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sn.47.9 Saṁyutta Nikāya (Linked Discourses)

Ill

Thus have I heard. On one occasion the Blessed One was dwelling at Vesali in Beluvagamaka. There the Blessed One addressed the bhikkhus thus:

“Come, bhikkhus, enter upon the rains wherever you have friends, acquaintances, and intimates in the vicinity of Vesali. I myself will enter upon the rains right here in Beluvagamaka.”

“Yes, venerable sir,” those bhikkhus replied, and they entered upon the rains wherever they had friends, acquaintances, and intimates in the vicinity of Vesali, while the Blessed One entered upon the rains right there in Beluvagamaka.

Then, when the Blessed One had entered upon the rains, a severe illness arose in him and terrible pains bordering on death assailed him. But the Blessed One endured them, mindful and clearly comprehending, without becoming distressed. Then the thought occurred to the Blessed One: “It is not proper for me to attain final Nibbāna without having addressed my attendants and taken leave of the Bhikkhu Saṅgha. Let me then suppress this illness by means of energy and live on, having resolved upon the life formation.” Then the Blessed One suppressed that illness by means of energy and lived on, having resolved upon the life formation.

The Blessed One then recovered from that illness. Soon after he had recovered, he came out from his dwelling and sat down in the seat that had been prepared in the shade behind the dwelling. The Venerable Ānanda then approached the Blessed One, paid homage to him, sat down to one side, and said to him: “It’s splendid, venerable sir, that the Blessed One is bearing up, splendid that he has recovered! But, venerable sir, when the Blessed One was ill my body seemed as if it were drugged, I had become disoriented, the teachings were not clear to me. Nevertheless, I had this much consolation: that the Blessed One would not attain final Nibbāna without having made some pronouncement concerning the Bhikkhu Saṅgha.”

“What does the Bhikkhu Saṅgha now expect from me, Ānanda? I have taught the Dhamma, Ānanda, without making a distinction between inside and outside. The Tathagata has no closed fist of a teacher in regard to the teachings. If, Ānanda, anyone thinks, ‘I will take charge of the Bhikkhu Saṅgha,’ or ‘The Bhikkhu Saṅgha is under my direction,’ it is he who should make some pronouncement concerning the Bhikkhu Saṅgha. But, Ānanda, it does not occur to the Tathagata, ‘I will take charge of the Bhikkhu Saṅgha,’ or ‘The Bhikkhu Saṅgha is under my direction, ’ so why should the Tathagata make some pronouncement concerning the Bhikkhu Saṅgha? Now I am old, Ānanda, aged, burdened with years, advanced in life, come to the last stage. My age is now turning eighty. Just as an old cart keeps going by a combination of straps, so it seems the body of the Tathagata keeps going by a combination of straps.

“Whenever, Ānanda, by nonattention to all signs and by the cessation of certain feelings, the Tathagata enters and dwells in the signless concentration of mind, on that occasion, Ānanda, the body of the Tathagata is more comfortable. Therefore, Ānanda, dwell with yourselves as your own island, with yourselves as your own refuge, with no other refuge; dwell with the Dhamma as your island, with the Dhamma as your refuge, with no other refuge. And how, Ānanda, does a bhikkhu dwell with himself as his own island, with himself as his own refuge, with no other refuge; with the Dhamma as his island, with the Dhamma as his refuge, with no other refuge? Here, Ānanda, a bhikkhu dwells contemplating the body in the body, ardent, clearly comprehending, mindful, having removed covetousness and displeasure in regard to the world. He dwells contemplating feelings in feelings … mind in mind … phenomena in phenomena, ardent, clearly comprehending, mindful, having removed covetousness and displeasure in regard to the world.

“Those bhikkhus, Ānanda, either now or after I am gone, who dwell with themselves as their own island, with themselves as their own refuge, with no other refuge; with the Dhamma as their island, with the Dhamma as their refuge, with no other refuge—it is these bhikkhus, Ānanda, who will be for me topmost of those keen on the training.”

- Translator: Bhikkhu Bodhi

- Editor: Blake Walsh


Sick

So I have heard.
At one time the Buddha was staying near Vesālī, at the little village of Beluva.
There the Buddha addressed the mendicants:
“Mendicants, please enter the rainy season residence with whatever friends or acquaintances you have around Vesālī.
I’ll commence the rainy season residence right here in the little village of Beluva.”
“Yes, sir,” those mendicants replied. They did as the Buddha said,
while the Buddha commenced the rainy season residence right there in the little village of Beluva.
After the Buddha had commenced the rainy season residence, he fell severely ill, struck by dreadful pains, close to death.
But he endured unbothered, with mindfulness and situational awareness.
Then it occurred to the Buddha:
“It would not be appropriate for me to become fully extinguished before informing my attendants and taking leave of the mendicant Saṅgha.
Why don’t I forcefully suppress this illness, stabilize the life force, and live on?”
So that is what he did.
Then the Buddha’s illness died down.
Soon after the Buddha had recovered from that sickness, he left his dwelling and sat in the shade of the porch on the seat spread out.
Then Venerable Ānanda went up to the Buddha, bowed, sat down to one side, and said to him:
“Sir, it’s fantastic that the Buddha is comfortable,
that he’s well,
and that he’s alright.
Because when the Buddha was sick, my body felt like it was drugged. I was disorientated, and the teachings didn’t spring to mind.
Still, at least I was consoled by the thought that
the Buddha won’t become fully extinguished without making some statement regarding the Saṅgha of mendicants.”
“But what could the mendicant Saṅgha expect from me now, Ānanda?
I’ve taught the Dhamma without making any distinction between secret and public teachings.
The Realized One doesn’t have the closed fist of a teacher when it comes to the teachings.
If there’s anyone who thinks:
‘I’ll take charge of the Saṅgha of mendicants,’ or ‘the Saṅgha of mendicants is meant for me,’ let them make a statement regarding the Saṅgha.
But the Realized One doesn’t think like this,

so why should he make some statement regarding the Saṅgha?
Now I am old, elderly and senior. I’m advanced in years and have reached the final stage of life.
I’m currently eighty years old.
Just as a decrepit cart keeps going by relying on straps,
in the same way, the Realized One’s body keeps going by relying on straps, or so you’d think.
Sometimes the Realized One, not focusing on any signs, and with the cessation of certain feelings, enters and remains in the signless immersion of the heart. Only then does the Realized One’s body become more comfortable.
So Ānanda, live as your own island, your own refuge, with no other refuge. Let the teaching be your island and your refuge, with no other refuge.
And how does a mendicant do this?
It’s when a mendicant meditates by observing an aspect of the body—keen, aware, and mindful, rid of desire and aversion for the world.
They meditate observing an aspect of feelings …
mind …
principles—keen, aware, and mindful, rid of desire and aversion for the world.
That’s how a mendicant lives as their own island, their own refuge, with no other refuge. That’s how the teaching is their island and their refuge, with no other refuge.
Whether now or after I have passed, any who shall live as their own island, their own refuge, with no other refuge; with the teaching as their island and their refuge, with no other refuge—those mendicants of mine who want to train shall be among the best of the best.”