One shouldn't go about
surrounded, revered
by a company:
	one gets distracted;
	concentration
	is hard to gain.
Fellowship with many people
		is painful.
Seeing this,
	one shouldn't approve
	of a company.

A sage shouldn't visit families:
	one gets distracted;
	concentration
	is hard to gain.
He's eager & greedy for flavors,
	whoever misses the goal
	that brings bliss.
They know it's a bog —
	the reverence & veneration
	of families —
a subtle arrow, hard to extract.
Offerings are hard for a worthless man
	to let go.

	* * *

Coming down from my dwelling place,
I entered the city for alms,
stood courteously next to a leper
eating his meal.

He, with his rotting hand,
tossed me a morsel of food,
and as the morsel was dropping,
a finger fell off
	right there.

Sitting next to a wall,
I ate that morsel of food,
and neither while eating it,
nor having eaten,
did I feel
any disgust.

Whoever has mastered
	left-over scraps for food,
	smelly urine for medicine,
	the foot of a tree for a dwelling,
	cast-off rags for robes:
He is a man
of the four directions.

	* * *

Where some are exhausted
climbing the mountain,
there
the Awakened One's heir
	 — mindful, alert,
	buoyed by his psychic power —
Kassapa climbs.

Returning from his alms round,
climbing the peak,
Kassapa does jhana
with no sustenance/clinging,
	having abandoned terror
	& fear.

Returning from his alms round,
climbing the peak,
Kassapa does jhana
with no sustenance/clinging,
	unbound
	among those who burn.

Returning from his alms round,
climbing the peak,
Kassapa does jhana
with no sustenance/clinging,
	free of fermentation,
	his duty
	done.

Spread with garlands of vines,
places delighting the mind,
resounding with elephants,
appealing:
		those rocky crags
		refresh me.

The color of blue-dark clouds,
	glistening,
cooled with the waters
of clear-flowing streams
covered with ladybugs:
		those rocky crags
		refresh me.

Like the peaks of blue-dark clouds,
like excellent peaked-roof buildings,
resounding with tuskers,
appealing:
		those rocky crags
		refresh me.

Their lovely surfaces wet with rain,
mountains frequented
	by seers
& echoing
	with peacocks:
		those rocky crags
		refresh me.

This is enough for me —
	desiring to do jhana,
	resolute, mindful;
enough for me —
	desiring the goal,
	resolute,
	a monk;
enough for me —
	desiring comfort,
	resolute,
	in training;
enough for me —
	desiring my duty,
	resolute,
	Such.

Flax-flower blue,
	like the sky
covered over with clouds;
filled with flocks
of various birds:
		those rocky crags
		refresh me.

	Uncrowded
by householders,
	frequented
by herds of deer
filled with flocks
of various birds:
		those rocky crags
		refresh me.

With clear waters &
	massive boulders,
frequented by monkeys &
	deer,
covered with moss &
	water weeds:
		those rocky crags
		refresh me.

There is no such pleasure for me
in the music of a five-piece band
as there is when my mind
	is at one,
seeing the Dhamma
		aright.

	* * *

One shouldn't do lots of work,
should avoid people,
shouldn't busy oneself.
He's eager & greedy for flavors,
	whoever misses the goal
	that brings bliss.

One shouldn't do lots of work,
should avoid
what doesn't lead to the goal.
The body gets wearied,
fatigued.
Aching, one finds
no tranquillity.

	* * *

Simply by flapping the mouth
one doesn't see
even oneself.
One goes around stiff-
	necked,
thinking, 'I'm better
	than they.'

Not better,
he thinks himself better,
	the fool:
the wise don't praise him,
the stiff-necked man.

But whoever isn't stirred
by the modes of
	'I'm better,
	not better.
	I'm worse.
	I'm like that';
one who's discerning,
who acts as he says,
well-centered
in virtues,
committed to
tranquillity of awareness, he
is the one
	the wise
		would praise.

One with no respect
for his fellows in the holy life,
is as far
		from the true Dhamma
as the earth
		is from the sky.

But those whose conscience
& fear of evil
are always rightly established: they
have flourished in the holy life.
	For them
there's no further becoming.

A monk conceited & vain,
even though clad
in a robe of cast-off rags,
like a monkey in a lion's skin,
	doesn't shine because of it.

But a monk not conceited
	or vain,
	masterful,
	his faculties restrained, shines
because of his robe of cast-off rags,
	like a lion
	in the cleft of a mountain.

	* * *

These many devas,
powerful, prestigious
	 — 10,000 devas —
all of Brahma's retinue,
stand with their hands over their hearts,
paying homage to Sariputta,
the Dhamma-general,
	enlightened,
	centered,
	great master of jhana,
		[saying:]

'Homage to you, O thoroughbred man.
Homage to you, O superlative man —
of whom we have no direct knowledge
even of that
in dependence on which
	you do jhana.

'How very amazing:
the awakened ones'
very own deep range —
of which we have no direct knowledge,
though we have come
as hair-splitting archers.'

Seeing Sariputta,
a man worthy of worship,
worshipped by deva retinues,
Kappina
smiled.

	* * *

As far as this buddha-field extends
	 — except for the great sage himself —
I'm the one
outstanding
in ascetic qualities.
There's no one else
like me.

The Teacher has been served by me;
the Awakened One's bidding,
			done;
the heavy load, 		laid down;
the guide to becoming, 	uprooted.

Neither to robe,
nor dwelling,
nor food
does he cling:
	Gotama,
	like a lotus unspotted
	by water, inclining
	to renunciation, 	detached
	from the three planes of becoming.[1] 

He,
the great sage,
has the frames of reference
	as his neck,
conviction
	as hands,
discernment
	as head.
The great master of jhana
he goes about
	always unbound.