He told me:
“Occasionally he did; but, more often he read my thoughts,
then used them as a way of teaching me Dhamma. Sometimes
other monks were listening as well, which really embarrassed
me. Fortunately, if other monks sat listening, Ãcariya Mun never
revealed the name of the offender – he merely spoke about the
relative merits of the thoughts in question.”
I wanted to know why he thought Ãcariya Mun scolded
him sometimes. He said:
“Do you know the word puthujjana?^11 It means a mind denser
than a mountain of stone, careening out of control. It doesn’t con-
sider whether thoughts are good or bad, right or wrong – which
was a sufficient reason for him to give a scolding.”
I asked him if he felt afraid when Ãcariya Mun scolded
him.
“Why shouldn’t I have been afraid? My body may not have
been shaking, but my mind certainly was. I almost forgot to
breathe at times. I have no doubt that Ãcariya Mun truly did
know the minds of others
- I experienced it myself. He could literally collect all my
thoughts, then confront me with them later. For example, from
time to time I rather foolishly thought about going off on my
own. If such a thought occurred to me at night, early the next
morning, as soon as I encountered him, Ãcariya Mun immedi-
ately started lecturing me: ‘Just where do you think you’re going?
It’s far better here than anywhere else. It’s best that you stay here
with me ...’ and so on. He never let these thoughts pass undetec-
ted. ‘It’s more enjoyable here. Staying here and listening to the
Dhamma is better than going off on your own.’ He never would