THE TEN · 十法
Still Guiding Us 恆常引路
Core tenets and principles of the Dhamma — in plain words, as they were spoken and as they still guide us. Every life is imperfect; that is not the tragedy, it is the starting point.
— Alison's thoughts
This is how I try to meet the path — slowly, prayerfully, one breath at a time. The temple's stillness is not an escape from the world; it is the place where I remember how to move through it. Whatever brings you here, you are welcome to rest a while beside me.
Life involves suffering 苦 Dukkha
Life is naturally imperfect, painful, and filled with dissatisfaction.
The first noble truth is not saying "life is only pain, so give up." It is drawing an honest map: getting what we do not want hurts, losing what we love hurts, age and illness and change all hurt. Read the Buddha's own list and notice it is not mysterious — it is the ordinary texture of being alive. The word dukkha is closer to "unease" or "things not holding" than to "doom." It names the reality that everything we lean on is shifting under us. Knowing this is not pessimism; it is the relief of an accurate diagnosis, the same way naming a sickness is the first step to treating it.
How to follow it today: when frustration comes — the train you missed, the plan that fell apart, the body letting you down — pause and name it plainly: this is dukkha, the way change feels. Naming it pulls it out of helplessness and into understanding.
Ref: the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta (SN 56.11) & Abhiṇhapaccavekkhitabbaṭhāna Sutta (AN 5.57) — the Buddha's first discourse and his five recollections (I am liable to age, sicken, die, be parted, and be heir to my deeds). Find: his full list of what "suffering" covers, and his note that it is not "just me" — it is the shared nature of all beings.
— Alison's thoughts
Reading about dukkha is honestly the first time Buddhism felt like it was talking about my actual day — the MRT door closing in my face, the kopi gone cold, the dentist bill. For years I thought I was just ungrateful for feeling restless when nothing was really wrong. Naming it as dukkha, the ordinary texture of being alive, quietly took the shame off it. I don't have to fix everything; I get to start where it hurts. That felt like permission, not punishment — the diagnosis, not the verdict.
Suffering has a cause 集 Samudaya
Craving, greed, and ignorance drive this dissatisfaction.
The second noble truth locates the engine of suffering: taṇhā, the "thirst." The Buddha names it precisely — "the craving that leads to future lives, mixed up with relishing and greed, taking pleasure there wherever it alights." There are three kinds: thirst for pleasures, thirst for things to stay as they are (existence), and thirst for things to vanish (non-existence). The liberating part of this teaching: if the suffering had a cause, then the cause is the place to act. We do not have to fix the whole world; we work on the craving in our own mind. Pain is unavoidable; the fixation on what we cannot control is where the extra, self-made suffering comes from.
How to follow it today: when you feel the "if only" gripping you — if only the bonus were bigger, if only they hadn't said that — catch the thirst itself. You can feel it as a tightening. That tightening is samudaya, and it is the one part of the situation that is actually yours to work on.
Ref: the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta (SN 56.11) — "the craving that leads to future lives, mixed up with relishing and greed." Find: the three cravings (sensual, existence, extermination) in the sutta's own words.
— Alison's thoughts
The "if only" is my most faithful companion — if only I'd said it differently, if only the flat were bigger, if only the promotion had come. This tenet caught me because it points at the thirst itself, not the world. There is something almost funny about feeling the tightening in my chest and knowing: that part is mine to work on. Not the traffic, not the other person — just the thirst. I've started catching it mid-grip sometimes, and the squeeze loosens. Naming the cause made me feel less haunted and more capable.
Suffering can end 滅 Nirodha
It is possible to stop and release the cycle of pain.
The third noble truth is the hopeful one, and it is worth reading slowly: cessation is "the fading away and cessation of that very same craving — no residue left behind; giving it away, letting it go, releasing it, and not clinging to it." The Buddha does not promise a world without difficulties. He promises that the craving-fixation — the part we add on top — can be untied. When thirst is released, suffering is released with it. This is why the teaching is compared to a physician: symptom (dukkha), cause (craving), and here the cure (cessation). The refuge is not escape from life; it is the inner freedom that no changing circumstance can take.
