By Jack Kornfield
The next three steps of the Eightfold Path have to do more with inner
work of meditation than outer work of Right Livelihood and Right Speech,
and so forth. The next step is called Right Effort. It's very important
in understanding spiritual practice.
Ramana Maharshi, the great Indian master, one of the greatest ever,
and certainly in the last century or so, said:
Enlightenment is not your birthright.
Those who succeed do so only through proper effort.
It was an amazing thing for him to say because he became fully enlightened
at seventeen years old when he went to his uncle's house and said, "I
wonder what it would be like to die. I think I'll try it." And
he laid down on the floor and died, and then came back somehow. It's
hard to know whether he physically died, but it seemed like he died,
and he came back with a very different perspective on life. Nevertheless,
he taught for many, many years, and even he said this.
One day Nasrudin went to the market with a recipe for some kind of
liver and kidney pie, or something like that, and he bought the meat.
He had the recipe in one hand and he took the stuff for his pie in
the other hand. And a huge raven or crow saw him walking home and swooped
down from a tree nearby and grabbed the meat out of his hand and flew
off with it. And Nasrudin shook his head and said, "It won't do
you any good. You don't have the recipe."
It gets kind of reversed for us. Most of us, especially living in
California, as we do, are overburdened with spiritual recipes. How
many Dharma talks, how many spiritual books, how many retreats, how
many good therapy things, how many sesshins, and how many whatever
have you had? You have the recipe. Like all the people sitting under
the bodhi tree with the Dalai Lama, and the pilgrims who had come from
miles and miles on foot from the high Himalayas to be with the Dalai
Lama in Bodhgaya, he said, "Okay, you're here, and you think you're
very fortunate because you have the blessings of being under this bodhi
tree where the Buddha was enlightened, with all these famous lamas,
and the Dalai Lama himself, and you have the teachings, the sacred
meditations, and mantras, and all these things. It won't do you any
good. The only thing that makes it work is if you take the trouble
to practice it. All the rest of it is very nice, and you might as well
watch Dallas or something like that. It's not so different. Maybe you
would learn more from Dallas, I don't know. At least it wouldn't be
pretentiously spiritual." So the answer is "effort."
Effort is central in our spiritual practice. Traditionally, there
are four kinds of effort that are talked about. The effort to deal
with unskillful things has two parts. First, the effort to abandon
that which is unskillful, and that means abandoning our grasping, our
fear, our hatred, or our anger. It doesn't mean judging oneself or
resisting it. It means learning skillful means not to be so caught
up in things, not to be so attached. Then, the effort to maintain their
absence, once you're figured out how to let go of them some. It's like
Mark Twain and smoking. You all heard that. When someone asked if he
had ever stopped smoking, he said, "Sure, it was easy. I've done
it thousands of times." The second effort is the effort to maintain
that abandonment in some fashion.
The other two traditional definitions of Right Effort have to do
with that which is skillful; the effort to develop or cultivate or
nourish that which is skillful within ourselves, and then the effort
to maintain or sustain it, so that in some fashion it stays with us.
This is from the Dhammapada:
One person on the battlefield conquers an army
of a thousand persons,
Another conquers himself,
and that is greater.
Conquer yourself and not others,
and thereupon learn freedom.
So it's the effort of learning how to cultivate or generate that
which is skillful -- which means awareness, loving-kindness, or caring
for the world around you, or living more in the present, the effort
to abandon the habits, the fears of things that we get caught in that
create suffering and that keeps us in the muck, and the effort to sustain
them. This is wonderful because it's a teaching that can apply very
much to our daily life; it's not just a retreat teaching. It's small
habits and all the little pieces. Our life is made up of little activities,
little pieces, little habits, and little ways. And we can begin to
work with the way we drive our car, the way that we relate to people
at work, or the way we eat, what we choose to eat, and how we set about
eating -- to make those things more conscious. To make our approach
to these bear the fruit of greater awareness, greater attention, of
more caring, of more kindness.
Think now for just a moment: what are a few things in your own life
that could well be served by bringing a little more of this effort,
this effort to pay attention, or the effort to let go and abandon?
What little things do you do that you could use in some way to wake
up more, to awaken?
Fundamentally, the meaning for Right Effort can be expressed in a
simple way: it's the effort to be aware, the effort to see clearly,
to pay attention. That's Right Effort. One Zen master was asked, "Would
you give me the essence of the teachings?" He wrote down, "attention".
