[A Brahman:]

Deep in the bowels of the terror-filled forest,
Immersed in the empty and desolate woods,
Without flinching at all, steadfast, compelling
You meditate, monk, in an exquisite way.

Where nothing is sung and nothing is sounded,
Alone in the forest, a wood-dwelling sage,
This appears to me something remarkable:
That you live in the woods—alone—glad-minded!

I'm guessing you're longing for the three highest
Heavens, there to befriend the Lord of the World.
Why else, Sir, dwell in this desolate jungle,
Except to do penance for reaching Brahma?

[The Buddha:]

Every kind of delighting or longing,
So often attaching to all kinds of stuff,
Yearned for because of deep-rooted confusion
— All these, with their roots, have been vanquished by me.

I'm devoid of attachment, longing, or thirst,
And see clearly amidst all phenomena.
Having gained the sublime, highest awakening,
I meditate, priest, in ripened seclusion.