Of paths, the eightfold is best.
Of truths, the four sayings.
Of qualities, dispassion.
Of two-footed beings,
	the one with the eyes
	to see.

	Just this
	is the path
 — there is no other —
to purify vision.
	Follow it,
and that will be Mara's
	bewilderment.
Following it,
you put an end
to suffering & stress.
I have taught you this path
having known
 — for your knowing —
the extraction of arrows.
It's for you to strive
	ardently.
Tathagatas simply
point out the way.
Those who practice,
absorbed in jhana:
	from Mara's bonds
	they'll be freed.

When you see with discernment,
'All fabrications are inconstant' —
you grow disenchanted with stress.
	This is the path
	to purity.
When you see with discernment,
'All fabrications are stressful' —
you grow disenchanted with stress.
	This is the path
	to purity.
When you see with discernment,
'All phenomena are not-self' —
you grow disenchanted with stress.
	This is the path
	to purity.

At the time for initiative
he takes no initiative.
Young, strong, but lethargic,
the resolves of his heart
	exhausted,
the lazy, lethargic one
loses the path
to discernment.

	Guarded	in speech,
well-restrained	in mind,
you should do nothing unskillful
			in body.
	Purify
these three courses of action.
	Bring to fruition
the path that seers have proclaimed.

From striving comes wisdom;
from not, wisdom's end.
Knowing these two courses
 — to development,
		decline —
conduct yourself
so that wisdom will grow.

Cut down
the forest of desire,
not the forest of trees.
From the forest of desire
come danger & fear.
Having cut down this forest
& its underbrush, monks,
	be deforested.
For as long as the least
bit of underbrush
of a man for women
is not cleared away,
the heart is fixated
	like a suckling calf
	on its mother.
Crush
your sense of self-allure
	like an autumn lily
	in the hand.
Nurture only the path to peace
	— Unbinding —
as taught by the One Well Gone.

'Here I'll stay for the rains.
Here, for the summer & winter.'
So imagines the fool,
unaware of obstructions.
That drunk-on-his-sons-&-cattle man,
all tangled up in the mind:
death sweeps him away —
	as a great flood,
	a village asleep.
There are 	no sons
	to give shelter,
		no father,
		no family
for one seized by the Ender,
	no shelter among kin.
	Conscious
of this compelling reason,
the wise man, restrained by virtue,
should make the path pure
	— right away —
that goes all the way to Unbinding.