How to follow it today: try a small letting-go experiment. Hold one thing you crave tightly — a habit, an outcome — and for a breath, set it down. Notice that a moment of non-clinging is possible, right now, for ordinary things. That tiny taste is the direction of nirodha.
Ref: the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta (SN 56.11) — "the fading away and cessation of that very same craving, no residue left behind." Find: the sutta's own definition of cessation, and that this is the promised cure.
— Alison's thoughts
Somewhere in me I had filed the whole teaching under "suffering happens, cope bravely." The word cessation woke me up: it is not a coping strategy, it's an exit. I tried the small experiment — set one craving down for a breath — and the strangest thing happened: the world didn't collapse. For one ordinary second I wasn't gripping anything, and nothing was lost. I'm not saying I've let go of much. But knowing a moment of release is available, right here in the middle of a Tuesday, changed what I think is possible.
The Eightfold Path leads to the end of suffering 八正道 Aṭṭhaṅgika Magga
A practical guide of ethical and mental conduct leads to liberation.
If the first three truths are the diagnosis, the fourth is the prescription. The Noble Eightfold Path is a middle way of practice — right view, right purpose, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right immersion — which, the Buddha says, "gives vision and knowledge, and leads to peace, direct knowledge, awakening, and extinguishment." The limbs are not eight steps you climb one at a time; they are eight strands woven together, and they group into three trainings: ethics (speech, action, livelihood), mind (effort, mindfulness, immersion), and wisdom (view, purpose). The path is not a distant ideal; it is a daily tuning of how we see a situation, intend toward it, speak on it, act on it, earn from it, and steady our mind in the middle of it.
How to follow it today: you do not need eight at once. Take one strand and practice it before noon — one honest word (right speech), or one moment of noticing your breath (right mindfulness). The path is built of such single, ordinary moments, not of grand gestures.
Ref: the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta (SN 56.11) and Magga-vibhaṅga Sutta (SN 45.8) — the Buddha's teaching of the eight limbs and what each means. Find: the full definition of each limb in the sutta's own words.
— Alison's thoughts
The eight strands feel like they were woven for someone with my attention span — you don't need all eight before noon, just one honest word or one noticed breath. That's the kind of Buddhism I can actually keep. I used to treat practice like an exam I was failing: not meditating enough, not generous enough. This tenet unhooked me from the scoreboard. A path built of single ordinary moments is a path I can walk on the way to the MRT, at the kopitiam, in the queue. One strand, before lunch, is already a life.
Karma 因果 Kamma
Intentional actions carry spiritual consequences that shape future experiences.
The Pali word kamma literally means "action" — and the Buddha defined it decisively: "intention is kamma, I declare; for by intention one performs an action through body, speech, or mind." So karma is not a cosmic scoreboard or a fate handed down from outside. It is responsibility: intentional deeds shape the mind that does them, and that shaping ripples outward. This corrects a common fear in SG/MY — that karma is "reap what you sow" fatalism, a verdict you are stuck with. The Buddha taught the opposite emphasis: because the effect is weighed by the mind behind the act, the mind is exactly where change is possible. What ripens is grounded in intention, and intention can be trained.
How to follow it today: check the intention behind one action today — not the outcome, the motive. Was it kind, neutral, or sharp at the root? Working on the root intention is the single most practical thing karma teaches; it is always within reach, no matter what happened in the past.
Ref: the Nibbedhika Sutta (AN 6.63) — "intention is kamma, I declare; for by intention one performs an action through body, speech, or mind." Find: the Buddha's own definition of kamma, and his teaching that intention, not outer form, weighs an act.
— Alison's thoughts
The word karma used to sit heavy on me — the family shorthand for "you reap what you sow," and I read it as a verdict. So this tenet landed like a door opening: karma is intention, and intention can be trained. It's not a cosmic scoreboard keeping my failures; it's the mind behind the act, and that mind is the one place I actually have a say. I've started checking the root of things more — why am I really doing this? The question alone, asked kindly, has softened whole days.
Rebirth 輪迴 Saṃsāra
Beings cycle through repeated lives until they achieve liberation.
