Tag: writing

A Table Full of Gratitude

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A Table Full of Gratitude

The late November sun dipped behind the hills, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. Inside a modern lakeside home, warmth radiated from the open kitchen where the heart of Thanksgiving pulsed. Pots clanged, laughter echoed, and the aroma of roasted turkey mingled with cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Pass me the mashed potatoes, will you?” Aunt Clara called, her cheeks flushed from the oven’s heat.

“Only if you promise not to sneak another spoonful before dinner,” teased her brother, balancing a tray of golden rolls.

In the living room, children sprawled on the rug, building towers from wooden blocks. “Mine’s taller!” shouted little Emma, her voice bubbling with triumph. Grandpa chuckled from his armchair, adjusting his glasses as he watched the chaos unfold.

Cars crunched up the driveway as more family arrived. Coats were hung, hugs exchanged, and the house filled with the hum of voices. Cousin Jake carried in a basket of apples, while his sister Lily brought a bouquet of autumn flowers for the centerpiece.

“Look at this place,” Lily said, setting the flowers down. Through the wide windows, the lake shimmered under the fading light. “It feels like stepping into a dream.”

Grandma smiled from the kitchen doorway, her apron dusted with flour. “That’s the magic of Thanksgiving,” she said. “It’s not about perfection—it’s about love.”

Finally, the feast was ready. The long wooden table groaned under the weight of tradition—turkey glistening with herbs, cranberry sauce shimmering like rubies, and pies lined up like sweet soldiers awaiting their turn. Everyone gathered, chairs scraping against the floor, conversations softening into anticipation.

“Before we dig in,” said Mom, raising her glass, “let’s share what we’re thankful for.”

One by one, voices filled the room. “For family,” said Dad, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “For friends who feel like family,” added Aunt Clara. Even Emma, clutching her stuffed bunny, whispered shyly, “For hugs.”

The moment stretched, tender and golden, before laughter returned like a familiar melody. Plates clinked, stories flowed—tales of childhood Thanksgivings, dreams for the year ahead. Outside, stars pricked the velvet sky, their reflections dancing on the lake as if joining the celebration.

Later, the games began. The living room transformed into a stage for charades, with Uncle Joe acting out a turkey so convincingly that everyone doubled over with laughter. In the corner, Grandma taught Emma how to play checkers, their heads bent together in concentration.

By the fireplace, Lily strummed her guitar softly, singing old folk tunes while others joined in. The warmth of the fire mirrored the warmth in their hearts—a glow that no winter chill could dim.

When the last slice of pumpkin pie vanished and the house settled into a cozy hush, Mom stood by the window, watching the stars shimmer over the lake. Dad joined her, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

“Another Thanksgiving,” he said softly.

“And another memory,” she replied, smiling.

It wasn’t just a holiday; it was a tapestry of love, woven from shared memories and simple joys—a reminder that gratitude turns ordinary moments into treasures.

Link: https://wisdomtea.org/2025/11/27/a-table-full-of-gratitude/

The Noble Growth

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The Noble Growth

When a woman devoted to the path of the noble ones nurtures five qualities in her life, she is said to be growing—not just outwardly, but inwardly, in the kind of growth that truly matters. Her life becomes a field of noble growth, a garden where the most precious and lasting qualities are cultivated. In doing so, she grasps what is essential—what is excellent—not something abstract or far off, but something embodied, real, and rooted in her very being.

What are these five ways in which she grows?

She grows in faith.
She develops a steady confidence in the path of truth. Even when life is uncertain or difficult, she trusts that goodness is not wasted, that wholesome actions bear fruit. Her faith is not blind, but bright—like a lamp in the dark, helping her take each next step with courage and conviction.

She grows in virtue.
She learns to live with integrity. She watches her actions, her words, and her thoughts, choosing what brings no harm to herself or others. When tempted to react out of anger, fear, or greed, she remembers what matters and chooses restraint. In this way, her life becomes peaceful, her conscience light.

She grows in learning.
She listens carefully to teachings that point toward wisdom. She reflects on them deeply—not just hearing words, but applying them, testing them in her own experience. Through this, she begins to understand what leads to suffering and what leads beyond it.

She grows in generosity.
She opens her heart and her hands. Whether she gives a kind word, a warm meal, a moment of her time, or a material gift, she gives with joy. She does not give to impress, to gain, or to control, but simply because giving frees the heart. In letting go, she discovers richness.

