If the heart doesn't have any inner nourishment, it won't have any
  strength, because it's hungry and thin. When it doesn't have any
  nourishment, it goes out eating whatever it can find -- bones and old
  dry skins -- without finding any decent food to eat or water to drink
  at all. This is why it ends up shriveled and dry, because the heart,
  if it doesn't have any inner goodness, is thin and gaunt, and goes
  running around all sorts of back alleys, scraping together whatever it
  can find just for the sake of having something to stick in its mouth.
  It doesn't get to eat anything good at all, though. It can't find a
  single thing to give it any flavor or nourishment. But if the heart is
  strong and well-fed, then whatever it thinks of doing is sure to
  succeed.

    The Buddha saw that we human beings are thin and malnourished in
  this way, which is why he felt compassion for us. He taught us, 'The
  mind that goes around swallowing sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and
  tactile sensations is eating a ball of fire, you know. Not any kind of
  food.' In other words, 'The eye is burning.' Everything we see with
  the eye is a form, and each of these forms contains a ball of fire,
  even though on the outside it's coated to look pretty and attractive.
  'The ear is burning.' All the pleasing sounds we search for, and that
  come passing in through our ears from the day we're born to the day we
  die, are burning sounds, are flames of fire. The heat of the sun can't
  burn you to death, but sounds //can// burn you to death, which is why
  we say they're hotter than the sun. 'The nose is burning.' We've been
  smelling smells ever since the doctor cleaned out our nose right after
  birth, and the nature of smells is that there's no such thing as a
  neutral smell. There are only two kinds: good smelling and
  foul-smelling. If our strength is down and we're not alert, we swallow
  these smells right into the mind -- and that means we've swallowed a
  time bomb. We're safe only as long as nothing ignites the fuse. 'The
  tongue is burning.' Countless tastes come passing over our tongue. If
  we get attached to them, it's as if we've eaten a ball of fire: As
  soon as it explodes, our intestines will come splattering out. If we
  human beings let ourselves get tied up in this sort of thing, it's as
  if we've eaten the fire bombs of the King of Death. As soon as they
  explode, we're finished. But if we know enough to spit them out, we'll
  be safe. If we swallow them, we're loading ourselves down. We won't be
  able to find any peace whether we're sitting, standing, walking or
  lying down, because we're on fire inside. Only when we breathe our
  last will the fires go out. 'The body is burning.' Tactile sensations
  are also a fire that wipes human beings out. If you don't have any
  inner worth or goodness in your mind, these things can really do you a
  lot of damage.

                                *  *  *

  Greed, anger, and delusion are like three enormous balls of red-hot
  iron that the King of Death heats until they're glowing hot and then
  pokes into our heads. When greed doesn't get what it wants, it turns
  into anger. Once we're angry, we get overcome and lose control, so
  that it turns into delusion. We forget everything -- good, bad, our
  husbands, wives, parents, children -- to the point where we can even
  kill our husbands, wives, parents, and children. This is all an affair
  of delusion. When these three defilements get mixed up in our minds,
  they can take us to hell with no trouble at all. This is why they're
  called fire bombs in the human heart.

    But if, when greed arises, we have the sense to take only what
  should be taken and not what shouldn't, it won't wipe us out even
  though it's burning us, because we have fire insurance. People without
  fire insurance are those with really strong greed to the point where
  they're willing to cheat and get involved in corruption or crime. When
  this happens, their inner fires wipe them out. To have fire insurance
  means that even though we feel greed, we can hold it in check and be
  generous with our belongings by giving donations, for instance, to the
  religion. Then even though we may die from our greed, we've still
  gained inner worth from making donations as an act of homage to the
  Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha -- which is like keeping our insurance
  payments up. This way, even though our house may burn down, we'll
  still have some property left.

    Anger. When this defilement really gets strong, it has no sense of
  good or evil, right or wrong, husband, wives, or children. It can
  drink human blood. An example we often see is when people get
  quarreling and one of them ends up in prison or even on death row,
  convicted for murder. This is even worse than your house burning down,
  because you have nothing left at all. For this reason, we have to get
  ourselves some life insurance by observing the five or eight precepts
  so that we can treat and bandage our open sores -- i.e., so that we
  can wash away the evil and unwise things in our thoughts, words, and
  deeds. Even if we can't wash them all away, we should try at least to
  relieve them somewhat. Although you may still have some fire left, let
  there just be enough to cook your food or light your home. Don't let
  there be so much that it burns your house down.

