How short this life!
You die this side of a century,
but even if you live past,
you die of old age.
People grieve
for what they see as mine,
for nothing possessed is constant,
nothing is constantly possessed.[1]
Seeing this separation
simply as it is,
one shouldn't follow the household life.
At death a person abandons
what he construes as mine.
Realizing this, the wise
shouldn't incline
to be devoted to mine.
Just as a man doesn't see,
on awakening,
what he met in a dream,
even so he doesn't see,
when they are dead
-- their time done --
those he held dear.
When they are seen & heard,
people are called by this name or that,
but only the name remains
to be pointed to
when they are dead.
Grief, lamentation, & selfishness
are not let go
by those greedy for mine,
so sages
letting go of possessions,
seeing the Secure,
go wandering forth.
A monk, living withdrawn,
enjoying a dwelling secluded:
they say it's congenial for him
he who wouldn't, in any realm,
display self.
Everywhere
the sage
independent
holds nothing dear or undear.
In him
lamentation & selfishness,
like water on a white lotus,
do not adhere.
As a water bead on a lotus leaf,
as water on a red lily,
does not adhere,
so the sage
does not adhere
to the seen, the heard, or the sensed;
for, cleansed,
he doesn't construe
in connection
with the seen, the heard, or the sensed.
In no other way
does he wish for purity,
for he neither takes on passion
nor puts it away.[2]