Sn 1.1
Uraga Sutta
The Snake
Translated from the Pali by
Thanissaro Bhikkhu
Alternate translation:NyanaponikaThanissaro
PTS: vv. 1-17
Source: Transcribed from a file provided by the translator.
Copyright © 1997 Thanissaro Bhikkhu.
Access to Insight edition © 1997
For free distribution. This work may be republished, reformatted,
reprinted, and redistributed in any medium. It is the author's wish,
however, that any such republication and redistribution be made available
to the public on a free and unrestricted basis and that translations and
other derivative works be clearly marked as such.
Translator's note: A comparative study among the records of various early
Buddhist schools suggests that the verses here, like those in I.3, were
originally separate poems, spoken on separate occasions, and that they have been
gathered together because they share the same refrain.
The monk who subdues his arisen anger
as, with herbs, snake-venom once it has spread,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who has cut off passion
without leaving a trace,
as he would plunging into a lake, a lotus,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who has cut off craving
without leaving a trace,
as if he had dried up a swift-flowing stream,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who has demolished conceit
without leaving a trace,
as a great flood, a very weak bridge made of reeds,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk seeing
in states of becoming
no essence,
as he would,
when surveying a fig tree,
no flowers,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk with no inner anger,
who has thus gone beyond
becoming & not-,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk whose discursive thoughts are dispersed,
well-dealt with inside
without leaving a trace,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back,
transcending all
this complication,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back,
knowing with regard to the world
that "All this is unreal,"
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back,
without greed, as "All this is unreal,"
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back,
without aversion, as "All this is unreal,"
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back,
without delusion, as "All this is unreal,"
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk in whom there are no obsessions
— the roots of unskillfulness totally destroyed —
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk in whom there's nothing born of distress
that would lead him back to this shore,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk in whom there's nothing born of desire
that would keep him bound to becoming,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
The monk who's abandoned five hindrances,
who, untroubled, unwounded,
has crossed over doubt,
sloughs off the near shore & far —
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.
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