Then the person said, "Fine. Now would you give me the whole teachings,
the commentary, and how I should undertake it?" He wrote down, "Attention,
attention." The person said, "Isn't there anything else?" And
he said, 'Attention, attention, attention. That is it, to be present,
to see clearly."
Right Effort isn't so much the effort to make the world a different
place, as it is the effort to understand the nature of this world,
of our body, our mind, this life.
Why is it hard to make the Right Effort, why is it hard to pay attention?
It's hard for different reasons. It's hard because we sometimes don't
want to see. You know, this idea of "Be Here Now," and so
forth, it sounds good,.It's not so good. It isn't, because what happens
when you're here now? Has anybody looked? What do you have to be here
now with? Pain, boredom, fear, loneliness, pleasure, joy, beautiful
sunsets, wonderful tastes, horrible experiences, people being born,
people dying, light, dark, up, down, parking your car on the wrong
side of the street, getting your car towed; all those things. For if
you live here, it means that you have to be open to what Zorba called "The
whole catastrophe." Sometimes we don't want that.
Right effort is the effort to see clearly. This world is crazed.
There's war, there's prejudice, there's political prisoners, there's
all this kind of suffering that we need to remember living in Marin,
because it's really kind of a ghetto that we live in, and we forget
how incredibly fortunate we are.
I had a letter today from someone I know . She's kind of middle-aged
and very poor, and just gets by doing some sewing, and her husband
works in a gas station. They live in Florida. They are related to some
people I know. They've had a very hard life. She has some kind of progressive
degenerative disease. They do not live in such a nice neighborhood,
and their house was broken into, and the few things of any value that
they had were just stolen. I thought, "God, here I live in such
a nice place, and have nice things, and I leave the front door open
most of the time, and don't worry about it," and we forget what
blessings we have. We forget about the sorrow and the struggle in the
world. Part of the effort is to really wake up and to look at ourselves
and at the world around us, and to be conscious of it, not to be just
My teacher Achaan Chah said there are two basic ways of practice.
One way of practice is to be comfortable. And it's valuable. You can
sit a little and get yourself quiet. You keep the precepts, so you
don't harm people, and they start to like you. You say "Om" at
dinner. You chant a little before you eat. And everything becomes nicer
in your life. It becomes more comfortable and more pleasant because
you live a good life and you're peaceful. The other way to approach
spiritual practice is not to be involved in trying to be comfortable,
but rather to be free or liberated. And that way of practice has nothing
whatsoever to do with comfort. Comfort may come and it may not. Sometimes
it may be terribly uncomfortable, but its goal or its direction is
not comfort; its goal is freedom. It's a wonderful thing, and it's
a real legacy of the Buddha.
Right Effort means we really need to start to pay attention, and
to see how fortunate we are, and to begin to see the laws that govern
the world within which we live.
Another friend of mine just called me this week and said her husband
who is in his mid-forties has advanced lung cancer; he just found out
about it a few days earlier. Then she called about four days after
that. She asked me what was the lesson in that. She said, "You're
a teacher. Tell me what the lesson is." I don't know what the
lesson is. I said, "I don't know. Call me later, maybe I can think
of one." And she called back. If you trust people they generally
find out what the lesson is anyway. She said, "I know what the
lesson is." I said, "What?" And she said, "The
lesson is to love people while you have them, when they're here." It
was so sweet and so touching because it came from a place where she
really, really knew it. It's to take care with what we have that's
beautiful, and nourish it; and that which isn't, to abandon it.
I'll read you a passage from Nisargadatta Maharaj, the old bidi wallah
who I studied with in Bombay; wonderful old teacher. He sold little
Indian cigarettes on the street corner, and he was fully enlightened
somehow at the same time. He had these classes. He died a couple of
years ago. He was a wonderful old man.
What can truth or reality gain by all our practice?
