The Great Final Nirvāṇa (III)

Should a person apply diligent effort, there is nothing at all he could fail to gain by it — and so you must apply yourselves diligently, day and night, without ever growing slack or lazy.

Even the faint trickle of a mountain stream, flowing on without pause, is able in time to cut through solid stone; while friction applied without diligence in trying to start a fire only wastes one's own labor for nothing — and so you must be diligent, as a vigorous man is diligent when working the fire-drill.

However excellent a good friend may be, none surpasses right mindfulness itself — for as long as right mindfulness abides in the heart, no evil at all can find its way in.

And so a true practitioner ought always to keep this body of his own in mind — for should mindfulness of the body ever be lost, every goodness is lost right along with it.

It is like a brave and valiant general, clad in armor, holding off a powerful enemy — right mindfulness is itself just such heavy armor, able to hold in check the very thieves that are the six sense-objects; and right concentration restrains the wandering mind, allowing one to observe clearly the arising and ceasing of all things in this world — and so a true practitioner ought to cultivate this very samādhi.

Once samādhi has brought the mind to quiescent stillness, it is able to extinguish every kind of suffering; and wisdom itself is then able to shine forth in full clarity, entirely free of any further clinging or attachment.

To contemplate all things with perfect equanimity, reflecting inwardly and moving in accordance with the true Dharma — this is the very path that both the householder and the one who has gone forth from home alike ought to follow.

Wisdom is the very light boat that crosses the great ocean of birth, old age, and death; wisdom is the very bright lamp that dispels the great darkness of ignorance; wisdom is the very medicine that cures the sickness of every entangling defilement; wisdom is the very sharp axe that clears the thorny forest of the afflictions; and wisdom is the very bridge across the swift and turbulent current of ignorance and craving — and so you must diligently cultivate wisdom, generated through hearing the teaching, reflecting upon it, and putting it into actual practice.

One who has accomplished these three kinds of wisdom sees clearly with the eye of wisdom even if physically blind; while one without wisdom, his heart empty and false, is no true renunciate at all, whatever robe he wears.

And so you must awaken to this, and depart from every kind of empty and false teaching, that you might attain the most subtle and wondrous bliss, the place of true quiescent peace and security.

Honor and uphold vigilance always, for negligence is itself a true enemy to your own good — one who remains vigilant and free of negligence attains rebirth even in the very realm of Śakra, lord of the gods, while one who gives free rein to his own heart in careless negligence falls instead among the asuras.

The work of compassion and consolation that I was meant to accomplish has now been fully accomplished — you, then, must apply yourselves diligently, cultivating well your own practice, and, in the mountains and forests, in places of quiet solitude, deepen further your own quiescent and peaceful heart.

Encourage and exert yourselves diligently, so that you might never come, later, to feel any regret over this.

It is like a skilled physician of this world, who prescribes the proper medicine according to the illness before him — should the patient hold that medicine and yet fail to take it, this is no fault of the skilled physician at all.

I have already spoken the truth, and made clear this path of perfect equanimity — should you hear it and yet fail to put it into practice, this, too, is no fault belonging to the one who taught it.

Should there be anything at all in the meaning of the four noble truths that remains unclear to you, you ought now to ask me about it fully — do not hold back whatever is on your minds."

The World-Honored One, having taught with such deep compassion, was met only with silence from the whole assembly.

At that time Aniruddha, surveying the whole assembly and finding it entirely silent, with not a single doubt remaining anywhere, joined his palms and said to the Buddha: "Sooner would the moon grow warm, the sun's light turn cold, the wind fall utterly still, and the very nature of the earth itself begin to move — sooner would these four impossible things happen than any doubt of this kind remain anywhere in this world.

Concerning the truths of suffering, its origin, its cessation, and the path — their truth has never once been contradicted, exactly as the World-Honored One has taught them, and the whole assembly holds not the slightest doubt about any of it.

