Since I was a teenager, I often found myself wondering what it really means to be alive. The fact that we’re born at all—into this body, in this particular place and time—felt both natural and strange. Growing up in a Buddhist culture, I was taught that we’re here because of karma from past lives. Our craving to have, to become, and to exist creates the conditions for rebirth. That explanation had a certain logic to it. It answered the question—to a certain extent.
But over time, I began to feel that this wasn’t enough. I didn’t want to dismiss the teachings I grew up with, but I felt the need to explore further. The rituals and traditions I inherited didn’t offer much when I was struggling. I wanted to understand why we suffer. Not in an abstract or theoretical way, but in a way that could help me make sense of my own experience.
This need for clarity led me to many books and conversations. One book I’ve returned to more than once is What the Buddha Taught by Walpola Rahula. It stood out because it didn’t require me to believe anything just for the sake of it. There was no demand for faith or reverence. Instead, it offered a clear, practical framework for understanding the world—and ourselves. It focused on observation, reflection, and personal verification.
A Teaching Grounded in Experience
One of the first things that struck me from the book was the Buddha’s emphasis on direct experience. He didn’t ask his followers to accept teachings based on authority, tradition, or scripture. Instead, he encouraged people to see things for themselves. If something leads to harm or confusion, it should be let go. If it supports clarity, compassion, or well-being, it’s worth exploring further.
This approach helped me shift my relationship with Buddhist teachings. They weren’t something to accept blindly—they were tools to be tested and understood through living.
The Four Noble Truths — Understanding How Suffering Works
At the heart of the Buddha’s teachings are four core insights, often called the Four Noble Truths. They’re not rules or commands. They’re more like a map for making sense of why we suffer and what we can do about it.
1. Suffering Exists
The first truth is that life involves dukkha — a word often translated as suffering, but which more broadly refers to the feeling that things are unstable, unsatisfying, or just slightly off.
This doesn’t mean life is all misery. It just points out that even in moments of joy, there’s often a sense that it won’t last — and part of us is already preparing for its end. Think of the feeling after a great holiday, or the moment a deep laugh fades into silence. There’s beauty there, but also fragility.
The Buddha described three kinds of dukkha:
- The pain of illness, loss, and hardship.
- The discomfort that comes from change — even good things don’t stay.
- The deeper suffering that comes from misunderstanding who we are.
We tend to think of ourselves as solid, continuous beings — but what we call “me” is made up of changing parts: our body, emotions, habits, thoughts, and consciousness. These are not permanent. And clinging to them as if they are creates tension and stress.
2. Suffering Has a Cause
The second truth explores where that tension comes from. At its root is craving — the desire to hold on, to resist, to become something or to avoid something else. It can be subtle, like wishing things would stay the same, or strong, like chasing approval, success, or escape.
This craving often arises from the way we react to experience. When something feels pleasant, we want more. When it feels unpleasant, we want it to stop. In that push and pull, we lose our balance.
The Buddha explained that this cycle doesn’t start from nowhere. Everything arises due to conditions — this is called dependent origination. Nothing exists in isolation. We’re part of a web of interrelated causes and effects, shaped by experience and shaping experience in return.
3. There’s a Way Out
The third truth offers hope. Suffering isn’t a permanent condition. It’s something that arises — and anything that arises can also end.
When craving and clinging fade, the cycle begins to dissolve. This ending is called Nirvāṇa. It’s often misunderstood as a place or a spiritual goal. But it’s really just the absence of the forces that keep us trapped — the point where we stop grasping, stop resisting, and start seeing things as they are.
It’s not about becoming detached from life, but about learning to relate to life differently — with steadiness, presence, and clarity.
4. The Path That Leads There
The fourth truth describes the way forward. The Noble Eightfold Path offers a framework for living with more awareness and less harm. It includes how we think, how we speak, how we act, how we work, and how we train the mind.
It’s not about becoming perfect. It’s about becoming aware.
The path starts with understanding: seeing how suffering arises and how we participate in it. It includes intention — choosing thoughts of care over thoughts of harm. It involves living ethically, speaking honestly, and earning a livelihood that doesn’t exploit. And it ends with mental training: developing mindfulness and concentration so we can see more clearly, respond more wisely.
This path, at its core, is about transforming the conditions that lead to suffering — both inside and around us.
The Self That Isn’t Fixed
One teaching that many people find confusing is the idea of anattā, or “not-self.” The Buddha didn’t say we don’t exist — he said that what we call “I” is not a fixed, solid thing. Instead, it’s a collection of processes that are always changing.
Imagine watching a river. It looks like a single thing, but it’s actually water flowing — always moving, always different. In the same way, our body, thoughts, feelings, and experiences are always in motion. There’s no unchanging “self” behind it all. And because of that, we’re more flexible than we think. We don’t have to stay stuck in old patterns. We can change.
Actions Still Matter
Even without a fixed self, our actions still shape our experience. This is what karma means in Buddhism — not fate, not punishment, but intentional action. What we do, say, and think leaves an imprint. And that imprint influences what comes next.
Meditation as a Way of Seeing
Meditation, or bhāvanā, is described in the book as mental development. It’s not about escaping the world or chasing special experiences. It’s about seeing clearly—training the mind to be stable and aware.
There are two main forms discussed. The first, samatha, develops calm and concentration. The second, vipassanā, develops insight by observing the nature of thoughts, feelings, and sensations without clinging to them.
The Buddha outlined four areas for mindfulness: the body, feelings, the mind itself, and mental concepts. This kind of practice doesn’t need to be separate from daily life. It can be part of walking, eating, working—anything done with awareness. For me, this made the practice feel more accessible. I didn’t need to be somewhere special or have everything figured out. I just needed to pay attention.
Everyday Practice
The teachings in this book are not reserved for monks or people who renounce ordinary life. The Buddha offered guidance for everyone—for people with jobs, families, relationships, and responsibilities. He spoke about the importance of working with care, managing resources wisely, surrounding ourselves with supportive people, and living with generosity and clarity.
Renunciation, in this sense, isn’t about leaving everything behind. It’s about letting go of clinging, even while staying engaged with life.
On Peace and Power
The book also makes it clear that the Buddha rejected violence in all forms. He didn’t accept the idea of a just war. True strength, he taught, lies not in overpowering others but in understanding and mastering our own reactivity.
Creating a peaceful society starts with transforming the mind. Without that, no amount of outer change will last.
A Personal Closing
Reading What the Buddha Taught helped me make sense of ideas I’d heard growing up but never fully understood. It didn’t give me fixed answers, but it gave me a clearer lens through which to view my own experiences. It made the teachings feel practical—something to apply, not just admire.
I’m not claiming this is the only way to read or understand the book. This is simply the way it made sense to me, based on where I was and what I was looking for. I’m open to hearing other perspectives, and I believe this kind of conversation is part of the practice too.
If anything, what I’ve taken from the book is this: clarity isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about paying attention, staying grounded, and continuing to ask honest questions—even when the answers are still unfolding.