One day, the Blessed One sat beneath a tree and spoke to a group of monks. With the serene clarity that only a Buddha can offer, he began by pointing to the vast sky above.
“In the sky,” he said, “winds of many kinds are always blowing. Some come from the east, others from the west. Some rise from the south, others descend from the north. There are winds that carry dust and winds that are clear. Some are cold, others hot. Some arrive with a gentle whisper; others roar with fierce force. The sky is not fixed to one kind of wind, nor does it choose one over another. It simply allows them to pass.”
In the same way, the Blessed One explained, feelings arise within the body. Sometimes they are pleasant and bring comfort. At other times, they are painful and difficult to bear. And in between these, there are neutral feelings—subtle, neither sweet nor bitter. All of them arise due to contact, like ripples spreading from a pebble dropped in water. They come, they linger for a time, and then they fade.
But the untrained, untaught person—unmindful and unaware—responds differently. When pleasure arises, he clings to it, hoping it will stay. When pain comes, he resists and recoils. When neutral feelings pass through, he grows bored and restless. He does not see feelings for what they are, but builds his identity around them. He constructs craving. He reinforces the sense of “I” and “mine.” And so, he suffers.
In contrast, the mindful practitioner—the one devoted to the Dhamma—regards feelings with wisdom. He sees each sensation clearly, just as it is. He understands that feelings are not permanent, not under his control, and not who he is. He watches joy as it arises and fades. He sees pain sharpen and then soften. Even neutral feelings, which often pass unnoticed, become part of his contemplation—like clouds drifting across a calm sky.
He is not drawn into elation nor dragged down by sorrow. Like a mountain standing tall beneath the changing heavens, he remains unmoved. Storms may pass; the sun may burn; but his mind remains serene, undisturbed.
Through diligent effort and deep inner clarity, he no longer claims feelings as “mine.” Instead, he sees them as mere events—arising conditions within a stream of experience. He likens them to leaves floating down a river, or to a bell that rings when struck by the wind.
By observing their birth and death, their emptiness and impersonality, he gradually unties the knot of attachment. With wisdom as his guide, he uproots craving from the heart.
In this very life, he becomes free. His heart is no longer bound by the fetters of greed, hatred, or delusion. Firm in understanding, grounded in the Dhamma, he walks the world released.
And when the time comes for his body to return to the elements—as all compounded things must—there is no fear, no confusion. The body dissolves, but the mind, ungrasping, has already passed beyond measure and beyond concept. Like a flame that has gone out for lack of fuel, or like boundless space, he is no longer confined.
The Blessed One continued, using the elements to teach:
Just as fire, once blazing, dies down when there is no more wood, so too the enlightened one, free of craving, leaves no smoke of rebirth. His passions have cooled. His chains have broken. There is no more fuel. No more flame.
As water, when still and undisturbed, becomes clear and pure, the mind that has been trained becomes capable of reflecting reality without distortion. It no longer clings to the images or ripples. It sees things as they are, not as the heart wishes them to be.
The earth bears all things without preference—filth and flowers, gold and refuse. Likewise, the sage endures praise and blame, gain and loss, without agitation. His patience is as vast as the plains.
The open sky cannot be stained by the clouds that drift through it. In the same way, the mind that has abandoned greed, hatred, and delusion becomes spacious and bright. His consciousness, freed from identity, shines from within like the moon freed from eclipse.
This person walks the Noble Eightfold Path. Right view gives him direction. Right effort gives him strength. Right mindfulness is his torch, and right concentration his refuge.
With right speech and right action, his behavior is gentle and harmless. With right livelihood, he takes from the world only what is needed and gives much in return. His life is simple, his needs few. He is like a deer resting peacefully in the stillness of the forest.
Such a one reflects, “This body is not mine, nor are these feelings, nor these thoughts. All arise due to conditions. When the causes end, so do the effects. There is no soul within, no self to defend. There is only a stream, flowing on until it fades.”
Because of this deep seeing, he does not cling to the past nor yearn for the future. He lives fully in the present, one breath at a time, his heart at peace and his hands free of grasping.
He has crossed the flood—while many still struggle, clinging to fragile rafts of belief or sinking in the mire of doubt. But with wisdom as his oar and virtue as his boat, he has reached the far shore. On this shore, there is no more fear.
Even if the sky were to fall or the earth split open, his peace would remain, unshaken. For he knows that nothing truly belongs to him. And he sees that the self the world clings to is like a mirage in the desert—appearing real, but empty upon approach.
So when his final breath is drawn, and the body is returned to the elements, there is no grief. No sorrow. No lamentation.
Like a bird flying free from a cage worn thin by time, his mind soars into boundlessness—directionless, measureless, at peace.
There is no more birth. No more becoming. No more bound existence.
What remains is only the unborn, the unaging, the deathless.
Such is the path of the one who sees.
Such is the journey from feeling to freedom.
Link: https://wisdomtea.org/2025/06/26/like-winds-in-the-sky/
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