    //The only way to put out these fires is to meditate and develop
  thoughts of good will.// The mind won't feel any anger, hatred, or ill
  will, and instead will feel nothing but thoughts of sympathy, seeing
  that everyone in the world aims at goodness, but that our goodness
  isn't equal. You have to use really careful discernment to consider
  cause and effect, and then be forgiving, with the thought that we
  human beings aren't equal or identical in our goodness and evil. If
  everyone were equal, the world would fall apart. If we were equally
  good or equally bad, the world would have to fall apart for sure.
  Suppose that all the people in the world were farmers, with no
  merchants or government officials. Or suppose there were only
  government officials, with no farmers at all: We'd all starve to death
  with our mouths gaping and dry. If everyone were equal and identical,
  the end of the world would come in only a few days' time. Consider
  your body: Even the different parts of your own body aren't equal.
  Some of your fingers are short, some are long, some small, some large.
  If all ten of your fingers were equal, you'd have a monster's hands.
  So when even your own fingers aren't equal, how can you expect people
  to be equal in terms of their thoughts, words, and deeds? You have to
  think this way and be forgiving.

                                *  *  *

    When you can think in this way, your good will can spread to
  all people everywhere, and you'll feel sympathy for people 
  on high levels, low levels and in between. The big ball of 
  fire inside you will go out through the power of your good 
  will and loving kindness.

    This comes from getting life insurance: practicing tranquillity
  meditation so as to chase the defilements away from the mind. Thoughts
  of sensual desire, ill will, lethargy, restlessness, and uncertainty
  will vanish, and the mind will be firmly centered in concentration,
  using its powers of directed thought to stay with its meditation word
  -- //buddho// -- and its powers of evaluation to create a sense of
  inner lightness and ease. When the mind fills itself with rapture --
  the flavor arising from concentration -- it will have its own inner
  food and nourishment, so that whatever you do in thought, word, or
  deed is sure to succeed.

                            * * * * * * * *
 
 

                           FOOD FOR THE MIND
                      July, 1958; August 10, 1957

  There are two kinds of food for the mind: the kind that gives it
  strength and the kind that saps its strength. What this refers to is
  (1) the food of sensory contact -- the contact that takes place at the
  eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and intellect. There are six mouthfuls
  of this kind of food. (2) The food of consciousness, i.e., the
  consciousness of contact that takes place at each of the six senses.
  There are six mouthfuls of this kind, too. (3) The food of intention
  or mental concomitants, i.e., the thoughts that are formed in the
  heart, leading it to think of the past or future and to know if things
  are good or bad, pleasant or painful. Once we know that our body and
  mind depend on these kinds of food, we should use our discernment to
  reflect on them and evaluate them carefully.

    Discernment is what forms the teeth of the mind. When children are
  small, they need to depend on others to mince or strain their food;
  but when they grow up, they have their own teeth and don't need to
  depend on anyone else. If people are really discerning, they don't
  need to chew coarse food at all. For example, an intelligent hunter,
  once he's killed an animal, will remove the feathers and wings or cut
  off the antlers and hooves and take home just the useful part. Then he
  cuts the meat off in pieces so that it can serve as food. In other
  words, if he's intelligent, he throws away the inedible parts piece by
  piece.

    In the same way, intelligent people who want the inner quality of
  dispassion have to take the discernment that comes from concentration
  and use it to evaluate sights, sounds, smells, tastes, etc., so that
  these things can serve a purpose and not do them any harm. Whoever
  eats an entire fish -- bones, scales, fins, feces, and all -- is sure
  to choke to death on the bones. For this reason, we have to find a
  knife and chopping block -- in other words, use mindfulness to focus
  on, say, a visual object, and discernment to consider what kind of
  object it is. Is it something we should get involved with or not? What
  kind of benefits or harm will it cause for the mind? If it's a visual
  object that will cause harm to the mind, you shouldn't get involved
  with it. //If it's a good-looking object, look for its bad side as
  well.// Be a person with two eyes. Sometimes an object looks good, but
  we don't look for its bad side. Sometimes it looks bad, but we don't
  look for its good side. If something looks beautiful, you have to
  focus on its bad side as well. If it looks bad, you have to focus on
  its good side, too.

