All things conditioned
are instable, impermanent,
Fragile in essence, as an unbaked pot, like something
borrowed, or a city founded on sand,
They last a short while only.
They are inevitably destroyed,
Like plaster washed off in the rains,
Like the sandy bank of a river --
They are conditioned,
and their true nature is frail. |
They are like the flame
of a lamp, which rises suddenly and as soon goes out.
They have no power of endurance,
Like the wind.
Or like foam, unsubstantial, essentially feeble.
The sage knows the beginning and end of consciousness,
its production and passing away -- |
The sage knows that it came
from nowhere and returns to nowhere,
And is empty of reality,
Like a conjuring trick.
The sage knows what is true reality,
And sees all conditioned things as
Empty and powerless.
(adapted from the Lalitavistara, Tran. by A.
L. Basham) |
