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.
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A monk, living 		withdrawn,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.