Why do we feel this persistent lack? It is because what ordinary beings experience as satisfaction is rooted in the perceived split between the self and the external world. Trapped in this illusory habit of dualistic perception, one can only seek gratification by grasping at external objects—sating hunger requires food, fulfilling sexual desire requires a partner.
Yet such dependently arisen satisfaction is hard to secure and easily fade, being inherently impermanent. Thus, we remain caught in a cycle of perceived insufficiency.
When an ordinary being attach themselves to an external object, over time they naturally experience a growing inner numbness,and the initial intensity of pleasure gradually wanes.Thus, this compels a continual search for new stimuli or more intense versions of the existing ones—all in an effort to sustain gratification through relentless grasp and replacement.
In economics, this pattern is described by the principle of “diminishing marginal utility.”From individual feelings, this corresponds to what Dharma practice calls “fatigue of the cognizer.”
On the material level, we often experience a certain weariness. Take people from southern China for example: while they typically prefer rice, after consuming it day after day, they may develop a craving for noodles simply for variety. For someone who never tires of rice, if asked to eat their favorite rice dish for three consecutive days, they would certainly find it hard to endure. Even with medication, prolonged use can lead to drug resistance, necessitating the development of new alternatives.
By comparison, a sense of lack arises even more readily in the psychological realm. An ordinary person’s wardrobe may be more abundant than that of most wealthy people in the past, yet there always seems to be“one piece missing.” Food, clothing, and daily necessities not only come in endless varieties but also must keep up with trends—which is why the media constantly touts “novelty” as a selling point. What is referred to as “retro fashion”? It is little more than reviving old styles to alleviate aesthetic fatigue. When this kind of cognizer fatigue extends to romantic relationships, the effect is much the same. In the early stages of love, one might exclaim, “Wow,she or he takes my breath away!” But after seven years? That’s when trouble often begins—this very dynamic underlies at the heart of many failed marriages.
Looking at it this way, many things become clear.
"Why does a good man become unfaithful?"
"Why does a virtuous woman stray from her marriage?"
The answer is simple — when inner joy fades, what remains is spiritual poverty.
If your happiness depends entirely on external sources, you are destined to experience this inner emptiness.
"Contentment brings happiness!" — it has become a time-worn saying, but the crucial question is: how can we actually achieve contentment? Within the habitual framework of dualistic perception, genuine contentment remains out of reach. A sense of scarcity permeates every facet of life—whenever we dwell in a state of comfort for some time, the very object or circumstance that brought us pleasure begins to lose its value. It no longer stirs joy within us, for it fails to sustain that initial thrill.
This thrill need not refer solely to intense stimulation, such as drinking or sexual intimacy. Even if your demands are modest—seeking only the simplest form of contentment and peace—it remains equally difficult to sustain such a state unchanged over time. Imagine being confined alone in a room, practicing "tang ping" (the Chinese concept of passive resignation) every day, with food and shelter provided and nothing required of you. Would you truly accept that? Anyone who claims they would is likely speaking lightly—having never experienced it, they cannot know that prolonged isolation could drive a person to madness.
For a Buddhist practitioner, one might assume that being confined would be a wish come true — "Lock me up, perfect for practice!" Yet reality often proves otherwise. If a practitioner has not yet developed genuine meditative bliss, even extended retreat can become unbearable. As the mind wanders and emotions fluctuate, one may start yearning intensely for things once found annoying — the noise of traffic, the chaos of crowds, even the scolding of a former rival. "Ah, I’d actually love to hear him scold me again! Is there anyone out there who could come and shout at me?"
In moments of solitude, the sense of individuality intensifies dramatically — raging like wildfire, it clamors unrestrainedly for objects to grasp.
Why then does realizing one's innate nature and abiding in non-attachment free one from all sense of lack? Because the nature of mind is non-dual—utterly free from fabrication, yet inherently endowed with great bliss, in what is known as the union of bliss and emptiness. This state of peace and joy does not require grasping at external objects to arise, and therefore leaves no room for any sense of lack. It does not exist as a substantial entity—it is neither coming nor going. Yet the joy born of non-attachment flows continuously.In such a mind liberated from dualistic grasping, the enduring, intrinsically complete bliss naturally manifests, revealing the very meaning of life.
Precisely because it is not a substantial entity, but rather the very essence of all worldly phenomena, it can encompass any form of worldly joy. Abiding in this nature, one may freely partake of all mundane pleasures as circumstances allow, yet never become bound by them into suffering.
When one systematically comprehends these principles, the essential path of practice becomes clear. For instance, why do we practice the meditation on partial emptiness? On one hand, it allows the apparent solidity of external objects to gradually dissolve, thereby reducing its power over us. On the other hand, it softens our sense of a separate self, taming the tyranny of subjective emotions. In this way, the habit of dualistic perception is progressively weakened, opening the way to direct realization of the non-dual nature.
And why cultivate bodhicitta (the mind of awakening) and guru yoga (the practice of merging with the nature of the teacher)? These two methods, known in Vajrayana as the "vajra threshold" (the indispensable yet arduous gateway to tantric practice), possess unparalleled power to undermine and ultimately dissolve both self-grasping of persons (ātma-grāha) and self-grasping of phenomena (dharma-grāha), thereby thoroughly severing the very roots of dualistic perception.
If one can relinquish the dualistic cognitive habit dominated by grasping at a personal self, the mind will naturally abide in non-attached joy and effortless freedom. No longer will one engage in dualistic grasping and rejection in the pursuit of happiness! As the Third Zen Patriarch Sengcan profoundly stated:
The perfect Way is without difficulty;
it only avoids dualistic choices.
Do not hate or love,
and all will be clearly revealed.
— It is precisely through the absence of "aversion and craving" that one ceases "discriminating choice," thereby realizing "without difficulty" and seeing "all clearly revealed."
Yet to truly relinquish the cognitive habit of dualistic perception is not as simple as uttering words or sitting cross-legged in meditation. It demands sustained study, contemplation, and practice, achieved only through gradual and repeated application and internalization of Dharma insights within the mindstream. Should anyone ask, "But I can't do it—isn't there some pith instruction that can bring immediate awakening?" I would respond: Just think it through. If such a method truly existed, why would it fall to someone like me to speak of it? Would it not have been taught over 2,500 years ago by Sakyamuni Buddha—the one supremely perfect in both wisdom and compassion? Surely it would have been revealed long ago！