    If you aren't selective in what you eat, you can ruin your health.
  Pleasing objects are like sugar and honey: They're sure to attract all
  sorts of ants and flies. Disagreeable objects are like filth: In
  addition to carrying germs, they're sure to attract all sorts of other
  bad things, too, because they're crawling with flies and worms. If we
  aren't discerning, we'll gobble down the filth together with the worms
  and smelly parts, and the sugar together with the ants and flies. Your
  heart is already in poor health, and yet you go gobbling down things
  that are toxic. When this happens, no one can cure you but you
  yourself.

    For this reason, you have to keep the heart neutral, on the middle
  path. Don't be pleased by the objects you think are pleasing; don't
  hate the objects you think are disagreeable. Don't be a person with
  only one eye or one ear. When you can do this, you're equipped with
  discernment. You can spit visual objects, sounds, smells, tastes,
  etc., out of the heart. Once you can see that 'good' has 'bad' hiding
  behind it, and 'bad' has 'good' hiding behind it -- in the same way
  that the body has both a front and a back -- you shouldn't let
  yourself fall for sights, sounds, smells, etc. You have to consider
  them carefully.

    The mind has two basic sorts of food: good mental states and bad
  mental states. If you think in ways that are good, you'll give
  strength to the mind. If you're discerning, you'll get to eat fine
  food. If you aren't, you'll have to eat crude food -- e.g., you'll get
  a crab, and you'll eat the whole thing raw, without knowing how to
  boil it and peel away the shell and the claws. The effort of
  meditation is like a fire; concentration is like a pot; mindfulness,
  like a chopping block; and discernment, a knife. Intelligent people
  will use these things to prepare their food so that its nourishment --
  the nourishment of the Dhamma -- will permeate into the heart to give
  it five kinds of strength:

    (1) The strength of conviction.

    (2) The strength of persistence: The heart, when we're persistent,
  is like the wheels of an automobile that keep turning and propelling
  it toward its goal, enabling us to see the gains that come from our
  persistence.

    (3) The strength of mindfulness: Having mindfulness is like knowing
  when to open and when to close your windows and doors.

    (4) The strength of concentration: Concentration will be firmly
  established in the mind whether we're sitting, standing, walking,
  lying down, speaking, or listening. We can listen without getting
  stuck on what's said, and speak without getting stuck on what we say.

    (5) The strength of discernment: We'll gain wisdom and understanding
  with regard to all things, so that eventually we'll attain purity of
  mind -- by letting go of all thoughts of past and future, and not
  being pleased or displeased by any sights, sounds, smells, tastes,
  etc., at all.

                            * * * * * * * *
 
 

                           FIRST THINGS FIRST
                            October 6, 1958

  There are three ways in which people order their priorities: putting
  the world first, putting themselves first, and putting the Dhamma
  first.

    //Putting the world first:// There's nothing at all dependable about
  the affairs of the world. Stop and think for a moment: Ever since you
  were born, from your first memory up to the present day, what is the
  best thing that has ever happened in your life? What is the most
  enjoyable thing? What have you liked the most? If you answer, you have
  to say that of all the things in the world, only 50 percent are
  satisfactory; the other 50 are unsatisfactory. But if you asked me,
  I'd answer that there's nothing satisfactory about the world at all.
  There's nothing but stress and misery. You get friends and they take
  advantage of you. You get possessions and you have to worry about
  them. You get money and you end up suffering for it. The people you
  work with aren't as good as you'd like them to be. Your family and
  relatives are nothing but trouble. In short, I don't see anything that
  really brings a person any real happiness. You get money and it brings
  trouble. You get friends and they make you suffer. The people you live
  and work with don't get along smoothly. This is the way it is with the
  world. For this reason, anyone whose mind runs along in the current of
  the world is bound for nothing but pain and sorrow. The Buddha taught,
  'For the mind not to be affected by the ways of the world is to be
  serene and free from sorrow: This is the highest good fortune.'

    The world has eight edges, and each edge is razor sharp, capable of
  slicing human beings to bits without mercy. The eight edges of the
  world are, on the one side, the edge of wealth, the edge of status,
  the edge of praise, and the edge of pleasure. These four edges are
  especially sharp because they're things we like. We keep polishing and
  sharpening them, and the more we do this the sharper they get, until
  ultimately they turn around and slit our throats.