It is only the World-Honored One's own passing into nirvāṇa that fills everyone with grief — no one here has given rise to any doubt at all about the ultimate truth of what the World-Honored One has taught.

Even those newly gone forth from home, whose own understanding has not yet grown deep, have had every trace of doubt and confusion removed entirely, hearing this earnest teaching today.

Even those who have already crossed the ocean of birth and death, free of desire and seeking nothing further at all, now find grief and longing rising in themselves regardless, lamenting: how swiftly the Buddha now passes from us!"

The Buddha, hearing Aniruddha speak of this manifold grief and sorrow, once again, moved by a heart of compassionate concern, comforted them, saying: "Even should I remain for a full age of the world, in the end there would still have to be a parting, for whatever is made of distinct, combined elements can never, by its very nature, remain together forever.

The benefit that both I and others were meant to accomplish has already been fully accomplished — what purpose, then, would there be in my remaining any longer, uselessly, in this world?

Every god and human being who was meant to be delivered has already attained liberation.

You, my disciples, will carry the true Dharma onward from one to the next — know that whatever exists must, of necessity, come to dissolution, and give rise to no further grief and sorrow over it; instead, apply yourselves diligently, through your own skillful effort, to reach that place where no further parting exists at all.

I have already kindled the lamp of wisdom, and, by its light, dispelled the darkness of this world — nothing in this world is ever truly secure or lasting, and so you ought, instead, to rejoice together with me now.

It is like a kinsman who, once gravely ill, is now cured and freed from his own suffering — having now cast aside this vessel of suffering, having gone against the very current of the sea of birth and death, and having permanently departed from every affliction and suffering, this too is a cause for shared rejoicing.

Guard yourselves well, and never fall into carelessness and negligence — whatever exists returns, in the end, to dissolution; and I myself, now, enter final nirvāṇa."

From this point on, he spoke no further words at all — these were his very last teaching.

He entered the first dhyāna in samādhi, and passed in due order through all nine successive absorptions; then, reversing the order, he passed back down through them and returned once more to the first dhyāna; and rising again from the first dhyāna, he entered the fourth dhyāna — and rising from that very absorption, his mind now resting nowhere at all, he entered final nirvāṇa.

At the Buddha's own entry into nirvāṇa, the great earth shook and trembled everywhere at once, and a rain of fire fell throughout the sky, blazing of itself with no fuel to feed it.

And fire, too, rose up from the earth itself, blazing in all eight directions at once, reaching even to the palaces of the gods, which blazed in exactly this same way.

Thunder shook heaven and earth, and lightning cracked across mountains and rivers, like the very sound of drums beaten by the asuras of heaven in battle.

A wild wind rose up violently on every side, mountains collapsed and rained down ash and dust, the sun and moon lost their own light, clear streams boiled and surged, the great forest itself withered and drooped, and flowers and leaves fell out of their proper season.

Flying dragons, riding upon dark clouds, wept tears streaming from all five of their heads at once; and the Four Heavenly Kings and their whole retinue, filled with grief, raised up offerings in mourning.

The gods of the Pure Abodes descended and arrayed themselves in attendance throughout the open sky, observing this impermanent transformation with neither grief nor joy.

They lamented only that the world had lost its own teacher of gods, sighing: how swiftly has this very eye of the world been extinguished!

The gods and spirits of the eight classes filled the whole of the open sky, scattering flowers in offering, their hearts heavy with sorrow and finding no joy in it at all — only Māra, king of the heavens, rejoiced, playing his own music in private celebration.

Jambudvīpa itself lost all its former glory, as though a mountain peak had suddenly crumbled and collapsed, as though a great elephant's own pure white tusks had been broken off, or a king among oxen had had both his horns shattered.

As the open sky is without sun or moon, or as a lotus flower is struck down by a harsh and bitter frost — so, too, did the whole world wither and fade at the Tathāgata's own entry into final nirvāṇa.