She grows in discernment.
Through reflection, quiet observation, and wise attention, she begins to see the nature of things: that all things change, that clinging leads to sorrow, that freedom is found in letting go. She begins to understand herself and the world more clearly, seeing beyond surface appearances.

In cultivating these five kinds of growth, she matures in the highest way. Her life leans toward awakening. She does not waste her human birth, but honors it. She holds fast to what is truly valuable—not wealth or status or fleeting pleasures, but the deep peace that comes from living wisely and kindly.

And all this, she develops not in some distant world or future life, but here and now, in this very body, in this very heart. In her own lived experience, she grasps what is essential and excellent—the noble growth that leads to lasting freedom.

Link: https://wisdomtea.org/2025/07/17/the-noble-growth/

The Six Hooks of Māra

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The Six Hooks of Māra

“Monks, imagine a fisherman who casts a baited hook into a deep, still lake. In that vast expanse of water, a fish—restless and ever searching, its mind set upon the pursuit of food—catches sight of the bait. Drawn by hunger and blinded by desire, the fish seizes the hook with its mouth. The moment it swallows the bait, it is caught, ensnared by the snare it failed to discern. From that point onward, the fish is no longer free. It has fallen into misfortune and ruin. The fisherman, having trapped it, may do with it whatever he wishes—whether to keep it alive or to kill it.

“In the same manner, monks, there are six kinds of hooks in the world—deceptive and dangerous, baited with pleasantness and alluring to the unguarded mind. These six serve as instruments of Māra, the Evil One, laid out for the misfortune of sentient beings, for the downfall and destruction of those who breathe. What are these six?

“Monks, there are forms cognizable through the eye—forms that are agreeable, pleasing, delightful, captivating, endowed with charm, capable of arousing craving, and enticing to the senses. If a monk delights in them, welcomes them, and clings to them, he is likened to the fish that has swallowed the fisherman’s hook. He is said to have fallen into Māra’s snare, to have succumbed to misfortune and spiritual ruin. The Evil One holds sway over him and may manipulate him at will.

“In the same way, there are sounds perceivable through the ear—sounds that are melodious, harmonious, tempting, and pleasing to the heart. If a monk becomes enamored of these sounds, welcomes them, and remains bound to them, he too is caught by Māra’s hook and becomes subject to suffering and downfall.

“There are aromas discernible through the nose—fragrances that are sweet, alluring, and intoxicating. If a monk clings to them, allows them to delight his mind, and remains attached to them, he becomes entangled, ensnared, and unable to escape Māra’s net.

“There are flavors knowable through the tongue—delicacies and tastes that arouse desire, inflame craving, and tempt indulgence. A monk who relishes these, who welcomes their taste, and who binds himself to them is likewise caught in the web of the Evil One.

“There are tactile sensations felt through the body—soft, smooth, warm, pleasurable, and seductive to touch. If a monk is drawn to them, clings to them, and remains mentally fastened to their contact, then he too is said to be under Māra’s control.

“Finally, there are ideas, thoughts, and mental images knowable through the intellect—concepts that are refined, attractive, mentally stimulating, and pleasing to contemplate. If a monk indulges in them, takes delight in them, and becomes mentally entangled in them, then he has also swallowed Māra’s hook and is vulnerable to downfall and distress. The Evil One can direct such a monk as a puppet master moves his puppet, for he has lost his spiritual autonomy.

“But, monks, consider now the one who sees clearly.

“If a monk, upon encountering forms cognizable through the eye—however pleasing, charming, and desirable they may be—does not delight in them, does not welcome them, and does not remain fastened to them, he is said to be one who has not swallowed Māra’s hook. Rather, he is one who has seen the barb hidden beneath the bait. He is one who has broken the hook, snapped the line, and swum free of the net. Such a monk does not fall into misfortune or disaster. Māra, the Evil One, has no power over him.

“And so too with sounds heard through the ear—if a monk neither welcomes nor clings to them, he escapes their snare.

“And so too with aromas known through the nose—if he does not attach, he is not trapped.

“And so with flavors tasted by the tongue—if he remains unattached, he remains unharmed.

“And so with tactile sensations felt by the body—if he does not seek or delight in them, he is unbound.

“And likewise with ideas perceived through the intellect—no matter how brilliant, engaging, or pleasurable they may appear, if the monk regards them as impermanent, unsatisfactory, and not-self, he severs their influence. He walks free of the fetter.

“Such a monk is said to have transcended Māra’s domain. The Evil One cannot ensnare him, cannot bend his mind, cannot sway his resolve. He walks the path of the awakened, firm in his vigilance, released from the hidden hooks of the world.”