    The other side has four edges too, but actually they're not so
  sharp, because no one likes to use them. No one wants them, so no one
  sharpens them, and as a result they're dull and blunt -- and like dull
  knives, they can't kill anyone. These four edges are loss of wealth,
  loss of status, criticism, and pain. No one wants any of these things,
  but they have to exist as part of the world.

    How are the sharp edges sharp? Take status for an example. As soon
  as people gain status and rank, they start swelling up larger than
  they really are. You don't have to look far for examples of this sort
  of thing. Look at monks. When they start out as ordinary junior monks,
  they can go anywhere with no trouble at all, along highways and
  byways, down narrow alleys and back streets, anywhere they like. But
  as soon as they start getting a little ecclesiastical rank, they start
  getting abnormally large. The roads they used to walk along start
  feeling too narrow. They have trouble walking anywhere -- their legs
  are too long and their feet too heavy. Their rears are too large for
  ordinary seats. (Of course, not all high-ranking monks are like this.
  You can find ones who don't swell up.) As for lay people, once they're
  hit by the edge of status, they start swelling up too, to the point
  where they can hardly move. Their hands get too heavy to raise in
  respect to the Buddha. Their legs get so big they can't make it to the
  monastery to hear a sermon or observe the precepts -- they're afraid
  they'd lose their edge. This is how one of the edges of the world
  kills the goodness in people.

    As for the edge of wealth, this refers to money and possessions. As
  soon as we get a lot, we start getting stingy. We become wary of
  making too many offerings or of being too generous with others because
  we're afraid we'll run out of money. This is why rich people tend to
  be stingy and drown in their wealth. As for poor people, they can give
  away everything and then work to replace it. They can give offerings
  and be generous, with rarely any sense of regret. Their arms and legs
  aren't too big, so they can come to the monastery with no trouble at
  all.

    The edge of pleasure is very sharp, because wherever you get your
  pleasure, that's where you get stuck. If your pleasure comes from your
  friends, you're stuck on your friends. If your pleasure comes from
  your children or grandchildren, you're stuck on your children and
  grandchildren. If your pleasure comes from eating, sleeping or going
  out at night, then that's where you're stuck. You're not willing to
  trade in your pleasure for the sake of inner worth because you're
  afraid of letting your pleasure fall from your grasp. You can't
  observe the five or eight precepts because they make you force and
  deny yourself. If you observe the eight precepts, you can't go see a
  movie or show and can't sleep on a nice soft mattress. You're afraid
  that if you miss one evening meal, you'll get hungry or weak. You
  don't want to sit and meditate because you're afraid your back will
  hurt or your legs will go numb. So this is how the edge of pleasure
  destroys your goodness.

    As for the edge of praise, this too is razor sharp. When people are
  praised, they start floating and don't want to come down. They hear
  praise and it's so captivating that they forget themselves and think
  that they're already good enough -- so they won't think of making the
  effort to make themselves better in other ways.

    All four of these edges are weapons that kill our goodness. They're
  like the paint people use on houses to make them pretty: something
  that can last only a while and then has to fade and peel away. If you
  can view these things simply as part of the passing scenery, without
  getting stuck on them, they won't do you any harm. But if you latch
  onto them as really being your own, the day is sure to come when
  you'll have to meet with disappointment -- loss of wealth, loss of
  status, criticism, and pain -- because it's a law of nature that
  however far things advance, that 's how far they have to regress. If
  you don't lose them while you're alive, you'll lose them when you die.
  They can't stay permanent and lasting.

    Once we realize this truth, then when we meet with any of the good
  edges of the world we shouldn't get so carried away that we forget
  ourselves; and when we meet with any of the bad edges we shouldn't let
  ourselves get so discouraged or sad that we lose hope. Stick to your
  duties as you always have. Don't let your goodness suffer because of
  these eight ways of the world.

    //Putting yourself first:// This means acting, speaking and thinking
  whatever way you like without any thought for what's right or wrong,
  good or bad. In other words, you feel you have the right to do
  whatever you want. You may see, for instance, that something isn't
  good, and you know that other people don't like it, but you like it,
  so you go ahead and do it. Or you may see that something is good, but
  you don't like it, so you don't do it. Sometimes you may like
  something, and it's good, but you don't do it -- it's good, but you
  just can't do it.

