The Fool and Old Age

The Fool

Night is long for one lying awake.
Seven miles is long for one exhausted.
Samsara is long for fools
          Ignorant of true Dharma.

If, while on your way,
          You meet no one your equal or better,
Steadily continue on your way alone.
          There is no fellowship with fools. 

A fool suffers, thinking,
          “I have children! I have wealth!”
One’s self is not even one’s own.
          How then are children? How then is wealth?

Fools conscious of their foolishness
          Are to that extent wise.
But fools who consider themselves wise
          Are the ones to be called fools. 

A fool associating with a sage,
          Even if for a lifetime,
Will no more perceive the Dharma
          Than a spoon will perceive the taste of soup. 

A discerning person who associates with a sage,
          Even if for a brief moment,
Will quickly perceive the Dharma,
          As the tongue perceives the taste of soup.

Fools with no sense
          Go about as their own enemies,
Doing evil deeds that
          Bear bitter fruit. 

No deed is good
          That one regrets having done,
          That results in weeping
          And a tear-streaked face. 

A deed is good
          That one doesn’t regret having done,
          That results in joy
          And delight. 

As long as evil has not borne fruit,
          The fool thinks it is like honey.
But when evil does bear fruit,
          Then the fool suffers. 

The foolish ascetic who month after month
          Eats food with the tip of a blade of grass
Is not worth a fraction
          Of a person who has fathomed the Dharma.

Like fresh milk,
          Evil deeds do not immediately curdle;
Rather, like fire covered with ash,
          They follow the fool, smoldering. 

Reasoning is harmful
          To fools;
It ruins their good fortune
          And splits open their heads. 

Fools will want unwarranted status,
          Deference from fellow monks,
Authority in the monasteries,
          And homage from good families.
“Let both householders and renunciants
          Believe that I did this.
          Let them obey me in every task!”
Such are the thoughts of a fool
          Who cultivates desire and pride.

The way to material gain is one thing,
          The path to Nirvana another.
Knowing this, a monk who is the Buddha’s disciple
          Should not delight in being venerated,
          But cultivate solitude instead.

Old Age

Why the laughter, why the joy,
          When flames are ever burning?
Surrounded by darkness,
          Shouldn’t you search for light?

Look at this beautified body:
          A mass of sores propped up,
          Full of illness, [the object] of many plans,
          With nothing stable or lasting. 

This body is worn out—
          So fragile, a nesting ground for disease.
When life ends in death,
          This putrid body dissolves. 

What is the delight
          In seeing these dull-white bones
Tossed away
          Like white gourds in autumn? 

This city is built of bones,
          Plastered with blood and flesh,
And filled with
          Aging, death, conceit, and hypocrisy.

Even the splendid chariots of the royalty wear out.
          So too does the body decay.
But the Dharma of the virtuous doesn’t decay
          [For it is upheld when] the virtuous teach [it] to
                    good people.

The person of little learning
          Grows old like an ox:
The flesh increases,
          But insight does not. 

Through many births
          I have wandered on and on,
Searching for, but never finding,
          The builder of [this] house.
          To be born again and again is suffering.

Housebuilder, you are seen!
          You will not build a house again!
All the rafters are broken,
          The ridgepole deconstructed;
The mind, arrived at the deconstructed,
          Has attained the end of craving!

Those who have neither lived the chaste life
          Nor gained wealth in their youth
Waste away like frail herons
          In a lake devoid of fish.

Those who have neither lived the chaste life
          Nor gained wealth in their youth
Lie around like [arrows misfired] from a bow,
          Lamenting the past.

♦

From The Dhammapada: A Translation of the Buddhist Classic with Annotations by Gil Fronsdal. © 2005, 2023 by Egil Fronsdal. This edition published in 2023. Reprinted in arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc. Boulder, CO.

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