Jaravagga: Old Age
- When this world is ever ablaze, why this laughter, why this jubilation? Shrouded in darkness, will you not see the light?
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Behold this body — a painted image, a mass of heaped up sores, infirm, full of hankering — of which nothing is lasting or stable!
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Fully worn out is this body, a nest of disease, and fragile. This foul mass breaks up, for death is the end of life.
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These dove-colored bones are like gourds that lie scattered about in autumn. Having seen them, how can one seek delight?
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This city (body) is built of bones, plastered with flesh and blood; within are decay and death, pride and jealousy.
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Even gorgeous royal chariots wear out, and indeed this body too wears out. But the Dhamma of the Good does not age; thus the Good make it known to the good.
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The man of little learning grows old like a bull. He grows only in bulk, but, his wisdom does not grow.
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Through many a birth in samsara have I wandered in vain, seeking the builder of this house (of life). Repeated birth is indeed suffering! Continue reading