The Moon That Never Sets, and the Word That Means Four Things

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the moon: when a person no longer sees it, everyone says the moon has set, and forms the notion that it has set — yet this nature of the moon has, in truth, never set at all. When it then appears in some other region, the beings there suppose that the moon has risen — yet this nature of the moon has, in truth, never risen at all. Why is this? Because it is merely obscured by Mount Sumeru, and so does not appear; the moon itself is forever present, its own nature knowing neither rising nor setting. The Tathāgata, the Worthy One, the Perfectly and Fully Awakened One, is just the same: appearing throughout this billion-world universe, he manifests, within Jambudvīpa, the appearance of having parents, and beings all suppose that the Tathāgata was born within Jambudvīpa itself; and he manifests, within Jambudvīpa, the appearance of entering parinirvāṇa, yet the Tathāgata's own nature truly never enters nirvāṇa at all — and every being supposes that the Tathāgata has truly entered final nirvāṇa, exactly as they suppose the moon has set. Good son, the Tathāgata's own nature truly knows neither birth nor death; it is only for the sake of converting beings that he manifests birth and death.

"Good son, just as, when the full moon appears here, it is seen as a half-moon elsewhere, and, when a half-moon appears here, it is seen as full elsewhere. Should the people of Jambudvīpa see the moon at its first appearance, they all suppose it is the first day, forming the notion of a new moon; should they see the moon at its fullest, they suppose it is the fifteenth day, forming the notion of fullness. Yet this nature of the moon truly waxes and wanes not at all — it is only on account of Mount Sumeru that it appears to increase and decrease. Good son, the Tathāgata is just the same: within Jambudvīpa, he manifests, at one time, his own first birth, and, at another, his own parinirvāṇa. When he manifests his first taking birth, it is like the new moon; when he is seen to take his seven steps, it is like the moon on its second day; when he manifests entering the schoolroom, it is like the moon on its third day; when he manifests going forth from the household life, it is like the moon on its eighth day; when he sends forth the subtle light of great wisdom, able to destroy the countless hosts of Māra among beings, it is like the full moon on the fifteenth day. And when he manifests the thirty-two marks and eighty minor characteristics adorning himself, and then manifests entering parinirvāṇa, it is like an eclipse of the moon. Beings, in this way, see differently — some see a half-moon, some a full moon, some an eclipsed moon — yet this nature of the moon truly neither increases nor decreases, is never truly eclipsed or devoured at all, and remains forever the full moon. The Tathāgata's own body is just the same — and this is why he is called ever-abiding, without change."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the full moon, appearing everywhere at once — in every place, every city and village, every mountain and marsh and body of water, in a well, in a pond, in a basin, in a pot, appearing in every one of them; and beings who travel a hundred leagues, or a hundred thousand leagues, see the moon always following them, and, in their confusion, ordinary and foolish people give rise to this false thought: 'I first saw this moon at my own house in the city — now I see it again here, in this empty marsh; is this the very same moon, or a different one?' Each forms his own idea of the moon's size and shape — some say it is as small as the mouth of a pot; others say it is as large as a cart-wheel; others say it is as vast as forty-nine leagues across. All of them see the moon's own light; some see it as a perfect circle, likened to a golden disc. This one nature of the moon is seen with every kind of different mark, by every kind of different being. Good son, the Tathāgata is just the same, appearing in the world: some gods and humans think to themselves, 'The Tathāgata now dwells right in front of me'; other beings likewise give rise to this same thought; some who are deaf or mute even see the Tathāgata as bearing the mark of deafness or muteness. Beings of every different kind, speaking every different language, all suppose that the Tathāgata speaks exactly their own language, and each likewise thinks, 'He dwells in my own house, receiving my own offerings.' Some beings see the Tathāgata's body as vast and boundless; others see it as small. Some see the Buddha in the form of a śrāvaka; others see him in the form of a pratyekabuddha. Every heterodox school likewise thinks, 'The Tathāgata now goes forth and studies the path within my own teaching.' And some beings think, 'The Tathāgata appears in the world now for my sake alone.' The Tathāgata's own true nature is likened to that moon — it is the Dharma-body itself, the unborn body. The body of skillful means, according with the world, manifests countless karmic causes and conditions from its own past deeds, manifesting the appearance of birth in every place, exactly like that moon. It is for this very reason that the Tathāgata abides permanently, without change."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like Rāhu, the asura king, covering the moon with his hand: every person in the world says the moon is eclipsed, yet the asura king has, in truth, never actually eclipsed it at all. Because the asura merely blocks its light, the moon itself remains a perfect circle, suffering no loss whatsoever — it is merely his hand that blocks it, causing it not to appear. Once his hand is withdrawn, the world says the moon has been restored, and everyone says the moon has suffered greatly. Yet even a hundred thousand asura kings could never actually trouble it at all. The Tathāgata is just the same: he manifests a being who, in the Tathāgata's own presence, gives rise to a coarse and vicious mind, draws the Buddha's own blood, commits one of the five heinous crimes, and becomes an icchantika — manifesting, for the sake of beings in future ages, this destruction of the Saṅgha and severing of the Dharma, and this obstruction. Yet even a hundred thousand, countless māras could never truly draw the Tathāgata's own blood at all. Why is this? Because the Tathāgata's own body contains no flesh, no blood, no sinew, no marrow. The Tathāgata is, in truth, never actually harmed or destroyed at all, though every being supposes that the Dharma and the Saṅgha have been destroyed, and that the Tathāgata has been utterly extinguished. Yet the Tathāgata's own nature truly never changes, is never truly destroyed at all — he merely manifests in this way, according with the world. Furthermore, good son, it is like two people fighting: should one wound the other with a blade or staff, drawing blood, even to the point of death, without the thought of killing ever arising, such a karmic act is light, not grave. In the Tathāgata's own presence, there is likewise fundamentally no thought of killing at all — and though his blood is drawn, this karmic act is just the same, light and not grave. The Tathāgata, in this way, manifests the ripening of karma for the sake of converting beings in future ages."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician who diligently teaches his son the very root of the medical art: 'This is a root-medicine, this is a stem-medicine, this is a medicine known by its color — you should learn well every kind of appearance there is.' His son, honoring his father's own instruction, studies diligently and comes to understand every medicine well. This physician, in time, reaches the end of his own life-span and dies, and his son, weeping and wailing, says: 'My father once taught me: the root-medicines are like this, the stem-medicines like this, the flower-medicines like this, their colors and forms like this.' The Tathāgata is just the same: for the sake of converting beings, he manifests the establishment of the precepts, teaching that one should uphold them and never transgress, committing none of the five heinous crimes, slandering neither the true Dharma nor becoming an icchantika. It is for the sake of those who would raise such matters in future ages that he manifests in this way, wishing to cause his monks, after the Buddha's own parinirvāṇa, to come to this understanding: 'This is the profound meaning of the scriptures; this is the mark of what is grave and what is light within the Vinaya; this is the Abhidharma's own analysis of the Dharma's every phrase' — just like that physician's own son."