Link: https://wisdomtea.org/2025/07/10/the-six-hooks-of-mara/

Understanding Affection and Aversion

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Understanding Affection and Aversion

One afternoon, a meditation teacher gathered with a group of students in a quiet city park. The city’s hum was muted beneath the trees, and the late sun slanted across the benches and grass. The group had just finished a short walking meditation. Some sat cross-legged, others leaned against trees or sipped warm tea. The teacher, calm and observant, looked around at the group and spoke.

“Let me tell you a story,” she said. “Not about ancient monks or distant temples, but about feelings you know well—love, dislike, connection, irritation. And how they rise and fall like waves, often without our permission.”

She looked at one of the students. “Have you ever liked someone, and then liked them more because others liked them too?”

The student smiled and nodded.

“Exactly,” the teacher said. “Let’s call her Sarah.”

Sarah was a bright, generous woman working at a design firm in the city. She wasn’t loud or showy, but she had a quiet strength—always ready to help, always warm in her words. When you first met Sarah, you felt instantly drawn to her. She asked about your day and remembered small things—your favorite coffee, a story you told weeks ago. You felt seen.

Others noticed her too. Colleagues laughed with her during breaks. Supervisors asked her opinion. She was respected, admired, and warmly spoken of.

One day, you caught yourself thinking, “I’m glad others like her. It means I wasn’t wrong about her.” Your affection for her deepened. Her goodness felt confirmed. She became even more lovable because others affirmed your view.

“That,” the teacher said, “is affection born of affection.”

Then the teacher’s tone shifted slightly. “But what if something changes?”

A few weeks later, you overhear a different story. A group at work is whispering. One of them rolls their eyes and says, “Sarah only acts nice to get ahead.” Another shrugs, “Yeah, I don’t trust her smile. Too perfect.” You feel your stomach tighten. Your admiration for Sarah turns into something fierce, protective. You want to speak up, to defend her, maybe even avoid those colleagues who were cruel behind her back.

Your dislike for them grows—not because of anything they did to you, but because they insulted someone you cared about.

“That,” the teacher said gently, “is aversion born of affection.”

She let the silence settle before continuing.

“But the reverse can happen, too.”

Now picture Jake. Loud, opinionated, always late to meetings, always interrupting. You find yourself irritated whenever he speaks. You don’t understand why others tolerate him.

Then one day, something shifts. Jake tries to join a team lunch, but the others ignore him. Someone makes a passive-aggressive joke that clearly hurts him. He pretends not to notice, but you do. You see the flash of pain in his eyes before he covers it with a grin.

Something inside you softens. “Maybe I judged too quickly,” you think. You remember moments when you’ve felt left out. Without warning, your aversion begins to dissolve. Maybe he’s just awkward, not arrogant. Maybe he’s trying in his own way.

“That,” the teacher said, “is affection born of aversion.”

And then there’s the final path.

You already disliked Jake. And then the worst thing—he gets a promotion. You hear people praising his leadership and creativity. Your stomach churns. You feel confused, maybe even betrayed by their approval. “How can they not see what I see?” you wonder.

Your dislike deepens—not just for Jake, but for those who admire him. You avoid conversations where his name comes up. You roll your eyes when others speak well of him.

“That,” the teacher said, “is aversion born of aversion.”

She paused, letting the words settle into the group like dust into still air.

“These feelings—attraction, rejection, admiration, disgust—seem so real, so solid. But often, they’re just patterns. Ripples. Reactions triggered by who we think we are, or how we think things should be.”

The wind rustled lightly through the trees.

“When a meditator practices stillness,” she continued, “when they let go of chasing pleasure and fighting discomfort, the emotional storm starts to quiet. Affection and aversion stop rising like waves from every passing thought. The mind settles into clarity, into balance. In that silence, nothing needs to be liked or disliked. Things just are. And that is a very peaceful place to be.”

She set her cup down gently.

“But at the root of all this emotional pulling and pushing is a simple idea: ‘I am.’ ‘I am better.’ ‘I am worse.’ ‘I am good because others like me.’ ‘I am unworthy because they don’t.’ It’s a flame we carry without knowing. And because of it, we burn.”

The students listened quietly.

