At journey’s end, rid of sorrow;

everywhere free,

all ties given up,

no fever is found in them.

The mindful apply themselves;

they delight in no abode.

Like a swan gone from the marsh,

they leave home after home behind.

Those with nothing stored up,

who have understood their food,

whose domain is the liberation

of the signless and the empty:

their path is hard to trace,

like birds in the sky.

One whose defilements have ended;

who’s not attached to food;

whose domain is the liberation

of the signless and the empty:

their track is hard to trace,

like birds in the sky.

Whose faculties have become serene,

like horses tamed by a charioteer,

who has abandoned conceit and defilements;

the unaffected one is envied by even the gods.

Undisturbed like the earth,

true to their vows, steady as Indra’s pillar,

like a lake clear of mud;

such a one does not transmigrate.