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the moon, known by people to be eclipsed once every six months — yet the gods above see the moon eclipsed within the space of a single instant. Why is this? Because a single day in that heaven is so much longer, and a day among humans so much shorter. Good son, the Tathāgata is just the same: gods and humans alike suppose the Tathāgata's own life-span to be short, exactly as those gods see the moon eclipsed again and again within a single instant. And the Tathāgata, within a single instant, manifests hundreds of thousands, millions of parinirvāṇas, cutting off the māra of affliction, the māra of the aggregates, and the māra of death — and this is why hundreds of thousands, millions of heavenly māras all believe that the Tathāgata has entered parinirvāṇa. And he further manifests countless hundreds of thousands of causes and conditions from his own past deeds, according with the world's every different nature — manifesting in this way, boundlessly, immeasurably, beyond conceptual thought. This is why the Tathāgata abides permanently, without change. Furthermore, good son, it is like the bright moon, which beings delight to see — this is why the moon is named 'delighted-in.' Should beings themselves be full of craving, anger, and delusion, they could never be called 'delighted-in' in this way. The Tathāgata is just the same: his own nature is purely wholesome, pure and undefiled, and is for this reason most rightly called 'delighted-in.' Beings who delight in the Dharma gaze upon him without ever tiring; those of a wicked mind take no pleasure in beholding him at all. It is for this very reason that the Tathāgata is likened to the bright moon."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the sun's rising, which differs across three seasons — spring, summer, and winter: the winter sun is short, the spring sun middling, the summer sun exceedingly long. The Tathāgata is just the same: within this billion-world universe, for those of short life-span, and for śrāvakas, he manifests a short life-span — and, seeing this, they all suppose that the Tathāgata's own life-span is brief, like the winter sun. For bodhisattvas, he manifests a middling life-span, reaching a full kalpa, or something less than a kalpa, like the spring sun. Only a buddha beholds a buddha's own life-span as truly boundless, like the summer sun. Good son, the profound and subtle teaching of the Vaipulya Great Vehicle that the Tathāgata teaches, manifesting in the world, rains down the great rain of the Dharma; in future ages, should there be anyone able to protect and uphold this scripture, opening it up and expounding it for the benefit of beings, know that such people are truly bodhisattvas, like the sweet rain the heavens send down in the height of summer. Should any śrāvaka or pratyekabuddha hear the Tathāgata's own profound and subtle teaching, it is like the winter sun, bringing on a season of cold and affliction. Should any bodhisattva hear this profound and subtle instruction — that the Tathāgata abides permanently, his own nature without change — it is like the spring sun, causing the sprouts to open and bloom. Yet the Tathāgata's own nature truly knows neither long nor short at all; it is only for the sake of the world that he manifests in this way — this alone is the true Dharma-nature of every buddha."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the stars in the sky, invisible by day, though people all say the daytime stars have vanished — yet, in truth, they have not vanished at all; it is only that they cannot be seen, being outshone by the sun's own light. The Tathāgata is just the same: śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas are unable to see him, exactly as ordinary people cannot see the stars by day. Furthermore, good son, it is like the sun and moon, invisible in a time of darkness — the foolish say the sun and moon have been lost, yet the sun and moon have, in truth, never been lost at all. When the Tathāgata's own true Dharma finally comes to be extinguished, the Three Jewels' own apparent disappearance is just the same — never truly extinguished at all. One should therefore know that the Tathāgata abides permanently, without change. Why is this? Because the true nature of the Three Jewels is never stained by any defilement at all."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a comet appearing by night, on a moonless night, its brilliant blaze appearing only briefly before vanishing again — beings, seeing this, form the notion of an ill omen. Pratyekabuddhas are just the same: appearing in an age without a buddha, beings, seeing this, suppose that the Tathāgata has truly and finally passed away, giving rise to grief and sorrow — yet the Tathāgata's own body has, in truth, never truly passed away at all, exactly as the sun and moon are never truly extinguished."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the sun rising, dispelling every mist entirely. This Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, is just the same: appearing and arising in the world, should any being simply let it pass once through his own ear, it is able to remove entirely every evil, every act of unremitting karma. This Mahāparinirvāṇa's own profound domain is beyond conceptual thought, teaching well the Tathāgata's own profound and subtle nature — and it is for this very reason that every good son and good daughter should give rise to the thought that the Tathāgata abides permanently, without change, that the true Dharma is never severed, that the jewel of the Saṅgha is never extinguished; and should therefore diligently cultivate skillful means, studying this scripture with all diligence — such a person will, before long, come to accomplish unsurpassed, complete awakening. This is why this scripture is called the accomplishment of immeasurable virtue, and is also called the inexhaustibility of bodhi itself — and, because it is inexhaustible, it is rightly called Mahāparinirvāṇa; because it possesses this wholesome light, like the summer sun, and its own body is boundless, it is called Mahāparinirvāṇa."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the light of the sun and moon, foremost among every light, a light no other light can ever match. The light of Mahāparinirvāṇa is just the same: among every scripture, its own light of samādhi is most excellent of all, a light no other scripture's own samādhi-light can ever match. Why is this? Because the light of Mahāparinirvāṇa is able to enter every one of a being's own pores. Though a being may be entirely without the mind of bodhi, this light is nonetheless able to become, for him, a cause and condition for bodhi — and this is why it is called Mahāparinirvāṇa once again."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, as the Buddha has taught, that the light of Mahāparinirvāṇa enters every being's own pores, and that this light is able to become, for a being entirely without the mind of bodhi, a cause for bodhi — this does not seem right. Why is this? World-Honored One, if this light, entering the body of one who has committed one of the four gravest offenses, or one of the five heinous crimes, or an icchantika, becomes for them a cause of bodhi in just the same way, what difference could there then be between such people and those who purely uphold the precepts and cultivate every wholesome practice? And if there is no difference, why does the Tathāgata teach the meaning of the four reliances at all? World-Honored One, and further, as the Buddha has said, should any being simply let this Mahāparinirvāṇa pass once through his own ear, he thereby comes to cut off every affliction — yet how is it that the Tathāgata has earlier taught that there are those who, having given rise to the resolve for bodhi in the presence of buddhas as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, still hear this Mahāparinirvāṇa without understanding its meaning? And if they do not understand its meaning, how could they possibly cut off every affliction at all?"