“When we believe deeply in this fixed identity, everything becomes personal. If someone praises another, it feels like a threat. If someone criticizes a friend, it feels like an attack on us. If someone doesn’t see things our way, we feel alone. But when we let go of that story—when we stop constantly needing to be someone—then something magical happens. The mind no longer pulls in or pushes away. It no longer smolders or flares up. It simply rests.”

She looked around the circle.

“Think of the mind like a fire. The more you feed it with ideas of ‘me,’ ‘mine,’ ‘not mine,’ ‘better than,’ ‘less than’—the hotter it burns. But if you stop feeding it, the fire slowly fades. And in its place is space. Stillness. Peace.”

The group sat in silence for a while. No one rushed to speak. A dog barked in the distance. A leaf landed on someone’s shoulder. The teacher smiled.

“This path isn’t about becoming indifferent,” she said. “It’s about becoming free.”

Link: https://wisdomtea.org/2025/05/22/understanding-affection-and-aversion/

The Priceless One

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The Priceless One

Long ago, in a prosperous city nestled near the rivers and forests of ancient India, there lived a young woman named Anopama. Her name meant incomparable, and indeed, there seemed to be no one like her. She was born into a family of high rank and great wealth. Her father, Majjha, was the royal treasurer—a man of vast influence who managed the riches of kings.

Anopama grew up surrounded by luxury. Her home was filled with silks from distant lands, golden ornaments, fine perfumes, and attendants who waited on her every need. Her skin was radiant, her figure elegant, her manner graceful. Everywhere she went, people stopped and turned to admire her beauty. But it was not just beauty that set her apart. There was a quiet intelligence in her eyes, a thoughtfulness that hinted at deeper things.

As she came of age, many suitors arrived. Princes from powerful kingdoms and sons of the richest merchants sent letters, gifts, and proposals. They boasted of their palaces, their elephants and horses, their treasures, and their titles. They all wanted Anopama as their bride.

One day, a particularly wealthy merchant’s son sent a grand message to her father: “Name your price. I will give eight times her weight in gold and jewels. Just let me marry Anopama.”

Everyone around her was excited. They whispered of weddings, wealth, and the glory her marriage would bring. But Anopama felt none of that excitement. A quiet unease stirred within her. Despite the riches and praise, her heart felt empty.

She often sat alone on the balconies of her father’s mansion, gazing into the distance. “Is this all there is?” she would wonder. “Silks and ornaments, gifts and titles… Is this truly what life is for?”

She began to ask deeper questions. Why do people suffer? Why are we never satisfied? Why do we grow old, fall ill, and die? And is there a way beyond this cycle of constant grasping and loss?

Then, one day, her life changed forever.

Word spread through the city that the Buddha, the Self-Awakened One, had arrived and was teaching nearby. People flocked to see him—farmers, nobles, monks, and merchants. Anopama, too, felt drawn by something she couldn’t explain. She asked her attendants to take her to where the Buddha was staying.

When she arrived, she saw a man unlike any other. He wore a simple robe. His eyes were calm and clear, his presence quiet yet powerful. He looked at no one with desire or pride, only with compassion and understanding. The moment Anopama saw him, something within her shifted.

She stepped forward, bowed before him with great reverence, and sat to one side.

The Buddha looked at her kindly. He could see her readiness, her ripening insight. He spoke not of rules or rituals, but of life itself—of the suffering caused by desire, of the endless chasing after things that never last, and of a path that leads to freedom and peace.

As Anopama listened, it felt as though heavy veils were being lifted from her heart. The words entered not just her ears, but the deepest parts of her being. In that very moment, as she sat on the ground in her fine robes with dust on her feet, she awakened to the truth. She realized the nature of craving and the peace that comes when it is abandoned. She attained the third stage of enlightenment, known as anāgāmī—the state of the non-returner, one who will never again be bound by worldly attachments.

Tears of clarity welled in her eyes—not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming joy of truth.

She rose, and with quiet determination, made a decision that shocked everyone. She returned home only long enough to speak to her father. “I have found something more precious than all the gold and jewels you’ve stored your whole life. I cannot live as I did before. I am leaving home, not to marry, but to walk the path of awakening.”

Her father, stunned and heartbroken, pleaded with her to reconsider. But Anopama’s mind was firm. With his reluctant blessing, she cut off her long hair, shed her fine garments, and entered the homeless life as a nun.

She lived simply, wearing a robe of faded cloth and carrying a begging bowl. She found joy not in possessions but in quiet forests, in mindful steps, and in the inner stillness of meditation.

Days passed. She reflected deeply on the Buddha’s teachings, practiced with diligence, and let go of every last trace of craving.

