Short indeed is this life—
within a hundred years one dies,
and, if any live longer
then they die of decay.People grieve for what is “mine”:
though possessions are not permanent
and subject to destruction—
see this and homeless dwell.In death it’s all abandoned,
yet still some think “it’s mine”;
knowing this, the wise to me devoted
should stoop not making it “owned”.As one who’s waking then sees not
the things that happened in sleep;
so the beloved are not seen—
departed and done their time.People now are seen and heard
and these are called by name,
but alone will the name remain
in speaking of those gone.In “mine-making” greedy, they do not let go
of sorrow, lamenting and avarice,
therefore sages leaving possessions
freely wander, seers of security.For a bhikkhu practicing in solitude,
keeping company with secluded mind,
of such a one are all agreed:
“In being he’ll not be seen again”.In all matters the sage is unsupported,
nothing that makes dear, nor undear,
sorrow and avarice do not stain that one,
As water does not stay upon a leaf.As a water-drop on lotus plant,
as water does not stain a lotus flower,
even so the sage is never stained
by seen, heard, or whatever’s cognized.Certainly the wise do not conceive
upon the seen, the heard, and cognized,
nor wish for purity through another,
for they are not attached nor yet displeased.
snp.4.6 Suttanipata
Ageing and Decay
- Translator: Laurence Khantipalo Mills
Old Age
Short, alas, is this life;you die before a hundred years.
Even if you live a little longer,
you still die of old age.
People grieve over belongings,
yet there is no such thing as permanent possessions.
Separation is a fact of life; when you see this,
you wouldn’t stay living at home.
Whatever a person thinks of as belonging to them,
that too is given up when they die.
Knowing this, an astute follower of mine
would not be bent on ownership.
Just as, upon awakening, a person does not see
what they encountered in a dream;
so too you do not see your loved ones
when they are dead and gone.
You used to see and hear those folk,
and call them by their name.
Yet the name is all that’s left to tell
of a person when they’re gone.
Those who are greedy for belongings
don’t give up sorrow, lamentation, and stinginess.
That’s why the sages, seers of sanctuary,
left possessions behind and wandered.
For a mendicant who lives withdrawn,
frequenting a secluded seat,
they say it’s fitting
to not show themselves in a home.
The sage is independent everywhere,
they don’t form likes or dislikes.
Lamentation and stinginess
slip off them like water from a leaf.
Like a droplet slips from a lotus-leaf,
like water from a lotus flower;
the sage doesn’t cling to that
which is seen or heard or thought.
For the one who is cleansed does not conceive
in terms of things seen, heard, or thought.
They do not wish to be purified by another;
they are neither passionate nor growing dispassioned.