The Buddha said: "Good son, excepting the icchantika alone, every other being, having heard this scripture, is entirely able to make of it a cause and condition for bodhi. Whoever has this scripture's own sound and light enter his own pores will, without fail, in time, attain unsurpassed, complete awakening. Why is this? Only one who is able to make offerings and show reverence to countless buddhas comes to hear this Mahāparinirvāṇa at all; a person of scant merit does not come to hear it. Why is this? Only a person of great virtue is able to hear so great a matter as this; a lowly, petty person does not come to hear it. What, then, is meant by 'great'? It refers to the profound secret treasury of every buddha, namely buddha-nature itself — and it is for this very reason that it is called a great matter."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, how does one who has not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi come to attain a cause for bodhi?" The Buddha said to Kāśyapa: "Should anyone, having heard this Mahāparinirvāṇa, say, 'I have no use for giving rise to the mind of bodhi,' slandering the true Dharma, such a person will, in a dream, see the form of a rākṣasa, and, terrified at heart, the rākṣasa will say to him: 'Now then, good son — if you do not give rise to the mind of bodhi this instant, I shall take your life.' Terrified, this person, upon waking, at once gives rise to the mind of bodhi. Should this person then die, and be reborn in one of the three evil destinies, or among humans or gods, he will, in time, come to recall this mind of bodhi once again — know that such a person is a great bodhisattva-mahāsattva. It is for this very reason, through the awesome, divine power of this Mahāparinirvāṇa, that it is able to cause even one who has not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi to attain a cause for bodhi. Good son, this is what is meant by the causes and conditions of a bodhisattva's own resolve — it is never without cause and condition at all, and it is for this very reason that this wondrous scripture of the Great Vehicle is truly what the Buddha himself has taught."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a great mass of clouds rising in the sky and raining down upon the earth: withered trees, stony mountains, high plateaus, and mounds cannot hold this water, which flows down instead into the low-lying fields, filling every pond and reservoir, benefiting countless beings. This Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, is just the same: raining down the great rain of the Dharma, moistening every being universally — only that the icchantika alone could never possibly give rise to the mind of bodhi through it. Furthermore, good son, it is like a scorched seed: though it meets with sweet rain for hundreds of thousands of millions of kalpas, it will never sprout at all — for a sprout to grow from it could not possibly be so. The icchantika is just the same: though he hears this Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, he could never possibly make the sprout of bodhicitta grow at all — for him to give rise to it could not possibly be so. Why is this? Because this person has entirely destroyed every wholesome root, like that scorched seed, unable ever again to grow the sprout of bodhi's own root. Furthermore, good son, it is like a bright pearl placed in muddy water: through the pearl's own awesome power, the water is thereby made clear — yet cast into mud itself, it cannot make the mud clear. This Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, is just the same: placed within the muddy water of any other being's five heinous crimes or four gravest offenses, it can still bring clarity, still give rise to the mind of bodhi; but cast into the mud of the icchantika, not for hundreds of thousands of millions of years could it ever bring clarity, or give rise to the mind of bodhi. Why is this? Because this icchantika has destroyed every wholesome root, and is simply not a vessel fit for it at all. Even were such a person to listen to and receive this Mahāparinirvāṇa for hundreds of thousands of millions of years, he could never give rise to the mind of bodhi at all. Why is this? Because he is without any wholesome mind whatsoever."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a medicinal tree called the Medicine King, most excellent among every medicine. Whether mixed with whey, or honey, or ghee, or water, or milk, whether taken as powder or as a pill, whether applied to a wound, or used to fumigate the body, or applied to the eyes, whether merely seen or merely smelled, it is able to remove every one of a being's illnesses. And this medicinal tree never thinks to itself: 'Should anyone take my root, he should not also take my leaves; should he take my leaves, he should not also take my root; should he take my trunk, he should not also take my bark; should he take my bark, he should not also take my trunk.' Though this tree never gives rise to any such thought, it is nonetheless able to remove every illness and suffering. Good son, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, is just the same: able to remove every being's unwholesome karma, the four pārājika offenses, the five heinous crimes, every evil there is, whether inward or outward — and whoever has not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi is thereby enabled to give rise to it. Why is this? Because this wondrous scripture is the king among every scripture, just as that medicinal tree is the king among every medicine. Whether one cultivates this Mahāparinirvāṇa or does not, should one merely hear this scripture's own name, and, hearing it, revere it with faith, every grave illness of affliction is thereby entirely removed — only that it is unable to establish the icchantika securely in unsurpassed, complete awakening. Just as that wondrous medicine, though able to cure every kind of grave illness, cannot cure one who is certainly about to die."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a person with a wound on his hand who then handles poison — the poison thereupon enters him; but should there be no wound, the poison could not enter at all. The icchantika is just the same: lacking any cause for bodhi, like one with no wound, the poison cannot enter him at all. What is meant here by the wound is precisely the cause and condition for unsurpassed bodhi; what is meant by the poison is precisely this foremost, wondrous medicine; and one whose skin is entirely unwounded is the icchantika. Furthermore, good son, it is like vajra, which nothing can destroy, and which is itself able to destroy every other thing — excepting only a tortoise's shell and a white ram's horn. This Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, is just the same: entirely able to establish countless beings securely upon the path of bodhi — only unable to make the icchantika establish a cause for bodhi."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like purslane, the sāla-winged tree, and the nikura tree, which, though their branches and stems are cut, continue to grow back just as before — unlike the tāla palm, which, once cut, never grows again. Beings are just the same: should they come to hear this Mahāparinirvāṇa, then, even having committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes, they are nonetheless still able to give rise to a cause and condition for bodhi. The icchantika is not so: though he may come to listen to and receive this wondrous scripture, he is unable to give rise to any cause for the path of bodhi at all. Furthermore, good son, it is like the khadira tree, or the tinduka tree, which, once cut, never grow again, and like every scorched seed. The icchantika is just the same: though he may come to hear this Mahāparinirvāṇa, he is unable to give rise to a cause and condition for bodhi, exactly like a scorched seed. Furthermore, good son, it is like a great rain, which never remains suspended in the sky at all. This Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, is just the same: raining down the Dharma universally, it is simply unable to remain within the icchantika — for this icchantika's entire being is sealed shut, dense and impenetrable throughout, like vajra itself, admitting nothing from outside at all."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, as the Buddha has taught in verse:

'Seeing no good to be done, seeing only evil that can be done —
this is a fearful place, like a steep and evil road.'

