The Practice of Samadhi Requires Both Cessation and Insight

There are many forms of the "perfection of samadhi," too many to cover completely here. Instead, I'll briefly outline three: first, worldly samadhi; second, trans-worldly samadhi; and third, supreme trans-worldly samadhi.

"Samadhi" comes from the Sanskrit word dhyāna, which translates as "calm contemplation." "Calm" refers to cessation, while "contemplation" refers to insight—but this isn't the kind of contemplation driven by discursive, conceptual thinking.

If you want to cultivate samadhi, start by finding a quiet place where it’s easy to gather the mind. Sit upright with your posture aligned—neither leaning nor tilting, neither slumping forward nor arching back. Next, regulate your breath. Part your lips and teeth slightly to exhale stale air, draw in some fresh air, and then gently guide your nasal breathing into a smooth, even rhythm, neither too fast nor too slow. These are the essentials to settle before you begin. Once you're meditating, drop all discursive thoughts at once and let the mind come to rest in cessation.

But cessation without insight leads to dullness. The mind grows murky and sinks into a blank, unaware state—this isn't true samadhi. You have to arouse the light of wisdom to illuminate a huatou (critical phrase). The ancient masters established many huatou for this purpose. You might investigate, "Before my parents were born, what was my original face?" Or, "All dharmas return to one—where does that one return?" Or, "Who is reciting the Buddha's name?" Any of these will do.

Use the light of your own mind to observe, arouse the sensation of doubt, and investigate the huatou. Great doubt brings great awakening; small doubt brings small awakening; no doubt brings no awakening. So you must arouse this doubt to investigate, asking, "What is my original face?" Just be careful not to start analyzing it, thinking, "This is it" or "That isn't it." If you start discriminating, you'll fall into restlessness. The mind will scatter and run wild, caught up in deluded thoughts—and that, too, is not samadhi.

The practice of samadhi absolutely requires cultivating both cessation and insight together. When there is insight within cessation, you don't fall into dullness. When there is cessation within insight, you don't fall into restlessness. As an ancient master put it: "Quiet yet alert is right; blank, dead stillness is not. Alert yet quiet is right; scattered, deluded alertness is not." Only when cessation and insight work together do we find true samadhi. They are like the two wheels of a cart or the wings of a bird—you can't do without either one.

These days, some people practice quiet sitting by visualizing the lower dantian or the sea of qi, or by "refining essence into qi, and qi into spirit." These are all conditioned practices based on form. At best, they bring some health benefits or minor paranormal abilities. They are in no way the work of freeing oneself from the cycle of birth and death.

Let's look at the first type, worldly samadhi. "Worldly" refers to the realms of existence. In the two realms above the desire realm, the Form Realm contains four dhyanas and the Formless Realm contains four. But these are all "defiled" samadhis reached through gradual progression. In the Form Realm, the first dhyana brings the "samadhi of joy and bliss born from detachment"; the second brings the "samadhi of joy and bliss born from concentration"; the third brings the "samadhi of sublime bliss free from joy"; and the fourth brings the "samadhi of pure equanimity and mindfulness." In the Formless Realm, one leaves form behind and enters emptiness: there is the "samadhi of boundless space," the "samadhi of boundless consciousness," the "samadhi of nothingness," and the "samadhi of neither perception nor non-perception." These eight samadhis all involve entering, abiding in, and exiting the state. They are conditioned practices, not the unconditioned. Even if you remain in such samadhi for countless eons, your afflictions aren't actually severed, and the suffering of birth and death isn't escaped. Once the karmic reward of this life is exhausted, you'll simply return and scatter into various realms of existence. This is worldly samadhi.

Next is trans-worldly samadhi, the samadhi attained by the sages of the Three Vehicles. Arhats and pratyekabuddhas—practitioners of the two vehicles—attain the "samadhi of cessation," where perception and feeling cease and the sixth consciousness stops functioning. Yet their concentration can only sever afflictions within the three realms and eliminate self-attachment. It cannot break through dharma-attachment, nor can they step out of emptiness into the provisional world to teach and guide living beings. The samadhi cultivated by Mahayana bodhisattvas, on the other hand, is the innate samadhi of their true nature, refined and perfected through practice. Take the Śūraṅgama Samādhi, for instance: it takes the entire Dharma realm as its essence. It is right here in our sense faculties, yet encompasses all dharmas. It is simultaneously moving and still, uniting all phenomena and underlying principles without omission. It has no entering or exiting, harmonizing movement and stillness into a single whole. This samadhi, like that attained by the two vehicles, is undefiled. This is what we call trans-worldly samadhi.

Finally, supreme trans-worldly samadhi is what the Tathāgatas cultivate and realize. As the saying goes, a naga is constantly in samadhi—there is never a moment they are not. No matter how much chaos and change unfolds, their fundamental, singular mind remains entirely unmoved. It is like vast empty space: eternally still, clear, and constant. This is supreme trans-worldly samadhi.