old-path-white-clouds-thich-nhat-hanh

coming down from a tree, yet he still did not move, even as fear shot through him like the sting of red ants.
He tried to overcome all physical fears. He believed that once his body was no longer enslaved by fear, his mind would break the chains
of suffering. Sometimes he sat with his teeth clenched while pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, using his willpower to
suppress all fear and horror. Even when he broke into a cold sweat and his whole body became drenched, he did not move. At other
times, he held his breath for long stretches until a roar like thunder or a blazing furnace pounded in his ears, and his head felt as though
someone had taken an axe and cleaved it in two. Sometimes he felt as though his head was being squeezed by a steel band and his stomach
slashed open like a goat’s by a butcher. And at times, he felt as if his body was being roasted over an open fire. Through these austere
practices, he was able to consolidate his courage and discipline, and his body was able to endure unspeakable pain, but his heart was still
without peace.
The monk Gautama practiced austerities in this way for six months. For the first three of these months, he was alone on the mountain, but
during the fourth month, he was discovered by five disciples of Master Uddaka Ramaputta, led by his old friend Kondanna. Siddhartha
was happy to see Kondanna again, and he found out that just one month after Siddhartha left the meditation center, Kondanna himself had
attained the state of neither perception nor non-perception. Seeing there was nothing more he could learn from Master Uddaka,
Kondanna persuaded four friends to join him in seeking Siddhartha. After several weeks, they were lucky enough to find him, and they
expressed their desire to stay and practice with him. Siddhartha explained to them why he was exploring the path of self-mortification, and
the five young men, Kondanna, Vappa, Bhaddiya, Assaji, and Mahanama, resolved to join him. Each monk found a cave to live in, not far
from one another, and every day one of them went into town to beg for food. When he returned, the food was divided into six portions so
that none of them had more than a small handful each day.
Days and months went by, and the six monks grew thin and gaunt. They left the mountain and moved east toward the village of Uruvela,
on the bank of the Neranjara, and continued to practice in the same way. But Siddhartha’s austerities began to alarm even his five
companions, and they found it impossible to keep up with him. Siddhartha ceased bathing in the river or even taking his share of the food.
On some days he ate just a shrivelled guava he happened to find on the ground or a piece of dried buffalo manure. His body had become
terribly wasted—it was little more than loose flesh hanging on protruding bones. He had not cut his hair or beard in six months, and when
he rubbed his head, handfuls of hair fell out as though there was no longer any space for it to grow on the bit of flesh still clinging to his skull.
And then one day, while practicing sitting meditation in a cemetery, Siddhartha realized with a jolt how wrong the path of selfmortification
was. The sun had set and a cool breeze gently caressed his skin. After sitting all day beneath the blazing sun, the breeze was
delightfully refreshing, and Siddhartha experienced an ease in his mind unlike anything he had felt during the day. He realized that body and
mind formed one reality which could not be separated. The peace and comfort of the body were directly related to the peace and comfort
of the mind. To abuse the body was to abuse the mind.
He remembered the first time he sat in meditation when he was nine years old, beneath the cool shade of a rose-apple tree on the day of
the year’s first plowing. He remembered how the refreshing ease of that sitting had brought him a sense of clarity and calm. He recalled, as
well, his meditation in the forest right after Channa had left him. He thought back to his first days with Master Alara Kalama—those initial
sessions of meditation had nourished both body and mind, creating in him a deep ability to concentrate and focus. But after that, Master
Alara Kalama had told him to transcend the joys of meditation in order to attain to states that existed beyond the material world, states such
as the realms of limitless space and limitless consciousness, and the state of no materiality. Later, there had been the state of neither
perception nor non-perception. Always the goal had been to find a means to escape the world of feeling and thought, the world of
sensation and perception. He asked himself, “Why follow only the traditions laid down in scripture? Why fear the joyful ease that meditation
brings? Such joys have nothing in common with the five categories of desire which obscure awareness. To the contrary, the joys of
meditation can nourish body and mind and provide the strength needed to pursue the path to enlightenment.”
The monk Gautama resolved to regain his health and to use his meditation to nourish both body and mind. He would beg for food again
starting the next morning. He would be his own teacher, not depending on the teachings of anyone else. Happy with this decision, he
stretched out on a mound of earth and peacefully drifted off to sleep. The full moon had just risen in a cloudless sky, and the Milky Way
stretched clear and radiant across the heavens.
The monk Gautama awoke the next morning to the sound of birds singing. He stood up and recalled his decisions of the previous night.
He was covered with dirt and dust, and his robe was so tattered and threadbare it no longer covered his body. He remembered seeing a
corpse in the cemetery the day before, and he guessed that today or tomorrow people would lift it down to the river to perform the
cremation ceremony, and the brick-colored cloth that covered it would no longer be needed. He approached the corpse and, reflecting
quietly on birth and death, respectfully removed the cloth from the body. The corpse was that of a young woman, her body swollen and
discolored. Siddhartha would use the brick-colored cloth as a new robe.
He walked to the river to bathe himself and at the same time to wash the cloth. The water was cool, and Siddhartha found it
overwhelmingly refreshing. He enjoyed the pleasant feeling of the water on his skin, welcoming the sensation with a new state of mind. He
took a long time bathing, and then he scrubbed and wrung out his new robe. But as he went to climb out of the water, his strength failed
him. He did not have enough energy to pull himself onto the bank. He stood quietly and breathed calmly. To one side he saw a tree branch