World-Honored One, what is the meaning of this teaching?"

The Buddha said: "Good son, 'seeing no good' means not seeing buddha-nature. 'The good' is precisely unsurpassed, complete awakening. 'Nothing to be done' means being unable to draw near to a good spiritual friend. 'Seeing only' means seeing that there is no cause and no result at all. 'Evil' means slandering the Vaipulya scriptures of the Great Vehicle. 'That can be done' means the icchantika's own claim that there are no Vaipulya scriptures at all. For this very reason, the icchantika has no mind inclined toward the pure and wholesome Dharma. What is this wholesome Dharma? It is nirvāṇa itself. To incline toward nirvāṇa means being able to cultivate virtuous and wholesome conduct — and the icchantika, having no virtuous and wholesome conduct, is thereby unable to incline toward nirvāṇa at all. 'This is a fearful place' means slandering the true Dharma. Who should fear this? The wise. Why is this? Because whoever slanders the Dharma is without any wholesome mind or skillful means at all. 'The steep and evil road' means conditioned activity itself."

Kāśyapa said further: "As the Buddha has taught:

'How does one see what has been done? How does one attain the wholesome Dharma?
Where is the place free of fear, like a king's own level, open road?'

What is the meaning of this?"

The Buddha said: "Good son, 'seeing what has been done' means confessing every evil openly — every evil act committed from the very edge of birth and death is thereby confessed in full, arriving at the place of no arrival at all, and it is for this reason that this is a place free of fear. It is like a king's own level road, upon which every bandit flees at once. Confessing every evil in this way, it is entirely extinguished, with nothing left behind. Furthermore, 'not seeing what has been done' refers to the icchantika, who does not see for himself the many evils he has done; because of this icchantika's own arrogant mind, though he commits much evil, he never once feels any fear over it at all — and it is for this very reason that he cannot attain nirvāṇa, exactly like a monkey grasping at the moon reflected in water.

Good son, even should every one of countless beings, without exception, at one and the same moment, accomplish unsurpassed, complete awakening, not one of these very tathāgatas would see that icchantika accomplish bodhi along with them — and it is for this very reason that this is called 'not seeing what has been done.' And there is a further sense of 'not seeing whose doing' — namely, not seeing the Tathāgata's own doing. The Buddha teaches beings that buddha-nature exists, yet the icchantika, turning through birth and death, is unable to know or see this at all — and it is for this reason that this is called 'not seeing the Tathāgata's own doing.' And further, the icchantika, seeing the Tathāgata's own final nirvāṇa, takes it to be truly impermanent, like a lamp going out once its oil is entirely spent. Why is this? Because this person's own unwholesome karma remains undiminished. Should any bodhisattva's own wholesome deeds be dedicated toward unsurpassed, complete awakening, the icchantika, though he reviles it, destroys faith in it, and does not believe in it, is nonetheless still given a share by the bodhisattvas, who wish to accomplish the unsurpassed path together with him. Why is this? Because this is simply how every buddha's own Dharma works.

'Committing evil does not bring immediate result, no more than milk becomes curds at once —
like fire covered over by ash, which the fool carelessly treads upon.'

The icchantika is called one without eyes, and this is why he cannot see the path of the arhat. Just as the arhat does not walk the steep and evil road of birth and death, so, being without eyes, the icchantika slanders the Vaipulya scriptures, having no wish to cultivate them. Just as the arhat diligently cultivates a mind of loving-kindness, the icchantika does not cultivate the Vaipulya scriptures — this too is just the same. Should anyone say: 'I now place no faith in the śrāvaka scriptures, but believe in and receive the Great Vehicle, reading, reciting, and explaining it — and so I am now a bodhisattva. Every being without exception possesses buddha-nature, and, because of this buddha-nature, the ten powers, the thirty-two marks, and the eighty minor characteristics already exist within every being's own body. What I teach is no different from what the Buddha teaches. You and I, together, now break apart countless evil afflictions, as one shatters a water-jar — and, through breaking these fetters, one thereby comes to see unsurpassed, complete awakening' — though such a person speaks in this way, his heart, in truth, does not believe that buddha-nature exists at all; he speaks the words only for the sake of personal gain, following the text without believing it. Such a speaker is called a wicked person. Such a wicked person does not receive his result swiftly, no more than milk becomes curds at once. It is like a king's own envoy, skilled at speech, adept in every skillful means, sent on a mission to another country, who would rather lose his own life than ever conceal the king's own message. The wise are just the same: among ordinary people, sparing not even their own lives, they must proclaim the Vaipulya scriptures of the Great Vehicle, the Tathāgata's own secret treasury, that every being without exception possesses buddha-nature. Good son, there is an icchantika who takes on the form of an arhat, dwelling in solitude, slandering the Vaipulya scriptures of the Great Vehicle. Every ordinary person, seeing him, supposes him a true arhat, a great bodhisattva-mahāsattva. This icchantika, this wicked monk, dwelling in a forest hermitage, corrupts the very practice of the forest hermitage; seeing another gain some benefit, his heart gives rise to envy, and he says: 'Every one of these Vaipulya scriptures of the Great Vehicle is nothing but what the heavenly Māra Pāpīyas himself has taught.' He also teaches that the Tathāgata is an impermanent dharma, destroying the true Dharma, corrupting the assembled Saṅgha. He says further: 'What Pāpīyas teaches is not a wholesome, compliant teaching' — proclaiming, in this way, a wicked and evil teaching. Such a person, committing evil, does not receive his punishment at once, no more than milk becomes curds at once, like fire covered over by ash, which the fool carelessly treads upon. A person of this kind is called an icchantika. One should therefore know that the Vaipulya scriptures of the Great Vehicle are, without fail, pure — just as a maṇi jewel cast into muddy water at once makes the water clear, the scriptures of the Great Vehicle are just the same."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a lotus flower touched by the sun's light — there is not one that fails to open and bloom. Every being is just the same: should he come to see and hear the sun of this Mahāparinirvāṇa, whoever has not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi will, without exception, give rise to it as a cause for bodhi — and this is why I have taught that the light of Mahāparinirvāṇa, entering a being's pores, must always become a wondrous cause. Though that icchantika possesses buddha-nature, he remains bound by countless defilements of wrongdoing, unable to break free of them, like a silkworm trapped within its own cocoon — and, through this very karmic condition, he is unable to give rise to the wondrous cause of bodhi, turning through birth and death without end."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the utpala lotus, the padma lotus, the kumuda lotus, and the puṇḍarīka lotus, all growing out of the mud, yet never in the end stained by that very mud. Should any being cultivate this Mahāparinirvāṇa, this subtle and wondrous scripture, he is just the same: though affliction remains, he is never in the end stained by this affliction at all. Why is this? Because he knows the power of the Tathāgata's own nature and marks. Good son, it is like a certain country, rich in cool, clear wind, which, touching every one of a being's own pores, is able to remove every torment of stifling heat. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: entering universally into every being's own pores, becoming a wondrous cause and condition for bodhi — excepting only the icchantika. Why is this? Because he is simply not a vessel fit for the Dharma.