The Buddha described saṃsāra as "the round" — an inconceivably long beginning-less cycle in which beings are "reborn" from life to life, impelled by craving and kamma, until release. This is the teaching the tradition holds: the aim is not despair but the end of the round, the freedom the rest of the tenets point toward. It must be said honestly: rebirth across lifetimes is a claim of faith, not something we can measure or prove. The heart of the teaching, though, does not depend on whether you can verify the next life. Its practical core is that our present lives are a continuum — we are "owner and heir of our deeds" — and that the direction we are moving is worth attention. You can honor this tenet fully by living as though this very life is a turning point, because that is all it ever needs to be.
How to follow it today: rather than fearing a future rebirth, notice the small "rebirths" you undergo each day — the mood you wake into, the self you become when angry, the fresh start available after a mistake. Each is a chance to steer the round in a kind direction.
Ref: the Nidāna Saṃyutta on saṃsāra and the Abhiṇhapaññā Sutta recollection "I am owner and heir of my deeds" (AN 5.57). Find: the Buddha's description of the beginning-less round, and note this is a faith-claim, flagged honestly.
— Alison's thoughts
I'll be honest: rebirth is the tenet I used to nod along with and quietly file away. The "small rebirths" idea changed that for me — waking into a heavy mood, becoming someone else in an argument, then the fresh start after a mistake. That I can feel. Whether there's a next life, I genuinely can't verify; but I can steer this one like it matters, because it does. Living as though this life is the turning point isn't a compromise. It's the whole teaching, in a smaller package I can hold.
Impermanence 無常 Anicca
Nothing in the physical or mental world stays the same; everything changes.
Impermanence is the first mark of existence: "all conditioned things are impermanent." It sounds like a downer, but the Buddha meant it as freedom. Because everything changes, nothing — not a bad streak, not a grief, not a fear, not a failure — is a permanent sentence. The Buddha's last words were a reminder of exactly this: "all conditioned things are subject to vanish; strive on untiringly." For the mind that resists change, impermanence is suffering; for the mind that accepts it, impermanence is the reason healing is possible. The same river that carries pain away also carries you forward. This is the quiet engine underneath the common SG/MY saying that "everything passes" (萬事都會過去) — a genuine Buddhist truth, not just a comfort line.
How to follow it today: when something is hard, remember it is impermanent — it will change. When something is wonderful, cherish it now, knowing it too will change. Both directions of the teaching keep the heart free.
Ref: the Lakkhaṇa Saṃyutta (AN 3.47, "all conditioned things are impermanent") and the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta (DN 16, the Buddha's final words). Find: anicca as the first mark, and the last teaching spoken before the Buddha's passing away.
— Alison's thoughts
My grandmother's altar taught me this before I had words for it — the incense burning down, the fruit changing, her photo staying the same while we changed around it. 無常 was never scary to me in that house; it was just how things are. The gift of it, this tenet says, is that nothing is a permanent sentence. On a bad day that's a comfort. On a good one, it's a nudge to actually taste the kopi while it's hot, be with my people while they're here. Both directions loosen the heart.
Non-self 無我 Anattā
There is no permanent, unchanging soul or fixed ego inside a person.
Non-self is the second mark of existence, and the most misunderstood. The Buddha examined the five aggregates we habitually call "me" — body, feelings, perceptions, thoughts, consciousness — and found none of them is a permanent, fixed self that we can truly call our own: "all these are not-self." This is often read as nihilism ("so I don't matter"), but the teaching points the other way. It is the end of clinging to a fixed "me" that must win, be right, and never change. The anxious ego that feels attacked, threatened, or never enough is built on the belief in a solid self. Seeing the self as a changing flow does not erase you — it frees you from having to defend a version of yourself that was never really there.
How to follow it today: notice when "I" feels threatened — an argument, a criticism, a rank, a face you must save. Anattā asks a gentle question: what, exactly, is being defended? Much of the grip loosens the moment you see the self as a process rather than a solid thing.