    When you're practicing the Dhamma, though, then whether or not you
  like something, you have to make yourself do it. //You have to make
  the Dhamma your life, and your life into Dhamma// if you want to
  succeed. You can't use the principle of giving priority to your own
  likes at all.

    //Putting the Dhamma first:// This is an important principle for
  those who practice. The duties of every Buddhist are (1) to develop
  virtue by observing the precepts, (2) to center the mind in
  concentration, and (3) to use discernment to investigate the truth
  without giving rein to defilement.

    The basic level of virtue is to prevent our words and deeds from
  being bad or evil. This means observing the five precepts: not killing
  any living beings, not stealing, not engaging in illicit sex, not
  lying, and not taking intoxicants. These are the precepts that wash
  away the gross stains on our conduct. They're precepts that turn us
  from common animals into human beings and prevent us from falling into
  states of deprivation and woe.

    The intermediate level of virtue turns human beings into celestial
  beings. This refers to restraint of the senses: keeping watch over the
  way we react to our senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste, feeling,
  and ideation so that they don't give rise to bad mental states. This
  can turn human beings into celestial beings, but even then we haven't
  escaped from death and rebirth, because when celestial beings run out
  of merit they have to come back and be reborn as human beings again.
  They still have to keep swimming around in the cycle of rebirth.

    Those who can gain release from all forms of evil, however, won't
  have to be reborn as animals, human beings, or celestial beings ever
  again. This refers to people who practice concentration and can
  abandon all evil in their hearts by developing the stages of
  absorption (//jhana//) and discernment until they reach the level of
  Non-returning. When they die, they go to the Brahma worlds, and there
  they develop their hearts still further, purifying them of all
  defilements, becoming arahants and ultimately attaining total
  Liberation.

    The basic level of virtue protects our words and deeds from being
  evil. The intermediate level protects our senses and keeps them clean
  -- which means that we don't let the three defilements of passion,
  aversion/ and delusion be provoked into action by what we see, hear,
  smell, taste, touch/ or think.

    As for the highest level of virtue -- inner virtue -- this means
  giving rise to Right Concentration within the mind:

    (1) On this level, 'not killing' means not killing off your
  goodness. For instance, if bad thoughts arise and you aren't careful
  to wipe them out, their evil will come pouring in and your goodness
  will have to die. This is because your mind is still caught up on good
  and evil. Sometimes you use good to kill evil. Sometimes you use evil
  to kill good: This is called killing yourself.

    (2) 'Stealing' on this level refers to the way the mind likes to
  take the good and bad points of other people to think about. This sort
  of mind is a thief -- because we've never once asked other people
  whether they're possessive of their good and bad points or are willing
  to share them with us. For the most part, what we take is their old
  dried up garbage. I.e., we like to focus on their bad points. Even
  though they may have good points, we don't let ourselves see them. We
  take our own opinions as our guide and as a result we end up as fools
  without realizing it.

    (3) 'Illicit sensuality' on this level refers to the state of mind
  that is stuck on sights, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile sensations,
  and ideas, or that lies fermenting in greed, anger, and delusion. In
  other words, the mind is impure and is always involved with sensual
  objects and moods.

    (4) 'Lying' on this level means not being true. How are we not true?
  We come to the monastery but our minds are at home. We listen to the
  sermon but our hearts are thinking of something else. Our bodies may
  be sitting in the meditation position, just like the Buddha, but our
  minds are roaming around through all sorts of thoughts, gnawing on the
  past, nibbling at the future, not finding any meat at all This is
  called lying to yourself and to others as well. How is it lying to
  others? Suppose you go home and someone asks, 'Where did you go
  today?' and you answer, 'I went to the monastery to listen to a
  sermon.' Actually, your body came, but you didn't come. Your body
  listened, but you didn't listen. This has to be classed as a kind of
  lying.

    (5) 'Intoxication' on this level refers to delusion and
  absentmindedness. If we're going to contemplate body, feelings, mind,
  and mental qualities, our minds have to be still and really focused on
  these things. But if we're absentminded and forgetful, our minds go
  down the wrong path, weaving in and out, back and forth like a
  drunkard. Sometimes we end up falling down in a stupor and lying there
  on the side of the road. Nothing good will come of it.