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician who understands eight kinds of medicine, curing every illness — excepting only one who is certainly about to die. Every scripture, every dhyāna, every samādhi is just the same: able to treat every illness of craving, anger, and delusion, every affliction, able to draw out the poisoned thorn, the very arrow of affliction — yet unable to treat one who has committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes. Good son, there is, further, a skilled physician who surpasses these eight kinds of technique, able to remove every illness and suffering a being has — only unable to treat one who is certainly about to die. This Mahāparinirvāṇa, this scripture of the Great Vehicle, is just the same: able to remove every affliction a being has, establishing him securely in the Tathāgata's own pure and wondrous cause, causing whoever has not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi to give rise to it — excepting only the icchantika, who is certainly about to die.

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician who is able, with a wondrous medicine, to treat the blind, causing them to see the sun and moon, the stars, and every form and color there is — only unable to treat one who has been blind from birth. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: able to open the eye of wisdom for śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas, establishing them securely amid the boundless, immeasurable scriptures of the Great Vehicle; whoever has not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi, even one who has committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes, is entirely able to be caused to give rise to the mind of bodhi — excepting only the icchantika, blind from birth. Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician, well versed in the eight techniques, who, in order to treat every one of a being's ills, gives every kind of remedy — purgative medicines, medicines applied to the body, medicines for fumigation, medicines poured into the nose, powdered medicines, pills. Should a poor and foolish person be unwilling to take them, the skilled physician, out of compassion, brings this person back to his own house and forces him to take the medicine — and, through the medicine's own power, his affliction is thereby removed. When a woman is in labor and the afterbirth will not come out, he gives her medicine to take, and, once taken, it comes out at once, causing the infant, too, to be safe and free of harm. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: wherever it reaches, even reaching into a single house, it is able to remove a being's countless afflictions, and whoever has not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi, even one who has committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes, is entirely caused to give rise to it — excepting only the icchantika."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, committing one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes is called the very gravest of wrongs, like cutting off the crown of a tāla palm, which never grows back again — how could beings of this kind, who have not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi, ever come to attain a cause for bodhi?" The Buddha said: "Good son, should such beings, in a dream, dream of falling into hell and receiving every suffering there, they at once give rise to a remorseful mind: 'How pitiful — we have brought this very crime upon ourselves; should I now be freed of this crime, I shall surely give rise to the mind of bodhi; what I now see is the very worst of evils.' Upon waking from this, he thereby comes to know that the true Dharma bears great fruit — just as that infant, gradually growing up, constantly thinks to himself: 'This physician is most excellent, well understanding every remedy. While I was still in the womb, he gave medicine to my mother, and, through this medicine, her body found ease — and it is through this very cause that my own life was preserved. How extraordinary, that my mother endured such great suffering, carrying me in her womb for a full ten months, and, once I was born, cleared away what was wet, removed what was unclean, nursed and raised me, and watched over my body with such care. For this very reason, I should repay this kindness, caring for her with a warm countenance, attending upon her, and making offerings in accordance with her wishes.' One who has committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes, at the moment of death, calling to mind this Mahāparinirvāṇa of the Great Vehicle, though he then falls into hell, among the animals, the hungry ghosts, or is reborn among the gods or humans, will still find that this scripture becomes, for him too, a cause for bodhi — excepting only the icchantika."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician, and his physician son, whose knowledge is so profound it surpasses every other physician, well understanding the unsurpassed mantras for removing poison — for wicked poisonous snakes, for nāgas, for vipers alike — using these mantras and medicines to render them harmless, and further using this same medicine to treat leather sandals, so that these sandals, touching any poisonous creature, dissolve its poison at once — excepting only one poison, called the Great Nāga. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: should any being have committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes, it is entirely able to dissolve this, establishing him in bodhi, exactly as the medicine-treated sandal is able to dissolve every poison; whoever has not yet given rise to the mind of bodhi is thereby able to give rise to it, established securely upon the path of bodhi. It is through this Mahāparinirvāṇa's own awesome, divine medicine that beings are caused to find peace and ease — excepting only the Great Nāga, the icchantika."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a person who smears a great drum with every kind of poison, and strikes it before a great assembly so that its sound resounds — and though no one there has any wish to hear it, all who hear it die at once, excepting only the one person who does not die an untimely death. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: wherever it is heard, among any assembly engaged in any practice, every craving, anger, and delusion there is entirely extinguished; and though there may be those among them with no thought of attending to it at all, through this Mahāparinirvāṇa's own causal power, affliction is nonetheless dissolved, and its fetters extinguished of themselves. Whoever has committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes, having heard this scripture, likewise makes of it a cause and condition for unsurpassed bodhi, gradually cutting off affliction — excepting only the icchantika, who alone does not die this untimely death."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a dark night, in which every undertaking comes to rest, and whatever remains unfinished must wait for the light of day. Whoever studies the Great Vehicle, though he may cultivate every scripture and every samādhi there is, must wait for this Mahāparinirvāṇa, the sun of the Great Vehicle, and hear the Tathāgata's own profound and subtle teaching, before he can then undertake the work of bodhi and abide securely in the true Dharma. It is like the rain from heaven, which moistens and increases the growth of every seed, bringing every fruit to ripeness, entirely removing famine, and bestowing abundant joy. The Tathāgata's own secret treasury, this immeasurable rain of the Dharma, is just the same: entirely able to remove the eight kinds of fevered illness. This scripture's own appearance in the world is like that ripened fruit, bringing great benefit, bestowing peace and ease on all, and enabling beings to see buddha-nature. It is as in the Lotus Sūtra, where the eight thousand śrāvakas receive their prediction of future buddhahood, becoming a great, ripened fruit, like an autumn harvest stored away for winter, with nothing further left to be done. The icchantika is just the same — with regard to every wholesome dharma, there is nothing at all left for him to undertake."