New Year's Message: 2026.

Māna (conceit) is a stubborn and deeply rooted fetter (saṃyojana) that can only be fully uprooted at the fourth and final Path Knowledge: Arahatta‑magga. Until then, it can hide beneath the surface, arise actively, or lie latent within the continuum of beings. It always arrives with lobha — grabbing onto an idea, thought, memory, object, sensation or experience. Why is this so? Because it is through clinging that a sense of “I”, “me”, or “mine” is formed: all of which are expressions of māna. If nothing is grasped, there is no basis for identity to crystallise around it.

Clinging can latch onto anything imaginable — including suffering. Some even take a strange pleasure in the suffering of others. For those with strong hatred, vengeful patterns or aversion, endlessly thinking about others’ misfortune brings a twisted enjoyment because they thrive on others’ downfall. On the other hand, people also cling to their own suffering because it gives a sense of identity, story, meaning and importance. There is even that well‑known line from Nietzsche: “To live is to suffer; to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.” In other words, almost everyone ends up clinging to suffering because it gives life a certain narrative texture, and when it does not, the mind still convinces itself that it deserves that suffering. Some cling to it like a damsel in distress, wanting the world to revolve around them, to cater to them, to put them first. When lobha and māna shake hands in this way, the mind can even delight in dukkha.

And so I often say to meditators and students: "Don’t take it too seriously."

There are layers to this, and they are gradually uncovered through the Dhamma and Dhamma reflections. What is shared here is something uncovered by reflecting on the Dhamma and growth in vipassanā wisdom.

Māna and clinging (lobha) make the mind take things very seriously as if they will never fade away. So when I say, “Don’t take it too seriously,” it doesn’t mean being careless, lazy or complacent. It means not taking dukkha (and sukha alike) so seriously with a strong grip, and learning to view experiences through the lens of Dhamma instead of through the idea of “I” or “me”.

(1) Regarding your practice…

This does not mean to neglect your meditation. Quite the opposite. You should prioritise it at all times.

The Buddha once asked the monks:

“If your clothes or even your head were on fire, what would you do?”

The monks replied:

“Venerable sir, we would do everything we possibly could — with real urgency and energy — to put the fire out.”

The Buddha then said:

“In the same way, if you have not yet fully understood the Four Noble Truths, you should treat that as even more urgent than a fire on your head. Let the fire wait — be equanimous and ignore it — and throw all your effort, energy, determination, mindfulness, and clear awareness into understanding the Four Noble Truths. That is how you should practise diligently.”

So when I say: "Don’t take it too seriously", in the context of meditation, it means: do not take the dukkha that comes with the practice as a personal saga.

Reflect carefully: do we not cling to our meditation experiences rather than simply knowing them? Pleasant ones are stored away like trophies, and we long for a repeat performance; unpleasant ones are chased off, suppressed, or resented. All of this is driven by clinging as the dominant force. Pleasant experiences are pleasant, and then they change. This is viparināma‑dukkha showing itself — the suffering that comes from change. It only needs to be seen wisely. Even pleasant experiences are ultimately dukkha because they do not last; when they change, fade, or end, discomfort or disappointment arises in the absence of wise attention. When the pleasant shifts, fades, or ends, discomfort appears. If you do not understand this nature, māna turns everything into 'my experience', 'my meditation', 'my progress'. Then we wonder why you feel heavier than before.

When meditating, there are of course mental debris, blockages, and obstacles that need to be addressed so that the five spiritual faculties (pañca-indriya) — faith, wisdom, mindfulness, effort, and concentration — are kept in balance. In the early stages of practice, particularly for those new to meditation or developing concentration, part of the task is to discover these “mental settings” appropriately that will allow the mind to become calm and steady. However, when this process is accompanied by unwise attention and misunderstanding, meditators begin to dwell on suffering instead. I have seen many meditators cling to the mental debris, blockages or obstacles so fiercely and strongly that they forget to meditate. They shut their eyes and go to war with their own minds — cleaning, fixing, adjusting — and never actually rest attention on the meditation object. Yes, faith, wisdom, mindfulness, effort and concentration must be balanced so that meditation goes well, and sometimes that means adjusting each just enough for steadiness. But some become so busy "balancing" things and scrubbing away every speck that they forget to meditate. They shut their eyes, resume the internal battle — cleaning, cleaning, cleaning — and never actually stay with the meditation object. In the end, they do not meditate at all.

But, here is the simple truth: practice develops only when you pay attention to the meditation object, or in other words, when you simply meditate. That is all that is really needed. When faith, wisdom, mindfulness, right effort, and concentration are well-established on the meditation object, the mental debris, blockages, and suffering will fade on their own — so long as you keep meditating. The task is simply to clear obstacles just enough so that you can continue practising. You cannot possibly clear it all, because this dukkha is rooted in lobha, dosa and moha... otherwise, you would already be an Arahant before you even began meditating!

So bring in the reflection: "Don’t take it seriously". Don't take your suffering so seriously. It is impermanent, and it will not last forever. It is anatta, and it will not obey your commands. It is simply the reality that comes with saṃsāra: all beings — devas and brahmās included — experience it. And in your past existences, you have already suffered dukkha far wilder, coarser and heavier than what you face now. Reflecting like this, do not cling to your own suffering and take it personally: my suffering, my dukkha, why is this only happening to me? The reason it feels so personal is because māna keeps clinging to these experiences as me and mine in an endless loop. If you do not drop the script with wise attention and mindfulness, the play will go on forever.

