Old Age

Life is short.

You die before a hundred years.

And if you live longer,

old age takes you in the end.

People grieve over what they call theirs.

No possession lasts forever.

Separation is simply how it is.

See that, and you wouldn't remain in any home.

Whatever a person calls "mine"

is given up at death.

Knowing this, a wise follower of mine

won't bend toward making things "mine."

Just as one waking from a dream

no longer sees those they met there,

so loved ones, once dead and gone,

are seen no more.

Those people you saw and heard of,

whose names you used to speak —

only the name remains,

spoken now of one who is gone.

Sorrow, mourning, possessiveness —

these the greedy never give up

over what they call theirs.

So sages, seers of safety,

left possessions behind and walked on.

For a monk who lives withdrawn,

who keeps to a solitary seat —

they say it's right

not to show themselves in any home.

The sage depends on nothing, anywhere.

They treat nothing as dear, nothing as hateful.

Grief and possessiveness slip off them

like water off a leaf.

Like a drop on a lotus leaf,

like water on a lotus flower —

nothing the sage sees, hears, or thinks

sticks to them.

The cleansed one doesn't conceive

in terms of seen, heard, or thought.

They don't seek purity from anything else.

They neither flare up nor cool down.