34 | CR Book XI, Chapter 2
After some preliminary training in attentiveness, the
practice of mindfulness sets up a steadily watching and
wakeful self, strong in unforgetful memory, which detaches
itself from the participating self, whose actions are
viewed as not-self from the point of view of the watch-
ing self. When directed towards the body, mindfulness
lifts the self out of it. When turned on undesirable em-
otions (like greed or anger), it disintegrates them and
pushes them away from the self. Thoughts are restricted
to some few ideas. They are not allowed to dwell loving-
ly on alluring objects. The self is prevented from aban-
doning itself to, or getting lost in, objects. It is corr-
espondingly both impoverished and realised. When he
chains his consciousness to the chosen pole of his sub-
ject, and holds it back from straying away, and from roa-
ming about in the sweet-scented fields of the sensory
world, the disciple prepares for the day when emptiness
will be the congenial pasture of the arhat, "whose abode
is in the void, unmarked, in liberty". "His habitual me-
mories vanish from him; and because they have vanished,
the inward heart becomes firm, calms itself, becomes uni-
ted and strong". Prolonged mindfulness releases the
calm quiet which lies underneath the unrest of our per-
sonality. The deeper the calm, the more selfless it is.
"The Deathless rests in his hands."