He uses truth and love interchangeably. He says:
Nothing whatsoever, of course. But it is in the nature of truth or
love, cosmic consciousness, whatever you want to call it, to express
itself, to affirm itself, to overcome difficulties. Once you've understood
that the world is love in action, consciousness or love in action,
you will look at it quite differently. But first your attitude to suffering
must change. Suffering is primarily a call for attention, which itself
is a movement of love. More than happiness, love wants growth, the
widening and deepening of awareness and consciousness and being. Whatever
prevents that becomes a cause of pain, and love does not shirk from
That's an amazing thing to say, that love doesn't shirk from pain,
that what loves wants is not pleasure. You live in Marin, you know
about pleasure. It's wonderful, but it gets boring after awhile. It
does! There is something deeper or higher, that's richer, that is our
capacity, or our birthright, or our deepest need. I don't know what
it is, but it is different than just pleasure.
What does it mean to make Right Effort? We've touched this, or we
want that, or we want to discover or open. There are two different
approaches or styles to effort. I've practiced with them both, and
I'll put them out, and you can listen and see which works better for
One is the Rinzai approach, using Zen terminology, where there is
enlightenment, and it's a goal, and you work very hard - you literally
bust your ass on your cushion or whatever you do to get to satori or
kensho or enlightenment, and you really make an effort directed to
One of the ways of practice in the Theravada tradition that I'd done
in the Sun Lun Monastery was to sit without moving a minimum of four
sittings a day of two hours. The first hour was heavy breathing, where
you sat and did as full and deep breathing as you were capable of for
an hour. And the sayadaw was sort of like a football coach, and he
would come around and say, "Harder, more." And you concentrate
on it. You get very concentrated in an hour. If you were sleepy it
woke you up; if you had thoughts it kind of blasted them out of your
head; and by the end of an hour you were very present. Then the next
hour you continued to sit without moving, and used that concentration
just to be with what your experience was. It was very powerful.
Or the kind of effort in the Mahasi Monastery where I practiced where
you sit and walk l5 or l6 hours a day, or l8 if you can. You sleep
for four hours and you eat a little bit. You sit motionless, you don't
move, and the sittings are shorter, 45 minutes or an hour, and you
don't make a a movement without paying attention to it. Lift your hand,
blink your eyes, "blinking, turning, moving." You pay attention
to every single little thing. Why do that? It sounds so hard. It is,
it is very, very hard. And if you start to do it, all the defilements,
all the desires, all the fears, all the reasons that you keep yourself
spaced out and in fantasy, and don't want to pay attention, they all
come at once. Like this wall. And you just sit, and you just walk,
and you do it. The purpose is to dissolve the sense of solidity of
the world. If you pay attention that carefully, and that fully, or
that deeply with concentration -- that's next week's talk on Right
Concentration -- you begin to see that what's solid is not solid, and
that what seems as "I" or "body and mind together" starts
to dissolve into all these little parts. There are the four physical
elements, the different mood states, and consciousness, hearing, seeing,
smelling, and tasting. And that's all there is! And it takes the whole
show apart, but it takes a powerful concentration and a sustained attention
to do it. It really is going through fire. There's even a physical
There's a book I read recently by Ireena Tweedy called "Chasm
of Fire". She's this old Sufi lady who worked with this master
in India. She talked about her experiences, more in the Kensho metaphor,
but it's not so different. It's really sitting through the fire and
letting your body, your desires, and your fears, just burn through
you, and you just sit. After awhile your attachments to things change
and you become much more detached from this that we take to be ourselves,
this physical body. And you become more detached from the fears and
feelings, and all of those things. You start with that detachment;
then you see it as it operates, clearly, because you're not so incredibly
identified with "I, me, mine, my body, my mind." It's very
Suzaki-roshi teaches Zen sesshin in a very strict fashion. Or Chan
Hsun Hua who runs Gold Mountain Temple. He used to have 49-day chant
sesshins in San Francisco. You sit for 49 days, and you sleep sitting
up, you sleep in your place. I never wanted to do it. I've thought
about it. For some people it's terrible because they're already tight
and they do it and it just drives them crazy, it makes them tighter;
and it doesn't bring any enlightenment at all; it just brings pain.
But for some people it's a way of practice, the effort to concentrate,
the effort to pay attention, to bring yourself back -- again, and again,
and again. It's not the effort of tensing your body, but it's the willingness
to sit with anything, and keep bringing your mind back, or to walk
with anything, to really do that.
If a person gives way to all their desires, or panders to them, there
will be no inner struggle in them, no friction, no fire. But if for
the sake of attaining liberation, they struggle with their habits that
hinder them, they'll create a fire which will gradually transform their
inner world into a single whole.
