still. The five desires bring no true pleasure, exactly like a dog gnawing a dry bone — a dry bone has no meat on it at all, so what benefit is there in gnawing it? Yet sentient beings, upside-down in their thinking, refuse to let go of it all the same. Know that the five desires only increase strife, like birds fighting over a single piece of meat. And know, further, that the five desires burn a person, like a fierce torch held up against the wind; the five desires harm a person, like stepping on a venomous snake; the five desires have no real substance, like a scene gained within a dream; and the five desires do not last, being borrowed for only the briefest moment — a lovely sight, once looked upon, vanishes at once; a lovely sound, once heard, is gone; even a lovely touch does not last for long, perishing in an instant — like a spark struck from flint, or a flash of lightning, gone the moment it appears.

If a person of wisdom reflects on them, they are no different from a hated enemy or thief — yet worldly people, not understanding this, give rise to false craving attachment, unwilling to let go even until death, and afterward undergo measureless suffering and affliction. One should know: form is like a red-hot ball of gold — grasp it, and it burns; sound is like a poison-coated drum — hear it, and one must die; smell is like the breath of a venomous dragon — inhale it, and sickness follows; taste is like boiling honey-syrup — taste it, and the tongue is scalded raw; touch is like a sleeping lion — draw near it, and it bites. As it is further said: "Smell and taste ruin one's high resolve; sound and form injure one's own span of life. Keep them at a distance, and it is easy to remain a true gentleman; draw close to them, and it becomes hard to keep one's own feelings in check." Truly it is so — what, then, is the real harm of these five desires? Reflect on it, reflect on it well!

Root Text: This matter of the five desires is shared even with the animal realm. Every sentient being is constantly driven by the five desires, and so is called a slave to desire. Sitting within this corrupting desire, one sinks down into the three evil paths. Now that I am cultivating dhyāna, and these desires obstruct and obscure it once again — this is a great thief, and must be kept far away at once.

Commentary: One should know that the matter of the five desires is not the human realm's own possession alone — ghosts, animals, and even heavenly immortals possess it too, since all of them possess the five faculties. Seen in this light, throughout the three realms and six destinies, every sentient being is constantly driven and put to use by the five desires, and so is called a slave to craving and attachment; sitting within this corrupting desire, one sinks down into the three evil paths. Because one constantly sits within this coarse, corrupting desire, obstructed and obscured by the five desires, one falls, accordingly, into the three evil paths of hell, hungry ghosts, and animals.

As for the "three paths": within hell, fire burns downward from above and upward from below at once, cooking one in flame the whole year through — hence it is called the "fire path." Within the animal realm, the large devour the small and each other in turn, drinking each other's blood and consuming each other's flesh — hence it is called the "blood path." Within the hungry-ghost realm, one is beaten and struck by every kind of blade and staff at the hands of powerful ghost-kings — hence it is called the "knife path." Now that I have already taken up the cultivation of dhyāna, and am once again obstructed and obscured by the five desires — this is a great thief, and must be kept far away at once.

Root Text: As a verse in a dhyāna sūtra says:
"Birth-and-death is never cut off, because of craving desire and relishing its taste — raising up an enemy that leads into the burial mound, undergoing every hardship for nothing.
The body reeks like a corpse, its nine openings ever flowing with what is unclean — like a worm delighting in dung within a latrine, a foolish person's own body is no different.
One of wisdom should contemplate the body, and crave no attachment to worldly pleasure; free of entanglement, free of desire — this is called true nirvāṇa.
As all the buddhas have taught, practicing with a single, undivided mind, counting the breath within dhyāna-concentration — this is called practicing the dhutaṅga observances."

Commentary: Ordinary sentient beings, across measureless kalpas, have constantly dwelt within the wheel of the six destinies. That birth-and-death cannot be cut off is precisely because of craving attachment to the five desires, relishing their five flavors. One should know that although the five desires are merely dusty objects, they carry within them a particular kind of savor, and once an ordinary being has tasted it, it becomes difficult indeed to cast off. Consider the people of the world: who does not crave a lovely sight, a pleasing sound, and every fragrance and flavor that can be smelled and tasted? Because of this craving longing for the very taste of the five desires, birth-and-death is never cut off — exactly like raising up an enemy that leads one straight into one's own burial mound, undergoing every hardship for nothing, suffering only exhausting toil to no purpose at all.

Yet a person who craves the five desires has a body that reeks like a corpse, its nine openings constantly flowing with what is unclean — the eyes have their own discharge, the ears their own wax, the nose its own mucus, and the body's own excretions flow constantly, unclean. Like a worm in a latrine, delighting in play amid the filth — a person's craving attachment to the five desires is exactly the same. Because they cannot see through it or discern its true nature, it is said that "a foolish person's own body is no different." One should know: viewed from the outside, our own body appears to be a perfectly clean thing, but in truth it is filthy and foul past bearing — exactly like a beautiful flower vase that conceals filth within it; the moment the vase breaks and its shell is pierced, every foul thing inside spills out, and one can hardly bear the sight of it! A person of wisdom ought to observe this, and neither body nor mind should be craved and clung to.

If, toward worldly pleasure, one is free of entanglement and free of desire, then one is free of obstruction; free of obstruction, one is free of fear; free of fear, one is able to leave far behind every inverted dream and delusion — this is called true nirvāṇa, which is precisely pure true reality itself, also called the unborn and unceasing — precisely our own mind's inherently pure nature. Because our own mind, day after day, lets idle thoughts fly about in confusion, arising and ceasing without pause — this is called turning stillness into false movement, turning what is unborn and unceasing into what arises and ceases — and so one comes to stand, though not truly opposed to it, at odds with the pure nirvāṇa that was always already one's own.

This is why one should know: as all the buddhas of the ten directions and three times have taught, if one wishes to leave the path of delusion behind and climb to the shore of awakening, turning affliction around into the correct track, casting the five desires far away and gathering in the six faculties — there is no other way: one need only practice with a single, undivided mind, gathering the six faculties inward, and, outwardly, no longer grasping and clinging to the six sense-objects. Concentrating single-mindedly on ānāpāna — counting each breath out and each breath in, from one up to ten, and from ten back to one — in time idle thought is of itself able to return to oneness, and one's own mind becomes pure of itself. In this way one enters dhyāna-concentration — and this is what is called "shaking the spirit awake," practicing the dhutaṅga observances.