Additionally, do not convince yourself that just because you have these difficulties that you cannot meditate, and do not talk yourself out of meditating just because it is difficult. Do not also simply decide you cannot meditate before you even sit down. That is like quitting the race simply because the track looks too long. Have confidence. Trust in the process, trust what you have to do and trust in your mind, too. Your liberation depends on you because if you keep telling yourself you cannot practise... well, you may as well roll over and go back to sleep.

(2) Regarding life…

In exactly the same way, this phrase applies to the way we live our day‑to‑day lives. Once again, it does not mean to live carelessly, irresponsibly or without right effort. Rather, it means not to burden the mind with unnecessary weight; not to make every experience, every thought, every difficulty into a personal drama that revolves around I, me and mine. Do not live carelessly, but also do not weigh the mind down by turning every event into a grand production about you.

Praise comes. Māna also comes as a companion: I am special, I must be ahead. Criticism comes. Māna comes again: How dare they, why me. Lobha clings to the pleasant, aversion to the unpleasant, and māna weaves the story. Ordinary events become fuel for dukkha. These are the situations where you need to deeply remember viparināma-dukkha: whatever is pleasant will change. Health, wealth, status, relationships, success — all obey the same law. When they shift, those who cling suffer. And when suffering arises, māna often seizes that as well: 'My pain. My broken life. My wounds.' Some people even fear losing their suffering, because without it, who would they be? Whenever there's dukkha, you also need to deeply remember the anicca nature: this suffering is not forever.

So when I say: "Don’t take it too seriously", I mean: do not make this short, flickering existence into a permanent identity. Live responsibly, kindly, wisely. Let the four brahmavihāra guide you. Most importantly, do not cling. When something pleasant happens, appreciate it, but know it will change. When something painful happens, deal with it steadily, with patience and wisdom — and again, know it will pass.

Notice this carefully: when something goes wrong, the mind does not only feel the discomfort of the event itself; it often adds a second layer: 'Why me? Why my life? Why always like this?' That extra layer is māna. Without it, difficulty can be simply known, endured, resolved, and passed through. With it, the mind builds a monument to its misery.

And then there is the expectation that the whole world must respond to our pain. Others must understand, comfort, revolve around us. When that does not happen, more dukkha. Then again, the roots are clinging and māna. If we do not cling to the idea that others must treat us in a particular way, the mind remains lighter and more expansive — able to reflect wisely and remain untroubled.

Reflect on the vastness of saṃsāra. This one life is not your debut performance. You have lost more, suffered more, cried more, rejoiced more than you can remember. So why cling to this single suffering as the ultimate tragedy?

Additionally, upekkhā (equanimity) is needed here. Not coldness. Not indifference. Simply the understanding that causes bring results, and when causes change, results change. There is no permanent owner in charge of the whole show, all while reflecting the nature of anicca: nothing lasts forever.

Most importantly, never convince yourself that you cannot handle your present situation. That attitude is the first defeat. So do your duties. Care for your family, those you love and who are around you. Be compassionate. Work honestly. Practise the Dhamma. But when storms come — and they will — remember: Don’t take it too seriously. Do not let māna turn everything into my story. See the arising. See the passing away. See the clinging when it appears. And then, gently and repeatedly, let go.

Since we’re on this topic, I wanted to share a few personal reflections with you:

1. I don’t see myself as a teacher who is so important that I could never be replaced. That’s simply the truth of things. There are — and will be — people far wiser and more skilful in the Dhamma than I am. So please don’t cling to me. See me only as someone walking ahead on the path, pointing out useful signposts along the way. I don’t expect anything from you, and it’s perfectly all right not to expect anything from me either.

2. I also tend to express myself better in writing than in speaking. I actually cringe when I listen back to my own talks, so I mostly don’t. I know I’m not the smoothest speaker, so if sometimes what I say sounds awkward or not especially polished, I hope you’ll kindly understand. I like writing than speaking: that's the introvert in me speaking.

3. Another truth is that I won't be here for long. So, if what I share is helpful to you, please make good use of the time we have now. Learn while you can. That, to me, is the real value of this life: to grow in the Dhamma while we’re still breathing.

4. And most importantly: I am genuinely glad, deeply glad to see each and every one of you practising the Dhamma and meditating (yes, you as well, reading this now!). Even if you don’t meditate as much as I secretly wish you would (is that māna? perhaps!), my wish is simple: freedom from suffering, for you.

As the year turns, I’m not wishing you a life free from problems. I’m wishing you less clinging to them. May you sit, walk, stand, and lie down with a lighter grip on experiences. When māna arises and whispers, “Make this about me,” simply notice it, smile at the old trick, and return to the practice — return to the present moment. Keep it simple: know what is arising, know what is passing, and keep going. If things go well, don’t cling. If they go badly, don’t panic. And when you forget all of this — because you will — just remember again and begin anew. That itself is the path.

So this new year, reflect wisely, and understand: nothing is ever quite as serious as the mind makes it.

It’s really not that serious. At all.

Calm… mostly,

Win