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician who, hearing that another's child is possessed by some non-human spirit, at once prepares a wondrous medicine and sends a messenger, instructing him: 'Take this medicine and deliver it to that person at once. Should that person be beset by any wicked ghost or spirit, through this medicine's own power, it will surely flee far away. Should you be delayed, I myself shall go there — I would never allow that person to die an unjust and untimely death. Should that sick person merely catch sight of my messenger, and of my own awesome power, his every suffering will be removed, and he will find peace and ease.' This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: should any monk, nun, upāsaka, upāsikā, or member of any heterodox school be able to receive and uphold this scripture, reciting it fluently, and further explaining it at length for the sake of others, whether copying it himself or causing others to copy it — every one of these becomes a cause and condition for bodhi. Should one who has committed one of the four gravest offenses or one of the five heinous crimes, or one possessed by some wicked spirit or poison, hear this scripture, every evil there is is thereby entirely dissolved, exactly as a wicked ghost flees at the mere sight of a skilled physician — know that such a person is truly a bodhisattva-mahāsattva. Why is this? Because he has, if only briefly, heard this Mahāparinirvāṇa, and has thereby given rise to the thought that the Tathāgata abides permanently. If merely hearing it briefly achieves this much, how much more so copying it, receiving and upholding it, reciting it — excepting only the icchantika, every one of the rest is a bodhisattva-mahāsattva."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a deaf person, unable to hear any sound at all. The icchantika is just the same: though he may wish to listen to this wondrous scripture, he is unable to hear it. Why is this? Because he has no cause or condition for it at all."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician, thoroughly versed in every medical art, and broadly learned besides in countless mantras. This physician, seeing a certain king, says to him: 'Great King, you now have an illness that will certainly kill you.' The king answers: 'You cannot see the state of my own inner body — how can you say I have a fatal illness?' The physician answers: 'Should you not believe me, you should take a purgative medicine, and, once it has taken effect, Your Majesty may verify it for yourself.' The king refuses to take it. The skilled physician then, through the power of a mantra, causes sores and boils to break out all over the king's own body, along with a discharge mixed with worms and blood. Seeing this, the king is struck with great terror, and praises this physician: 'Excellent, excellent! What you told me before, I did not heed — only now do I know that you have done my own body a very great benefit.' He reveres this physician as he would his own father and mother. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: toward every being, whether willing or unwilling, it is entirely able to cause his affliction to crumble away. Such beings, even merely seeing this scripture in a dream, come to revere and make offerings to it, just as that king came to revere his skilled physician. This great, skilled physician, knowing one who is certainly about to die, never in the end treats him. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: never in the end able to treat the icchantika."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician, well versed in eight kinds of remedy, able to cure every illness — only unable to treat one who is certainly about to die. Every buddha and bodhisattva is just the same: entirely able to rescue and heal every kind of wrongdoing — only unable to treat one who is certainly about to die, the icchantika. Furthermore, good son, it is like a skilled physician, well versed in eight subtle and wondrous medical arts, and broadly learned besides, surpassing these eight, who, out of his own knowledge, first teaches his son to recognize every medicinal herb — those of the water, those of the land, those of the mountain streams — and, having gradually taught these eight matters in this way, then teaches him the remaining, most excellent art besides. The Tathāgata, the Worthy One, the Perfectly and Fully Awakened One, is just the same: he first teaches his own sons, the monks, skillful means for removing every affliction, cultivating the contemplation that the pure body is not something solid or enduring — likened to water, to land, and to mountain streams. Water likens the body's own suffering to a bubble upon the water's surface. Land likens the body's own lack of solidity to a plantain tree. The mountain stream likens the cultivation of no-self amid affliction to the stream's own empty hollow. It is for this very reason that the body is called without self. The Tathāgata, teaching his disciples in this way, gradually instructs them in the ninefold scriptural teaching, causing them to become thoroughly fluent in it, and only then teaches them the Tathāgata's own secret treasury — teaching, for the sake of his own sons, that the Tathāgata is permanent. The Tathāgata, teaching this scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, in just this way, makes of it a cause for bodhi for every being, whether he has already given rise to the mind of bodhi or not yet — excepting only the icchantika. In this way, good son, this scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is immeasurable, countless, beyond conceptual thought, unprecedented — know that it is truly the unsurpassed, skilled physician, most honored, most excellent, the king among every scripture."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a great ship, sailing from this shore of the sea to the far shore, and then sailing back again from the far shore to this shore. The Tathāgata, the Worthy One, the Perfectly and Fully Awakened One, is just the same: riding this great, precious ship of Mahāparinirvāṇa, of the Great Vehicle, he sails back and forth continually, ferrying beings across, and wherever there are those ready to be brought across, he causes every one of them to see the Tathāgata's own body — and it is for this very reason that the Tathāgata is called the peerless captain. It is like a ship: where there is a ship, there is a captain, and, because there is a captain, beings are thereby able to cross the great sea — the Tathāgata's own permanent abiding, converting and bringing beings across, is just the same. Furthermore, good son, it is like a person out upon the great sea, riding a ship, wishing to cross: should he catch a favorable wind, he can, within a mere instant, cross countless leagues; but should he fail to catch one, then, though he remains there for countless years, he never departs from his own starting point at all, and, at times, the ship breaks apart, and he drowns and dies. Beings are just the same: dwelling within the great sea of foolish birth and death, riding the ship of conditioned activity — should they encounter the fierce, favorable wind of this Mahāparinirvāṇa, they are thereby able to swiftly reach the far shore of the unsurpassed path; but should they fail to encounter it, they will turn for a long time through countless births and deaths, and, at times, their own vessel will break apart, and they will fall into hell, among the animals, or among the hungry ghosts."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a person who, failing to meet the king of winds, remains long upon the great sea, thinking to himself: 'We are now surely bound to die right here.' Just as he thinks this, he suddenly meets a favorable wind, and, following it, crosses the sea, and then says: 'How wonderful is this wind, something never before encountered! It has brought us safely across the peril of the great sea.' Beings are just the same: dwelling long within the great sea of foolish birth and death, worn down by hardship and suffering, not yet having met this wind of Mahāparinirvāṇa, they ought to think to themselves: 'We are surely bound to fall into hell, among the animals, or among the hungry ghosts.' Just as these beings think this, they suddenly meet the wind of this Mahāparinirvāṇa of the Great Vehicle, and, carried along by it, enter into unsurpassed, complete awakening, only then coming to know the truth, giving rise to a sense of wonder, and exclaiming: 'How wonderful — never before, from ages past until now, have I seen or heard of the Tathāgata's own profound and secret treasury such as this!' Only then does he give rise to pure faith in this Mahāparinirvāṇa."

