Sensual pleasures are like fruits of a tree, like scraps of meat, painful, they trick you like a dream; sensual pleasures are like borrowed goods.

Sensual pleasures are like swords and spears; a disease, a boil, gloom and trouble. Like a pit of glowing coals, the root of gloom, fear and slaughter.

Thus sensual pleasures have been explained to be obstructions, so full of suffering. Please leave! As for me, I have no trust in any state of life.

What can someone else do for me when their own head is burning? When stalked by old age and death, you should strive to destroy them.”

She opened the door and saw her parents with Anīkaratta, sitting crying on the floor. And so she said this:

“Transmigration is long for fools, crying again and again <j>at that with no known beginning—the death of a father, the killing of a brother or of themselves.

Remember the ocean of tears, of milk, of blood—transmigration with no known beginning. Remember the bones piled up by beings transmigrating.

Remember the four oceans compared with tears, milk, and blood. Remember bones piled up high as Mount Vepulla in the course of a single eon.

Transmigration with no known beginning is compared to this broad Black Plum Tree Land; if divided into lumps the size of jujube seeds, they’d still be fewer than his mother’s mothers.

Remember the grass, sticks, and leaves, compare that with no known beginning: if split into chips four inches in size, they’d still be fewer than his father’s fathers.