You know, sometimes life just throws things at us that we can’t even begin to understand. One day, my MacBook—my main lifeline for all my research—just stopped working out of nowhere. No power, no response, nothing. I had over 1200 articles and PDFs on there, things I’d spent years collecting for my research on the Buddha’s relics.
So, I took it to the service center, and the technician told me the motherboard was broken. Even worse, they showed me water spots inside the laptop—no one knew how the water even got there! It was a total shock.
As a researcher, especially working on a topic like the Buddha’s relics, my computer was absolutely essential. It wasn’t just a machine; it was like an extension of my mind, holding all the precious data and notes I’d gathered. And now, with all of that gone—poof—it felt like everything I’d worked so hard on had disappeared overnight.
That’s when I realized: maybe it’s time to step back. I’ve decided that by August 2025, I’m going to completely stop my relics research work. I need to focus on my own academic thesis now. Honestly, I’ve poured so much of my time and energy into this relics research project—years of my life—and I think I’ve done enough for now.
But looking back, I realize this experience actually teaches me a lot about the Dhamma, especially the teachings on struggle, renunciation, and impermanence. Let me share a few reflections:
Losing my computer and all that data really brought home the truth of impermanence—anicca. Even our digital possessions, which feel so solid and permanent, can vanish in an instant. The Buddha reminds us again and again that “all conditioned phenomena are impermanent” (sabbe saṅkhārā aniccā, Dhammapada 277).
It’s easy to get attached to our work, our tools, and our data. But this experience showed me how attachment can lead to suffering (upādāna-paccayā dukkha, SN 12.1). I invested so much in this research—time, energy, money—and losing it all reminded me of the challenges of attachment.
In the Anguttara Nikaya (AN 5.41), the Buddha teaches about balancing time:
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time for learning
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time for duties
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time for personal development
This experience made me realize I need to balance my service to the Sasana with my own studies and well-being. Without that balance, even the best intentions can lead to burnout.
Deciding to focus on my Ph.D. studies now is, I think, a form of wise reflection—yoniso manasikāra. It’s about recognizing my limitations and making a skillful choice. As the Buddha taught in the Satipatthana Sutta (MN 10), mindfulness and wise reflection help us to see things as they really are and choose the right path forward.
So what can I take from all of this?
You know, this journey with the relics research may be ending, but the lessons I’ve learned will stay with me always. Maybe sharing this story will help others, too—to see that even in the hardest times, the Dhamma can guide us through.
You know, as I reflect on my research journey—especially all the struggles and setbacks—I keep coming back to this beautiful verse from the Dhammapada:
“Sabbadānaṃ dhammadānaṃ jināti”
“The gift of Dhamma excels all gifts.” (Dhp 354)
It really strikes me that even though I’ve faced so many challenges, like losing all my data and my computer breaking down, I can still see the value in the work I’ve done. Because when I was documenting these sacred relics and sharing them, I wasn’t just collecting information—I was offering the gift of Dhamma itself.
In a way, I think of this work as a meritorious action (puñña). Even though it’s been tough at times, documenting the relics helps preserve the Dhamma for others. And just like it says in the Anguttara Nikaya (AN 5.47), actions done with a pure intention—no matter how small—bring good results. I really tried to do this work with the best of intentions, hoping to support others in understanding and appreciating these relics.
Another thing that stands out to me is truth-speaking (sacca). Even when it was challenging, I tried to report everything honestly and transparently. That’s part of Right Speech, you know? Telling the truth, but without causing harm.
I also think about the dedication of merit. Throughout this project, my aspiration has always been to dedicate whatever good comes from this work toward Nibbāna—the ultimate goal of Buddhist practice. That motivation—cetanā—feels like a pure offering of service to the Dhamma.
And of course, I’ve always tried to be mindful of ethical considerations—like naming people or citing references responsibly. I wanted to be sure I was committed to the truth (sacca) and not causing harm or misrepresenting anyone. That’s Right Speech too—speaking with honesty and integrity.
Let me share another verse that’s really guided me throughout all of this
“Sabbapāpassa akaraṇaṃ
Kusalassa upasampadā
Sacittapariyodapanaṃ
Etaṃ buddhāna sāsanaṃ”“To avoid all evil,
to cultivate good,
and to cleanse one’s mind—
this is the teaching of the Buddhas.” (Dhp 183)
So even though I’m stepping back from this relics research, I know that every effort I made with a pure heart has value. It’s a way of giving the Dhamma, of living the Dhamma. And that’s what really matters.
Sao Dhammasami
Research Scholor /Author
Note: As the author of this article, I am an ordinary young monk sharing my personal experiences as they truly happened. This writing is based on official data management sources from my office, as well as documented reports and accounts. I have no intention of harming anyone’s dignity or reputation, and I sincerely apologize if including their names causes any unintended discomfort or concern.
I wish to make it clear that this work does not aim to defame, misrepresent, or cause any damage to any individual or group. It is intended solely to share my personal experiences and the facts as documented in my records. I deeply respect everyone mentioned and humbly seek their understanding.