    Those who are careful to keep their minds firmly centered in
  concentration and to keep the five precepts on this level pure and
  whole, though, are said to be developing the highest perfection of
  virtue -- showing respect for the Dhamma above and beyond the world,
  above and beyond themselves. This is called putting the Dhamma first
  in a way befitting those who practice it. This is what it means to be
  a true Buddhist in a way that will eventually lead us to release from
  all suffering and stress.

                           * * * * * * * *
 
 

                            QUIET BREATHING

  Now I'd like to explain a little about how to meditate. Sitting in
  meditation is a worthwhile activity. The outer part of the activity is
  to sit in a half-lotus position with your right leg on top of your
  left leg; your hands palm-up in your lap, your right hand on top of
  your left. Keep your body erect. Close your eyes, but don't close them
  off like a person asleep. Your optic nerves have to keep working to
  some extent or else you'll get drowsy.

    These activities are the outer aspects of good meditation, but they
  aren't what makes the meditation good. You also need to have the right
  object for the mind to dwell on, and the right intention: the
  intention to keep the in-and-out breath in mind, to adjust it so that
  it's comfortable, and to keep the breath and mind together so that
  they don't slip away from each other. When you can do this properly,
  you'll gain beneficial results in terms of both body and mind -- i.e.,
  the right quality you're looking for, termed 'inner worth', which
  means a soothing sense of ease, comfort, fullness, and well-being.

    When you sit and meditate, keep noticing whether or not your mind is
  staying with the in-and-out breath. You have to keep mindfulness in
  charge of the mind. For example, when you breathe in, think //bud//;
  when you breathe out, think //dho//. //Bud-dho.// Be mindful. Don't
  let yourself forget or slip away. Put aside all your outside
  responsibilities and let go of all outside thoughts and perceptions.
  Keep your mind with nothing but the breath. You don't have to turn
  your attention to anything else.

    Usually when you sit and meditate, though, thoughts of past and
  future tend to appear and get in the way of the quality of your
  meditation. Thoughts of this sort -- whether they're about things past
  or yet to come, about the world or the Dhamma -- have no good to them
  at all. They'll simply cause you trouble and suffering. They make the
  mind restless and disturbed so that it can't gain any peace and calm
  -- because things that are past have already passed. There's no way
  you can bring them back or change them. Things in the future haven't
  reached us yet, so we can't know whether or not they'll be in line
  with our expectations. They're far away and uncertain, so there's no
  way they'll be any help to our thinking at all.

    For this reason, we have to keep hold on the mind to keep it in the
  present by fixing it on nothing but the breath. To think about the
  breath is called directed thought, as when we think buddho together
  with the breath -- //bud// in, //dho// out, like we're doing right
  now. When we start evaluating the breath, we let go of //buddho// and
  start observing how far the effects of each in-and-out breath can be
  felt in the body. When the breath comes in, does it feel comfortable
  or not? When it goes out, does it feel relaxed or not? If it doesn't
  feel comfortable and relaxed, change it. When you keep the mind
  preoccupied with investigating the breath, let go of //buddho//. You
  don't have any need for it. Mindful awareness will fill the body, and
  the in-breath will start to feel as if it's permeating the body
  throughout. When we let go of //buddho//, our evaluation of the breath
  becomes more refined; the movement of the mind will calm down and
  become concentration; outside perceptions will fall silent. 'Falling
  silent' doesn't mean that our ears go blank or become deaf. It means
  that our attention doesn't go running to outside perceptions or to
  thoughts of past or future. Instead, it stays exclusively in the
  present.

    When we fix our attention on the breath in this way, constantly
  keeping watch and being observant of how the breath is flowing, we'll
  come to know what the in-breath and out-breath are like, whether or
  not they're comfortable, what way of breathing in makes us feel good,
  what way of breathing out makes us feel good, what way of breathing
  makes us feel tense and uncomfortable. If the breath feels 
  uncomfortable, try to adjust it so that it gives rise to a sense of
  comfort and ease.

    When we keep surveying and evaluating the breath in this way,
  mindfulness and self-awareness will take charge within us. Stillness
  will develop, discernment will develop, knowledge will develop within
  us.

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