"Furthermore, good son, when a snake sheds its skin, is this death and extinction?" "No, World-Honored One." "Good son, the Tathāgata is just the same: manifesting through skillful means, casting off his own poisonous body — could this be called the Tathāgata's own impermanence, his own extinction?" "No, World-Honored One! The Tathāgata, casting off his body within this Jambudvīpa through skillful means, is just like that poisonous snake casting off its old skin — this is why the Tathāgata is called ever-abiding." "Furthermore, good son, it is like a goldsmith who, obtaining fine, genuine gold, fashions from it, as he wishes, every kind of vessel. The Tathāgata is just the same: throughout the twenty-five states of existence, he is entirely able to manifest every kind of form and body, for the sake of converting beings and delivering them from birth and death. This is why the Tathāgata is called the boundless body — though he manifests every kind of body, he is likewise called ever-abiding, without change."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the āmra tree and the jambu tree, which change three times within a single year — at one time bearing flowers, radiant and glorious in bloom; at another, putting forth leaves, lush and flourishing; and at another, shedding them, appearing as though withered and dead. Good son, what do you think — has this tree, in truth, actually withered and perished?" "No, World-Honored One!" "Good son, the Tathāgata is just the same: manifesting three kinds of body within the three realms — at one time newly born, at another fully grown, and at another entering parinirvāṇa — and yet the Tathāgata's own body is, in truth, never impermanent at all." The bodhisattva Kāśyapa praised him, saying: "Excellent — truly, as the noble teaching declares, the Tathāgata abides permanently, without any change."

"Good son, the Tathāgata's own secret language is exceedingly profound, hard to understand. It is like a great king who says to his assembled ministers: 'Bring me saindhava.' Now, saindhava is a single name for four different things: one is salt, the second a vessel, the third water, and the fourth a horse — these four things all share this one name. A wise minister understands this name well: should the king, at the time of his bath, ask for saindhava, he brings water at once; should the king, at mealtime, ask for saindhava, he brings salt at once; should the king, having finished his meal and wishing to drink something, ask for saindhava, he brings a vessel at once; should the king wish to go out riding and ask for saindhava, he brings a horse at once. A wise minister of this kind understands well the great king's own four secret meanings. This scripture of the Great Vehicle is just the same: it contains four teachings of impermanence, which the wise minister of the Great Vehicle should understand well.

"Should the Buddha, appearing in the world, teach beings of the Tathāgata's own parinirvāṇa, the wise minister should know that this is the Tathāgata teaching the mark of impermanence to those attached to permanence, wishing to cause his monks to cultivate the contemplation of impermanence. Should he teach further that the true Dharma is about to be extinguished, the wise minister should know that this is the Tathāgata teaching the mark of suffering to those attached to bliss, wishing to cause his monks to cultivate the contemplation of suffering more fully. Should he teach further that he himself now suffers illness, and that the assembled Saṅgha has been destroyed, the wise minister should know that this is the Tathāgata teaching the mark of no-self to those attached to self, wishing to cause his monks to cultivate the contemplation of no-self. Should he teach further that what is called emptiness is true liberation itself, the wise minister should know that this is the Tathāgata teaching that true liberation is without any of the twenty-five states of existence, wishing to cause his monks to cultivate the contemplation of emptiness. It is for this very reason that true liberation is called emptiness, and is also called unmoving. What is meant by unmoving is that, within this liberation, there is no suffering at all, and it is for this reason called unmoving. This true liberation is also without any mark at all — what is meant by without mark is that it possesses no form, sound, smell, taste, or touch, and is for this reason called without mark. This true liberation is permanent, unchanging — within this liberation there is no impermanence, no feverish affliction, no change at all, and it is for this reason that liberation is called ever-abiding, unchanging, and cool. Should he teach further that every being possesses the Tathāgata's own nature, the wise minister should know that this is the Tathāgata teaching the dharma of permanence itself, wishing to cause his monks to cultivate the true dharma of permanence. Should these monks be able to follow and study in accordance with this, know that such people are truly my own disciples, understanding well the Tathāgata's own profound and secret treasury, just like that great king's own wise minister, understanding the king's own intent well. Good son, if even a great king possesses a secret language of this kind, how much more so the Tathāgata? Good son, this is why the Tathāgata's own profound and secret teaching is so difficult to know — only the wise are able to understand my own exceedingly profound Buddha-Dharma; it is not something that any ordinary, worldly person is able to believe at all."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like the palāśa tree, the kiṃśuka tree, and the aśoka tree: when a drought strikes the heavens, they bear neither flower nor fruit, and every other thing growing on water and land alike withers away entirely, losing all moisture, unable to grow further, and every medicinal plant loses its own potency. Good son, this scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: after my own parinirvāṇa, there will be beings unable to revere it, without any majestic virtue at all. Why is this? Because these beings do not know the Tathāgata's own profound and secret treasury. Why is this so? Because these beings are of scant merit and virtue. Furthermore, good son, when the Tathāgata's own true Dharma is about to be entirely extinguished, there will, at that time, be many wicked monks who do not know the Tathāgata's own profound and secret treasury, indolent and negligent, unable to recite, proclaim, or expound the Tathāgata's own true Dharma — like a foolish thief who discards a genuine treasure to carry a load of straw instead, failing to understand the Tathāgata's own profound and secret treasury, indolent and unenergetic with regard to this scripture. How pitiable, this great peril — the age to come will be a truly fearful one. How painful, that beings will not diligently listen to and receive this scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa — only the bodhisattva-mahāsattvas will be able to grasp its true meaning within this scripture, not clinging to the mere letter, according with it without contradiction, and teaching it for the sake of beings."

