五陰譬喻經

Thus have I heard. At one time the Buddha came to the country of Ayojjhā. As he was crossing a river, he saw large clusters of foam drifting along with the current, and he addressed the bhikkhus, saying: Bhikkhus, just like these large clusters of foam drifting along with the current, a wise one who sees them and observes them thoroughly understands right here that this foam is not existent, is empty, is unreal, vanishes in an instant, and is utterly void.

Why is this so? Because the foam has no self-existence. So it is, bhikkhus, with all instances of form: past, future, present, inner and outer, gross and subtle, foul and fair, far and near.

The bhikkhu who sees these things must observe them thoroughly: those dharmas are not existent, are empty and unreal, owing only to a diseased perception, to mental conditioning, to perversity and falsehood. These dharmas are not real, not permanent; they are suffering, they are void, they are without self, they are subject to dissolution. Why is this so?

Because the nature of form has no self-existence.

Bhikkhus, just as when the rain pours down from the sky, each bubble of water rises up and immediately vanishes—a wise one who sees this and observes it thoroughly then knows that this arising and ceasing is not existent, is empty, is unreal, vanishes in an instant, and is utterly void. Why is this so? Because the water bubble has no self-existence.

So it is, bhikkhus, with all instances of feeling: past, future, present, inner and outer, gross and subtle, fair and foul, far and near. The bhikkhu who sees these must observe them thoroughly: those dharmas are not existent, are empty and unreal, owing only to a diseased perception, to mental conditioning, to perversity and falsehood. These dharmas are not real, not permanent; they are suffering, they are void, they are without self, they are utterly void.

Why is this so? Because the nature of feeling has no self-existence.

Bhikkhus, just as the shimmering heat-haze of the summer days, a wise one who sees this and observes it thoroughly understands that this heat is not existent, is empty, is unreal, vanishes in an instant, and is utterly void. Why is this so? Because the heat has no self-existence.

So it is, bhikkhus, with all instances of perception: past, future, present, inner and outer, gross and subtle, fair and foul, far and near. The bhikkhu who sees these must observe them thoroughly: those dharmas are not existent, are empty and unreal, owing only to craving, to mental conditioning, to perversity and falsehood. These dharmas are not real, not permanent; they are suffering, they are void, they are without self, they are subject to disappearance.

Why is this so? Because the nature of perception has no self-existence.

Bhikkhus, just as a man seeking sound timber takes up his axe and goes into the forest, and seeing a great plantain tree, straight and even, he digs up its root, cuts off its crown, and strips away its leaves, and analyzing it part by part (peeling sheath after sheath) he understands that within the plantain tree there is no core, nothing firm or solid—a wise one who sees this and observes it thoroughly understands that this plantain tree is not existent, is empty, is unreal, vanishes in an instant, and is utterly void.

Why is this so? Because that plantain tree has no self-existence. So it is, bhikkhus, with all instances of formations: past, future, present, inner and outer, gross and subtle, fair and foul, far and near.

The bhikkhu who sees these must observe them thoroughly: those dharmas are not existent, are empty and unreal, owing only to craving, to mental conditioning, to perversity and falsehood. These dharmas are not real, not permanent; they are suffering, they are void, they are without self, they are subject to disappearance. Why is this so?

Because the nature of formations has no self-existence.

Bhikkhus, just as a master illusionist or his apprentice, at the crossing of four great roads, conjures up before the eyes of the multitude all manner of illusions: herds of elephants, herds of horses, chariots and retinues—a wise one who sees this and observes it thoroughly knows that all these are not existent, are empty, are unreal, are formless and dissolving. Why is this so? Because the illusion is not permanent.

So it is, bhikkhus, with all instances of consciousness: past, future, present, inner and outer, gross and subtle, fair and foul, far and near. The bhikkhu who sees these observes them thoroughly: those dharmas are not existent, are empty and unreal, owing only to craving, to mental conditioning, to perversity and falsehood. Those dharmas are not real, not permanent; they are suffering, they are void, they are without self, they are subject to disappearance.

Why is this so? Because the nature of consciousness has no self-existence.

Thereupon the Buddha spoke this verse:

Form is like a cluster of foam,

Feeling like a bubble upon the water,

Perception like the heat-haze of summer,

Formations like the wild plantain tree,

Consciousness is like an illusion—

Thus do all the Buddhas declare.

One should observe them well,

And reflect upon them thoroughly,

Penetrating to dharmas void and empty.

Cling not to dharmas as existent and permanent.

Whoever would understand the aggregates—

So do all the wise ones speak.

When the three things are cut off,

One knows the body has no destination.

When life, consciousness, and warmth depart,

The body is cast aside and is no more;

Once dead, it lies upon the ground

Like grass that knows nothing at all.

Contemplating this matter in such a way—

It is through illusion that the foolish crave.

In every thought there is no craving,

Nor is there anything permanent.

Having known the five aggregates thus,

The bhikkhu should be diligent.

Therefore, by day and by night,

Self-aware in right mindfulness and right wisdom,

He cultivates the path of stillness,

Practicing renunciation—supreme is that peace.

When the Buddha had spoken thus, the bhikkhus, having heard it, were all greatly delighted.