Axial Commons
Buddhism
All states arising have mind for their causing, Mind for their master, of mind are the offspring. He who with foul mind speaks or does action - Him pain pursues as the wheel dogs the ox-hoof.
All states arising have mind for their causing, Mind for their master, of mind are the offspring. He who with pure mind speaks or does action - Him bliss pursues, to him clings like his shadow.
"This man abused me: he beat me and conquered, Conquered and plundered." Cherishing in such thoughts, Never appeased is the hatred of such men.
"This man abused me, he beat me and conquered, Conquered and plundered." Not having such thoughts, Quickly appeased is the hatred of such men.
Never by hatred is hatred appeaséd Nay! but by kindness; that's the old-time Norm.
Others don't grasp this - "We men are mortals". Men who can grasp this soon end their quarrels.
Looking for fair sights, unchecked in his senses, In food uncontrolled, slack, inert, without vigour, Death overwhelms him, as winds uproot weak trees.
He who lives sense-restrained, heedless of fair sights, Who in food keeps the mean, is trusty and sturdy, Death cannot shake him: winds cannot move mountains.
Without doffing his faults who would don the monk's yellow, Void of truth and of training, deserves not the monk's robe. If he doff all his faults and be versed in the virtues, In the training and truth firm, he merits the monk's robe.
In the false seeing truth, and in truth seeing falsehood, Men touch not the truth, but are fed on illusion. But in truth seeing truth and falsehood in falsehood, Men touch the truth ever, feeding on right thoughts.
As the rain through the roof of a house that is ill-thatched, Lust leaks through the mind not composed by the training: As rain never leaks through the roof that is well-thatched, So through the mind well-trained lust leaketh never.
Here he grieves and grieves hereafter: doubly grieves the evil-doer, Grieves and suffers anguish when he sees the foulness of his deeds.
Happy here, he's happy after: doing good he's doubly glad: Glad, exceeding happy, when he sees the pureness of his deeds.
Here he suffers, suffers after: doubly suffer evil-doers: Thoughts of ill-deeds torture, much more torture when they enter hell.
He rejoices here and after: doing good he's doubly glad: Thoughts of good deeds comfort, much more comfort when they enter heaven.
Though reciting many verses, if they do not what they preach, Sluggards, counting others' cattle, cannot share the Brotherhood.
Practising the Norm he preaches, though he utter verses few, Quit of anger, lust and folly, truly wise, with thoughts set free, Caring nought for this or that world, he hath part in brotherhood. ^$/
Heedfulness leads to the Deathless; heedlessness leads unto Death! Heedful men live on for ever; they who heed not are as dead.
Knowing this full surely, wise men take delight in heedfulness; Heedfully they range with joy the pastures of the Worthy Ones.
Meditative, persevering, ever with strong might endowed, Wise men reach the Blissful Haven, reach Security Supreme.
Heedful men's good name increaseth, if they strive with mind subdued Pure in deed, with thoughts well-guarded, well-controlled of lawful lives.
Let the wise man, striving, heedful, well-controlled and temperate, Make himself an island which the flood shall never sweep away.
Heedlessness the foolish follow, men of small intelligence; As the best of treasures wise men guard the prize of Heedfulness.
Cleave not thou to Heedlessness, cleave not thou to Passion's snares; Strenuous and meditative, wisdom winneth widespread bliss.
Lo! the sage that drives away the cloud of sloth by Heedfulness, Climbing up the heights of wisdom, sorrowless looks down upon All the miserable beings, as a hillman on the plains.
Strenuous amid the heedless, 'mid the sleepers wide awake, As a racer beats the weak jade, so the wise outstrips the fools.
Maghavā by Heedfulness attained the kingship of the gods; Heedfulness is praised for ever; Heedlessness is ever blamed.
Monks whom Heedfulness delighteth, seeing fear in Heedlessness, As the fire blazeth onwards, burn their fetters great and small.
Monks whom Heedfulness delighteth, seeing fear in Heedlessness, Cannot fall into destruction; they are near Nibbāna's shore.
The fugitive, flickering mind, Hard to guard and hard to bind, The wise men train as they choose, As a fletcher fashions a shaft to his use.
Like a fish flung out on the bank; Drawn from its watery home in a tank, Flutters this fugitive mind To leave the realm of Māra behind.
Impalpable, hard to seize, Eagerly rushing wherever it please, Good is the taming of mind; A mind well-tamed is a treasure to find.
Invisible, subtle indeed, Eagerly rushing its passions to feed, Let the wise man guard this mind; A guarded mind is a treasure to find.