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a woman who tends cattle and wishes to sell her milk: out of greed for greater profit, she adds two parts water, then sells it to another cattle-tending woman. That woman, having obtained it, adds a further two parts, and sells it on to a woman living near the city. That woman, having obtained it, adds a further two parts, and sells it on to a woman within the city. That woman, having obtained it, adds a further two parts, and takes it to market to sell. At that time, there is a certain man who, arranging his son's marriage, needs good milk with which to receive his guests, and goes to the market to buy some. This seller of milk asks a high price for it, and the man says: 'Your milk is mostly water, not worth so much — but since I must now receive my guests, I shall take it anyway.' Taking it home, he boils it to make a porridge, which has no flavor of milk at all — yet, though it has lost this flavor, it is still a thousand times better than anything of a bitter taste. Why is this? Because, among every flavor, that of milk is foremost of all. Good son, after my own parinirvāṇa, for the remaining eighty years before the true Dharma is extinguished, this scripture will be widely spread throughout Jambudvīpa; and, at that time, there will be wicked monks who excerpt and abbreviate this scripture, dividing it into many fragments, thereby able to destroy the color, fragrance, and fine flavor of the true Dharma. These wicked people, though they still recite and read this scripture, will have extinguished the Tathāgata's own profound and essential meaning, replacing it with worldly, ornamental phrasing, words without meaning, moving what belongs at the beginning to the end, what belongs at the end to the beginning, placing the beginning and end in the middle, and the middle at the beginning and end. Know that wicked monks of this kind are Māra's own companions, keeping and hoarding every kind of impure possession, while claiming that the Tathāgata has permitted them to keep it all. Just as that cattle-tending woman kept adding water to her milk, these wicked monks are just the same, mixing in worldly language, corrupting the fixed text of this scripture, causing many beings to be unable to properly recite it, properly copy it, properly grasp it, honor it, praise it, or make offerings to it in reverence. These wicked monks, for the sake of personal gain, are unable to spread and proclaim this scripture widely — what little of it they do circulate is scarcely worth mentioning, just like that poor cattle-tending woman, who, through each successive sale of her milk, ends with a porridge that has entirely lost the flavor of milk. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: growing ever more diluted and thin, without any real flavor left at all — and yet, even without this flavor, it still surpasses every other scripture a thousandfold, just as that milk's own flavor, even so diluted, still surpasses every bitter taste a thousandfold. Why is this? Because this scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is foremost among the śrāvaka scriptures, likened to cow's milk, foremost among every flavor — and it is for this very reason that it is called Mahāparinirvāṇa."

"Furthermore, good son, there is not a good son or good daughter who does not seek a man's own body. Why is this? Because every woman is a dwelling-place for every kind of evil. Furthermore, good son, it is like a mosquito's urine, unable to moisten this great earth — a woman's own desire, so hard to satisfy, is just the same. It is like the whole of the great earth reduced to pellets the size of mustard seeds: even were every one of these pellets a man, having intercourse with a single woman, they still could not satisfy her. Even were the number of men as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, having intercourse with a single woman, they still could not satisfy her. Good son, it is like the great ocean, into which every rain from heaven, every river, every stream pours without end, and yet that great ocean is never once filled. A woman's own nature is just the same: even were every being without exception a man, having intercourse with a single woman, still they could not satisfy her. Furthermore, good son, it is like the aśoka tree, the pāṭalā tree, and the kiṃśuka tree, whose spring blossoms open, and whose bees suck at their color, fragrance, and delicate flavor, never knowing their fill; a woman's own desire for a man is just the same, never knowing its fill. Good son, it is for this very reason that every good son and good daughter, hearing this Mahāparinirvāṇa of the Great Vehicle, should forever reprove the mark of a woman and seek instead the mark of a man. Why is this? Because this great scripture carries the mark of a true man, namely buddha-nature itself — and whoever does not know this buddha-nature has no mark of a man at all. Why is this? Because he is unable to know for himself that he possesses buddha-nature. Whoever is unable to know buddha-nature, I say, should be called a woman; whoever is able to know for himself that he possesses buddha-nature, I say, bears the mark of a true man. Should there be a woman able to know that buddha-nature certainly exists within her own self, know that she too is thereby a true man. Good son, this scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is an accumulation of immeasurable, boundless, inconceivable virtue. Why is this? Because it teaches the Tathāgata's own secret treasury. This is why every good son and good daughter, wishing to swiftly know the Tathāgata's own secret treasury, should diligently cultivate this scripture through skillful means."

The bodhisattva Kāśyapa said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, it is so, it is so — as the Buddha has taught, I now already bear the mark of a true man, having entered the Tathāgata's own profound and secret treasury; the Tathāgata has today, for the first time, awakened me to this, and, through this, I have come to a settled and thorough understanding." The Buddha said: "Excellent, excellent, good son! You now speak in this way according with the ways of the world." Kāśyapa said further: "I do not speak according with the ways of the world at all." The Buddha praised Kāśyapa: "Excellent, excellent! What you now know is the unsurpassed flavor of the Dharma, exceedingly profound, hard to know, and yet you have been able to know it — like a bee gathering flavor, you too are just the same.

"Furthermore, good son, it is like a mosquito's own trace of dew, unable to moisten this great earth — this scripture's own spread, in the age to come, will be just the same, like that mosquito's dew. As the true Dharma is about to be extinguished, this scripture will first sink from sight in this region — know that this is itself the mark of the true Dharma's own decline. Furthermore, good son, it is like the month just after summer ends, called the first month of autumn, when the autumn rains fall in continuous succession. This scripture of the Great Vehicle, this Mahāparinirvāṇa, is just the same: for the sake of the bodhisattvas of the southern regions, it will be widely spread, raining down the Dharma in abundance, filling that place entirely. As the true Dharma is about to be extinguished, it will reach as far as Kashmir, complete and undiminished, before sinking beneath the earth there. Whether there are those who believe in it or do not, this Vaipulya scripture of the Great Vehicle, this flavor of the Dharma's own nectar, will entirely sink beneath the earth. Once this scripture has sunk from sight, every other scripture of the Great Vehicle will likewise be entirely extinguished. Should any of the bodhisattvas — the very elephant-kings among humankind — obtain this scripture complete and undiminished, they should know that the Tathāgata's own unsurpassed true Dharma is about to be extinguished before long."