Ref: the Anattalakkhaṇa Sutta (SN 22.59) — the Buddha's teaching that the five aggregates (body, feeling, perception, thoughts, consciousness) are all not-self. Find: his analysis of each aggregate-and its honest framing that this ends clinging, not existence.
— Alison's thoughts
Non-self used to sound like the teaching that tells me I don't exist, and my ego had strong opinions about that. But reading it as "the end of defending a fixed me" — that's a teaching I need daily. The face I save, the rank I hold, the version of myself I maintain for relatives at Chinese New Year — what, exactly, is being defended? I ask the question now when I feel attacked, and something in the grip goes slack. Not erased — just a process, allowed to move. It's the most freeing thing I've read all year.
Nirvana 涅槃 Nibbāna
The ultimate spiritual goal of total peace, marking the extinction of greed, hatred, and delusion.
Nibbāna is the goal of the whole path — and the Buddha defined it in terms we can actually grasp: it is "the extinction of greed, hatred, and delusion." It is not a far-off afterlife or a pearly gate; it is the cooling that comes when the three fires that keep us restless are finally out. Greed, aversion, and confusion are the unquiet; their extinction is peace itself. This is why Buddhist "salvation" (vimutti, liberation) is spoken of as possible here and now — the fires can be damped in this life, not only at death. Nibbāna does not mean feeling nothing; it means no longer being pushed and pulled by the fires. The deepest peace in the tradition is not an absence of the world, but an unshakeable stillness within it.
How to follow it today: nibbāna is a direction, not a destination you must travel to in one leap. Dim one fire today — one moment you choose not to feed greed, or not to fan anger, or not to indulge confusion — and you have moved toward the cooling the whole path is about.
Ref: the Maggavibhaṅga Sutta (SN 45.7) & the Third Noble Truth (SN 56.11) — Nibbāna as the extinction of greed, hatred, and delusion; the unending peace beyond the fires, attainable in this life.
— Alison's thoughts
Nibbāna always sounded far away — a mountain top for monks, not for someone juggling work and family. This tenet brings it down to earth: dim one fire today, one moment of not feeding greed or fanning anger. That's not a consolation prize; it's the direction the whole path points. I think about the kitchen of a hawker stall after the lunch rush — the flame turned low, not out, still warm. Cooling, here and now, in this life. I can move toward that. I've done it for a breath at a time, and it's real.
The Middle Way 中道 Majjhimā Paṭipadā
Avoiding extremes by choosing a balanced path between strict self-denial and self-indulgence.
The Buddha's very first teaching opened by naming two extremes that "should not be cultivated": indulgence in sensual pleasures — "low, crude, ordinary, ignoble, and pointless" — and self-mortification, the punishing of the body — "painful, ignoble, and pointless." Between them lies the middle way of practice, the noble eightfold path, which "gives vision and knowledge, and leads to peace, direct knowledge, awakening, and extinguishment." The middle way is not tepid compromise. It is the wisdom that joy is not found by gorging on what we crave, nor by starving what we are. It is the balance a musician keeps between a too-tight and a too-loose string — the tension at which life actually sings. It applies to the small everyday extremes as much as the dramatic ones: neither the whipped-up chase of pleasure nor the harsh self-punishment when we fall short.
How to follow it today: meet today's craving or today's self-criticism with the string metaphor. Not "more," not "punish yourself." Just the note in between — enough, steady, sustained. That in-between is the middle way, practiced in an ordinary hour.
Ref: the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta (SN 56.11) — the Buddha's first teaching, rejecting both sensual indulgence and self-mortification, and pointing to the eightfold path as the middle way. Find: the opening lines of the first sermon, in the Buddha's own words.
— Alison's thoughts
The string metaphor is the one that stays with me — the kopitiam uncle tuning his old guitar, or the way you don't hold a baby too tight. My pattern was always two extremes pretending to be the only options: work till I burn out, then collapse and feel guilty. The middle way opens a third door entirely — enough, steady, sustained. Not punishing myself for falling short, not chasing everything at once. It's the note in between, and it's playable on an ordinary day. I'm learning to tune instead of yank.
諸行無常 · 諸法無我 · 涅槃寂靜
All things pass. Nothing is self. Release is peace.