Because the Dhamma is sandiṭṭhiko—experienced and understood within oneself alone—I did not talk to anyone about this incident in my meditation, not even Ajahn Kongmaa. I simply kept it to myself. I didn’t tell Ajahn Kongmaa about the profound experiences that happened in my meditation because I suspected he wouldn’t take them seriously. After all, I was still a very junior monk at that time. I was reluctant to speak openly about my meditation in Sai Ngaam Forest Monastery for I feared that talking about it would only lead to differences of opinion among the senior monks and give rise to unnecessary misunderstanding.

Instead, my thoughts were drawn toward the Venerable Ajahn Mun, whose great renown as a meditation teacher I had long been aware of. I’d heard about the extraordinary courage and determination he displayed in practicing the forest monk’s way of life and the uncompromising strictness he used in teaching his disciples. I considered Ajahn Mun to be the highest authority on meditation. Although the ajaans at Sai Ngaam Forest Monastery were disciples of Ajahn Mun, I was convinced it would be better to question the great master himself. Indeed, I felt sure that Ajahn Mun was the only person I could trust to interpret the significance of my recent meditation experience. I resolved to seek him out, prostrate myself at his feet, and request his guidance. I intended to tell him everything, beginning with the day I started meditating and continuing step by step up to the dramatic events I’d recently experienced in my body contemplation practice. I hoped to have him confirm my belief that my meditation was firmly on the right track.

In December of 1939, I made the decision to take leave of Ajahn Kongmaa and make the long trek to the northern province of Chiang Mai, hoping to meet up with Ajahn Mun there. When Ajahn Kongmaa learned that I intended to take his leave to search for Ajahn Mun, he asked me in a very serious tone, “Tan Jia, how can a monk like you possibly stay with Ajahn Mun?”

Did he really think I was that inept? Even if there was some truth in what Ajahn Kongmaa implied, I had no intention to abandon my resolve. I answered him as diplomatically as I could. “Why is it wrong for me to go see a monk of such high virtue? A rough person like me needs to find a tough teacher to straighten him out. The venerable teachers here are certainly competent. I don’t underestimate their ability. But continuing to stay at Sai Ngaam Forest Monastery means I’m living too close to home, too near family and friends. I need more seclusion from the distractions caused by their frequent visits. Living nearby, they can easily drop in and chat about whatever’s on their minds. Friends and neighbors try to drag me into their worldly affairs, which makes it more difficult to focus on meditation practice. As soon as my mother heard that I planned to leave for Chiang Mai, she showed up and broke down in tears. Emotional outbursts like that disrupt my calm and concentration, which becomes very tiresome. I left the home life with all its worries and concerns in a deliberate attempt to pursue a life of renunciation. I now feel that facing the challenge of living far away from home will keep my mind sheltered from mundane concerns and greatly benefit my practice. That’s why I humbly seek your approval.”

Ajahn Kongmaa’s curt reply was, “Well, Tan Jia, if you learn something good up there in Chiang Mai, don’t forget to come back down to enlighten us old folks, okay?”

Hearing the mocking tone in his voice, I thought, “What the… What the hell does that mean?” and I became more determined than ever to leave...