On the seventh day of her new life, as the morning sun filtered through the trees, Anopama sat beneath a tree in quiet meditation. Her heart rested in stillness. And there, she experienced complete inner freedom. The final roots of desire had withered away. She was free.

No longer did she long for ornaments, praise, or titles. No longer did she fear loss or death. She had touched Nibbāna—the unshakable peace beyond all grasping.

In time, others would come to know her story. They would call her not only Anopama, the incomparable, but also the one who left everything… and gained the highest.

Link: https://wisdomtea.org/2025/05/15/the-priceless-one/

The Winds of Feeling and the Stillness of Wisdom

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The Winds of Feeling and the Stillness of Wisdom

In the vast sky above, O monks, the winds are ever-changing.
From the far reaches of the earth, they arise—east and west, north and south—
Some sweeping across the land with dust in their grasp,
Others gliding clear and pure, unseen yet felt.
Some arrive with a scorching heat, parching all they touch,
While others whisper with a cool breath, soothing the weary.
Some rage with unbridled fury, shaking trees and stirring waves,
Others pass so gently that even the finest leaf remains still.
Thus, the sky holds within it the ceaseless motion of change,
A dance without beginning, a rhythm without end.

Likewise, monks, within this fragile body, feelings arise and pass away.
Pleasant feelings, like the cool breeze of dawn, bring delight,
Painful feelings, like the searing winds of summer, bring distress,
And neutral feelings, subtle and unnoticed, drift like a silent air.
Just as the winds do not ask permission to blow,
Neither do feelings seek consent before they arise.
They come and go, transient as the shifting sky,
Unbound by will, untouched by desire.

There are times when joy rushes in like a warm southern wind,
Caressing the heart, lifting the spirit, filling the mind with delight.
Like the gentle wind that carries the scent of blossoms,
It fills one’s being with sweetness, with contentment, with ease.
But as swiftly as it arrives, it fades,
Leaving behind only the memory of its touch.

At other times, suffering comes like a storm from the north,
A wind that chills the bones and darkens the sky.
It roars through the mind like thunder over the mountains,
Scattering thoughts, shaking resolve, leaving fear in its wake.
One may grasp at warmth, may plead for calm,
But the storm does not heed the cries of those who resist.
It will pass in its own time, as all things do.

And then there are moments when neither pleasure nor pain arises,
When the winds are still, when the sky is vast and untroubled.
Yet even in this calm, there is movement unseen—
The silent shifting of clouds, the quiet breath of the unseen air.
Such is the nature of neutral feeling, subtle and unnoticed,
Present, yet often ignored, like a whisper in the great noise of life.

But, O monks, the wise one does not cling nor recoil.
He observes as a traveler watches the shifting clouds—
Unmoved by their beauty, unshaken by their darkness.
With mindfulness sharp as a lamp in the storm,
He sees the winds of feeling for what they are:
Impermanent, empty, without a self to call their own.
Neither delighting in pleasure nor despairing in pain,
He remains steadfast, grounded in the Dharma’s way.

The fool, however, is like a man chasing the wind.
He runs toward pleasure, longing to catch it in his grasp,
Yet it slips through his fingers like sand through an open hand.
He flees from suffering, cursing the bitter wind that stings his face,
Yet the more he resists, the fiercer the storm becomes.
He clings to what is fleeting, he weeps for what is lost,
Unaware that all things are like the sky—
Boundless, shifting, beyond his control.

But if a monk, O wise ones, is ardent and does not neglect
To practice mindfulness and comprehension clear,
Then the nature of all feelings will he understand.
Like a great tree rooted deep in the earth,
He does not sway with every passing breeze.
Neither heat nor cold disturbs his stillness,
Neither joy nor sorrow binds his heart.

And having penetrated them, he will be taint-free in this very life.
Mature in knowledge, firm in the ways of the Dharma,
He walks the path beyond sorrow, beyond birth and death.
For he has seen the truth with wisdom’s eye,
And in knowing, he is free.

When once his life-span ends, his body breaks,
Like a leaf that falls when its time has come,
He clings to nothing, holds to nothing.
No longer bound by the illusions of self and suffering,
He transcends all measure, beyond all concept,
Unshaken as the boundless sky itself.

Thus, O monks, let the winds blow as they will.
Do not chase them, do not flee from them.
Simply see them, know them, and be free.

Link: https://wisdomtea.org/2025/03/20/the-winds-of-feeling-and-the-stillness-of-wisdom/