The Serpent

When anger surges, they drive it out, as with medicine a cobra’s spreading venom. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They’ve cut off greed entirely, like a lotus plucked flower and stalk. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They’ve cut off craving entirely, drying up that swift-flowing stream. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They’ve swept away conceit entirely, as a fragile bridge of reeds by a great flood. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

In future lives they find no worth, as an inspector of fig trees finds no flower. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They hide no anger within, passed beyond any kind of existence. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

Their mental vibrations are cleared away, internally clipped off entirely. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They have not run too far nor run back, but have gone beyond all this proliferation. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They have not run too far nor run back, for they know that nothing in the world is what it seems. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They have not run too far nor run back, knowing nothing is what it seems, free of greed. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They have not run too far nor run back, knowing nothing is what it seems, free of lust. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They have not run too far nor run back, knowing nothing is what it seems, free of hate. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They have not run too far nor run back, knowing nothing is what it seems, free of delusion. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They have no underlying tendencies at all, and are rid of unskillful roots, Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They have nothing born of distress at all to make them to return to the near shore. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

No snarl grows in them at all, that would shackle them to a new life. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.

They’ve given up the five hindrances, untroubled, rid of indecision, free of thorns. Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, as a serpent its old worn-out skin.