That's one way of undertaking practice. And when you look at how
powerful our habits are, and how much we go to sleep, and how much
the world really needs somebody to have the courage to say "no" or "stop" or "wake
up" or "live differently," it becomes very compelling.
I know that you're not on retreat, that we live in busy household lives
-- but the same spirit, this kind which is just half of the effort
I'll talk about, can be brought to your daily life. It can be the effort
to do whatever it happens to be in your life that you know is really
going to make a difference. So one can bring that effort, and it's
a wonderful thing to do. And if you learn to do it -- it takes practice
- it's really empowering; it brings a certain inner strength with it
The other approach to Right Effort is actually a bridge between these
two that would be nice to read about. Someone recently gave me this
book called ""Peace Pilgrim." It's about this woman
who walked around the country for 20 years wearing her blue jogging
suit that said "Peace Pilgrim" on it, carrying a toothbrush.
She spoke about peace, that you had to make yourself peaceful and the
world peaceful. She never took food unless it was offered to her. She
fasted otherwise. And she never took rides until much later in her
life. She just walked and talked about peace. And this is her story,
and it's a fantastic book.
During my earlier spiritual growth period -- The ten years that she
was getting prepared to do her peace walk -- I desired to know and
do God's will for me. Spiritual growth is not easily attained, you
know, but it is well worth the effort. It takes time, just as any growth
takes time. One should rejoice at small gains, and not be impatient,
as impatience hampers growth.
The path of gradual relinquishment of things hindering spiritual
progress is a difficult path, but only when relinquishment is complete
do the rewards really come fully. The path of quick relinquishment
is an easy path, for it brings immediate blessings, and when God fills
your life or the truth fills your life, the gifts overflow and bless
all that you touch.
What she said is very beautiful. It takes time, just as any growth
takes time, and it's not easily attained but well worth the effort.
If you do a lot of it, you get a lot of reward; if you do it slowly,
which most of us do, then it's a little more frustrating because a
lot of the reward comes when you're much, much freer. It's the way
it goes. What can you do? It's still worth it. It talks about both
these kinds of effort, that if you're willing to make the effort to
really do a lot, or let go of a lot, or transform your life, then tremendous
fruits can come. You can change how you live this week, how you relate,
or you can take it slower.
The other kind of effort is not goal-oriented, to get to kensho,
or satori, or enlightenment, or dissolve the world, transcend yourself;
it's the Soto Zen approach. It's the approach that says that you're
already enlightened. And that is enlightenment; it's not something
else. It's just what's here. And the only thing that blocks our enlightenment
is all these thoughts that say, "This isn't enough; I want it
different." If you could just live with things as they are; that's
all; this is it.
Krishnamurti speaks about it very beautifully when he said:
It's the truth which liberates and not your effort to be free.
"All year I'm going to get this, and be that, and now I'll be
--" I remember when the first interesting meditation practice
experiences started to come, I got very excited, and my mind started
to fill with thoughts again. There were these lights and things, and
I thought, "Gee, this is really exciting," because I started
to think about what I'd do when I was enlightened, who I would go visit
and what I would say. It's like that ego, that part of us that wants
to take it as a kind of a merit badge or something that you can wear;
or a degree. And it's not that at all. It's to live with things as
they are, to see them clearly, directly, and truly in each moment.
Ramana Maharshi said:
There are two paths to awakening. One is that of self-inquiry, where
you look to see.
The main koan is, "Who am I?" or " What am I?" And
you do it through awareness; or through whatever training that you
can, to discover and investigate the body and mind. And the other is
the path of surrender, where you say, "Not my will but thine." It's
actually the same if you really look at it. "Okay, in this moment
I'll be aware of what's here without trying to change it and just see
what it is." In that awareness you start to see the truth of it
-- that it's impermanent -- that it's not "I, me, mine";
that it's not self; that we're not separate; then it begins to reveal
This way of effort then is the effort more of surrender, of letting
go, rather than trying to attain something. It's surrender to be in
each moment in a balanced way.
Don Juan says:
If one is to succeed in anything, the success must come gently. With
a great deal of effort. But with no stress or obsession.