Wandering, dwelling apart, Bodiless there in the cave of the heart, They who subdue this mind Leave all the fetters of Māra behind.
If he know not the Doctrine Pure, If he waver in faith and be not sure, If his mind be not strong-willed, The cup of his wisdom is never fulfilled.
If his mind be free from desire, If his thought be free from anger's fire, If evil and good he forsake, There is no fear in the man that's awake.
"Body's a vessel of clay; Mind must be made like a fort," if he say, Let him give battle to Mara, arrayed In the weapons of wisdom, unafraid Let him conquer and guard him and passionless stay.
Soon, ah! soon on the earth Will this body lie, a thing of no worth, Neglected, void of the six Workings of sense, a mere bundle of sticks.
Whatever the ill that a foe Doth a foe, whatever the grudge he may owe. Greater by far will he find The ill that is done by an ill-trained mind.
Nay, not a father or mother Could do so much; not a kinsman or other; Greater by far will he find The good that is done by a well-trained mind.
Who shall discern this earth aright And the Realm of Death and the World of Light? Who shall choose out the Way Of righteousness well displayed, As a skilled hand chooseth a flower gay?
The disciple discerneth this earth aright And the Realm of Death and the World of Light; The disciple chooseth the Way Of Righteousness well displayed, As a skilled hand chooseth a flower gay.
Seeing this body as like unto foam, Illusive, by insight of wisdom alone, Scattering Death's flower-tipp'd shafts, He shall pass to a realm where Death is unknown.
Culling life's blossoms here and there, With his mind entangled by pleasures' delay, Death comes and carries him off, As a flood sweeps a slumbering village away.
Culling life's blossoms here and there, With his mind entangled by pleasures' delay, Insatiate in desire, Death makes him his bondsman and takes him away.
As a bee on the wing flits from flower to flower, Not harming the scent or the blossom's hue, And is gone taking only the taste, Let the sage his way through the village pursue.
Not with other men's faults and other men's failings, Nor the things they have done, nor the things left undone, Should the wise man be concerned; Let him look to his own things done and undone.
Fair is the flow'r with its hue and its colour; But if it lack odour its beauty is hollow. So fair are the words well-spoken, But how empty the words which deeds do not follow.
Fair is the flow'r with its hue and its colour; But if it have odour its beauty's not hollow; So fair are the words well-spoken; Well-spoken indeed are the words which deeds follow.
As one from a heap of gathered flowers Makes many a garland, many a crown; So by a mortal being Many a seed of good may be sown.
The odour of flowers cannot prevail 'Gainst the wind, nor of sandal and tagara fair; 'Gainst the wind goes the odour of saints; The odour of saints goeth everywhere.
Sweet is the sandal and sweet is the tagara, And sweet of the lily the odour faint; But of all sweet-savoured things Sweetest by far is the scent of the saint.
How small a thing is the odour of wood Of the sandal or jasmine! How poor is their scent! Yet the odour of saints prevails E'en 'mongst the gods, most excellent.
Men who live righteously, men who live heedfully, Perfect in wisdom, rebirth have transcended: Though he search for the prints of their feet, Death cannot find them: their journey is ended.
On a heap of dung by the high road hurled, As a lily may bloom and grow, Delighting the mind with its fragrance pure: So, lit by the wisdom of those who know, 'mid those who on the dung-hill grow A disciple shines out in the darkened world.
Long is the night to him that is waking, Long is a league to the traveller worn, Long is the coil of births For fools that know not the truth of the Norm.
If one find not a comrade to join him in travel. Either like unto self or better than self, It is safer to push on alone; What fellowship can there be with a fool?
"I am father of sons! I am owner of wealth!" Thinks the fool in his folly and thereat is troubled. He himself is not owner of self; Much less is he owner of sons and of wealth.
Wise indeed is he that knoweth his folly; Fool indeed is the fool that thinks himself wise.
Tho' a fool in his folly sit all his life long By the side of a wise man, he never gets wiser, For he knows not the Norm and its worth, As the spoon never knoweth the taste of the broth.
But a wise man that sits by the wise but a minute, Quickly learns of the Norm and its worth, As the tongue quickly savours the taste of the broth.
Fools fare up and down with themselves for their foe, And work evil deeds whose fruit will be bitter;
Ill-done is the deed that brings sorrow in doing, Whose fruit they will meet with tears and annoy;
Well done is the deed that brings pleasure in doing, Whose fruit they will welcome with gladness and joy.
"O! how sweet!" thinks the fool, ere his wicked deed ripens. When his wicked deed ripens he knows what is sorrow.