So it's rather the effort to be here again and again and again, and
to truly see that things arise and that they pass away; that they're
born; that they die; that we don't own anything; that none of it is
ours. Our thoughts, do you control your thoughts? Does anybody here
have control of their thoughts? We think that they're ours. Or our
bodies. We do a little better at that, but not very well, if you look
There's something I want to read. I've been reading all these books
on early child development and labor and whatever. It's from a book
that I've come to appreciate very much called "Whole Child, Whole
Parent." If anyone is looking for a spiritual guide to parenting,
it's the best that I've found. It's called "Zen and the Art of
Throwing a Ball." It gives a much more Taoist sense, instead of
making the effort to come back again and again and dissolve the world.
This is the way of effort which finds the Tao within our movement,
the way that we live.
The self -- the self-centered sense of us -- knows that freedom has
something to do with law and order but thinks that order must be brought
about by will power. The child shows us that, on the contrary, freedom
comes through subservience to existing order, to the Dharma, through
conscious alignment with it. The self knows that freedom has something
to do with pleasure, but it thinks it means feeling good and being
above the law is what pleasure is.
The child shows us that this pleasure is really spontaneity and that
it too is a by-product of absolute compliance or obedience to the law
or the dharma.
Here's a story:
Once I heard a father marvel, "How did he learn to throw that
ball so far? I didn't teach him. When did he learn to do this? I
didn't even see him do it? Why did he do it? No one in our family
is particularly interested in baseball, and yet he did."
Everything that father thought might have been a hindrance. had it
actually been present. The family's interest in baseball or someone
watching him, or anything.
Somewhere along the way, in the throwing of a ball, the child had
conceived of a possibility of freedom. Perhaps it first came through
watching someone else, perhaps once in flinging a ball, he had let
it fly and surprised himself. At any rate, some freedom had been encountered
and was now a possibility in his consciousness.
After that, as long as he remained unself-conscious -- which means
undivided -- he was able to give his undivided attention to the possibility
of which he had conceived. Through his pure desire for freedom in the
sense of possibility, certain laws were given the opportunity to gain
power over the child. Aiming himself toward a conscious possibility
he became subservient to it. And then through the child's receptive
and devoted consciousness the underlying force of being, itself, organized
and energized and utilized and coordinated everything in the child
to express himself in the form of freedom to throw the ball so beautifully.
He must have practiced for hours on end, expending tremendous effort
but little strain because his interest in seeing what was possible
carried him along, confident that what he could conceive of was possible
and could be realized if he went at it. Sometimes the ball fell short
but he did not infer that he lacked power. Sometimes the ball went
wild, but he did not infer that the thing was impossible or that there
was no predictability and all was chaotic.
Whatever seemed too hard only showed him that he had not yet discovered
the knack. Whatever appeared chaotic only suggested that the order
and his oneness with it had not yet been discerned. Sometimes his shoulder
hurt, but the very hurt became a guide, directing him into better alignment
with the hidden force he did not doubt. He looked at everything for
what is and what isn't, and everything taught him, until he could throw
the ball far, fast, accurately and with remarkable ease.
And he wasn't proud. He wasn't too pleased, and he didn't feel triumphant.
He felt grateful. And he didn't feel powerful, he felt surer. And he
felt free and was freer.
It was never that he had his way with the ball, rather through his
undistracted, absolutely focused, unselfconscious attention, the invisible
laws of physics had their way with him. through the total submission
of himself to the invisible laws, he found both dominion and spontaneity
which he rightfully experienced as true freedom and joy.
What a wonderful way to learn. It speaks to this other meaning of
effort, and it also speaks to a kind of secret about the first kind
of effort, which I've used a lot in practice, and gained from in some
ways. And that is, in the end you have to let go. No matter how much
effort you make and where it takes you, it doesn't take you all the
way, because it's not your effort that makes you free but your discovery
of what's true about yourself, and life, and its changing nature and
the laws of it; that you come into harmony with it, that you become
free. It can be big things. It can be a big satori and a big awakening.
Sometimes you get hit over the head by someone near you getting cancer
or a near car accident, or it can be little things, like a child, where
you just begin to take your life as a discovery, and you start to see
what are the laws that operate that make people happy, make them unhappy,
what are the laws that operate that make war and make harmony or peace
I got a letter recently from someone who had been in one of these
classes asking about the question of enlightenment. We talk so much
about precepts and following them, and Right Speech and Right Action,
what about enlightenment, where does it fit, or is this just a system
of ethical conduct? Is this Buddhism? The Buddha said it quite explicitly
a number of times in one very beautiful sutra. He said:
The reason for my teaching is not for merit or good deeds or good
karma, or concentration, or rapture, or bliss, or even insight. None
of these is the reason that I teach, but the sure heart's release.
This and this alone is the reason for the teaching of a Buddha.
All the other things are secondary to it, secondary to what that
child experienced with the ball or what the old bidi wallah talked
about of the movement of love. It's not compelled by pleasure, not
by precepts, not by success or failure, but by learning to grow, learning
to open, learning the laws of the world, learning to connect. There
is enlightenment, there is freedom, it's true, it's absolutely true;
and you can experience it; you can come to that.
It says in the Dhammapada that:
To live one day and taste very deeply the meaning of impermanence
is better than living l00 years and not to touch it.
Why could that be so? Because to taste that, even for a moment, is
that you see what's true about life and you start to live out of that
truth more fully. You become free, which is what we all want most deeply.
. I ask you a few questions. Think about Right Effort for a moment.
Where are you making too much effort in your life? What things do you
do where it's too tight and too hard? You need to learn balance. Can
you think of them? Where do you try too hard or grasp too much? Where
do you make too little effort in your life? Where are you lazy or habitual?
What aspects of your life could be ennobled or awakened with more effort?
Think about them. Which ones? Where is your life too internal? Where
do you shy away out of fear from the world of events and circumstances
around you? Where is your life too external, or you don't sit enough,
you don't take enough silence? You don't listen inside to your heart,
to what you care about, make it inform your life.
To listen in this way inside is to discover the laws like throwing
the ball of Right Effort in your life. Where do you miss the mark?
Practice a little more. What takes more effort, what takes a little
less? What takes more solitude? What takes more giving, and loving,
You actually know the answers to those things. They come pretty easily
to us. We just forget to ask, or we don't want to ask because it means, "Ugh,
I have to rearrange my life yet again in some fashion or other." But
it doesn't really matter, because that's the game. Everything gets
rearranged anyway. Either you can rearrange it or you can wait for
it to be rearranged. It's also the game; to grow. So you can stall
it for awhile. If you really drag your feet, you can; but it's not
I'll close with my question to my teacher Achaan Chaa.
I still have very many thoughts, my mind wanders a lot, even though
I'm trying to be mindful.
Don't worry about this, try to keep your mind in the present. Whatever
there is that arises in the mind or the heart, just watch it, let
go of it. Don't even wish to be rid of thought, then the mind will
reach a natural state, no discriminating between good and bad, hot
and cold, fast and slow, no "me" and no "you",
no self at all, just what there is.
When you walk, no need to do anything special, simply walk and see
what there is. No need to go to a cave or cling to isolation. Wherever
you are, know yourself by being natural and watching. If doubts arise,
watch them come and go. It's very simple. Hold on to nothing.
It's as though you're walking down a road, periodically you run into
obstacles. When you meet difficulties, see them and overcome them by
letting go. Don't think about the obstacles you've passed already,
don't worry about the ones you haven't seen yet. Stay in the present.
Don't worry about the length of the road or a destination either.
Everything is changing. Whatever you pass, do not cling to it, and
eventually the mind will reach its natural balance where practice becomes
automatic and effort becomes effortless. All things will come and go
Sitting hours on end is not necessary. Some people think that the
longer you sit the wiser you must be. I've seen chickens sit on their
nests for days on end.
Wisdom comes from being mindful in all postures. Your practice should
begin as you awaken in the morning and continue until you fall asleep.
What is important is only that you keep aware, whether you're working
or sitting or going to the bathroom.
Each person has their own natural pace. Some of you will die at age
fifty, some at age sixty-five, and some at age ninety. Don't think
or worry about this. Try to be mindful and let things take their natural
course. Then your mind will become quieter and quieter in any surroundings,
like a still forest pool. All kinds of wonderful, rare animals will
come and drink at the pool. You will see clearly the nature of all
things in the world. Many wonderful strange things come and go, but
you will be still. This is the happiness of the Buddha.
Return to the Table of Contents.
Transcribed and edited from audio tape by Evelyn Sweeney, copyright
1995 Jack Kornfield
DharmaNet Edition 1995
This electronic edition is offered for free distribution via DharmaNet
by arrangement with the author.