Tho' month after month with the blade of a sword-grass The fool eats his rice grain by grain, Not one fourth of a quarter of good doth he gain Such as those who are stablished in Dhamma obtain.
Now an ill deed, like milk, doth not change into curds, But it burneth the fool - a live coal 'neath the ashes.
Since his knowledge is born to a fool all in vain, His good luck is lost to him wholly; On his own head it falls; he is crushed by his folly.
If a fool long for credit that is not his due, Chief seats in the monks' hall, respect from the Order, And worship from laymen desiring; "Let the monks and the laymen my deeds hold in honour And in all things obey me, whate'er I may will - " If such be the thoughts of the fool, His pride and his longing increase in him still.
"Success here is one thing, Nibbāna another:" When a monk, the Buddha's disciple, is sure Of this truth, he delights not in honour, eschews The ways of the world and lives a recluse.
If thou see a man of wisdom, Like a guide to treasure-trove, Pointing out thy faults and failings, Follow him; such company Brings prosperity, not woe.
He who gives advice and teaching, And restrains thy feet from wrong, By the righteous is beloved, But the wicked love him not.
Have no fellowship with evil; Make no friends among the vile; Make the virtuous thy companions; Follow thou the Perfect Men.
They who drink the Good Norm's nectar Live in bliss with tranquil mind; In the Norm by saints expounded Wise men ever take delight.
Irrigators guide the waters, Fletchers straighten out the shaft, Carpenters unwarp the timber, But the wise subdue themselves.
As the solid rock for ever Rests unshaken by the wind, Wise men rest unwavering, Troubled not by praise or blame.
As a deep clear pool of water Lies unruffled by the wind, To the Good Norm listening Wise men reach tranquillity.
When the good men go about, Sensual babble is not theirs; They, when touched by pain or pleasure, Show a calm untroubled face.
Not for self and not for others Do they long for sons or wealth, Not for rule, nor by injustice Self-advancement to attain; Righteous, wise and just are they.
Few are they among us mortals Who have reached the further shore Over yonder. But we others On this side fare up and down.
They who hold fast to the teaching Of the Norm expounded well They shall reach the shore and pass The realm of Death so hard to cross.
Giving up the state of darkness, Let the wise embrace the pure; Giving up home for the homeless Loneliness, where joys are rare, Let him long for bliss unbounded Casting all desire aside, Owning naught, and, firm in wisdom, Cleanse his heart from passion's stain.
They whose mind is rightly tempered In the Wisdom's seven ways, Who have left desire behind them, Void of clinging, they rejoicing Passionless and all-resplendent, Even in this world are freed.
He for whom life's journey's over, free from sorrow, free from pain Who has all the knots unfastened, suffering knows not again.
Household life for them no joys hath; striving and intent in mind As the swan deserts the marshes, every home they leave behind.
They who gather up no treasure, feeding on the food that's known, They who range in mind the Void, the unconditioned formless Space, As the bird's path in the ether, so their ways are hard to trace.
They whose taints are all evanished, independent of support, They who range in mind the Void, the unconditioned, formless Space, As the bird's path in the ether, so their tracks are hard to trace.
He whose senses now are tranquil, like a horse by trainer tamed (Pride struck off, the taints evanished), to the very gods is famed.
Like the solid ground unshaken, like the threshold of a door, Like a pool by mud unsullied, such a saint is born no more.
Calm the mind of such a being, calm his thoughts and words and deeds, Set free by the perfect knowledge, liberated from life's needs.
Self-dependent, self-sufficing, knower of the Uncreate Who hath loosed the bonds of action, from the chain of births set free, All desires are fallen from him, noblest of all beings he.
In the village or the forest, on the water or the ground, Where the worthy ones are dwelling, there the earth's delights are found.
Ah! delightful are the forests! where the worldling finds no joy, There the passionless find pleasure, whom the senses do not cloy.
Tho' one's speech be a thousand words, Vain words all strung together, Better a single phrase Which calms the one that hears.
Tho' a song have a thousand words, Vain words all strung together, Better a single verse Which calms the one that hears.
Tho' one utter a hundred songs, Vain words all strung together, Better one verse of the Norm Which brings peace to the hearer.
Tho' one conquer a thousand times A thousand men in battle, Who conquers self alone Is the best of conquerors.
Tis better to conquer self Than all this multitude; If one be self-subdued And ever self-controlled,
Not the gods or demi-gods Nor the Lord of the world below Nor the God Supreme have power To undo his victory.
Tho' one for a hundred years Month after month should pray With a thousand offerings, Yet if for a moment's space He worship the feet of one Whose self is self-subdued, His worship is better far Than his age-long offerings.