法苑珠林 75.17

75.17

Your body is dry bones standing upright, / Wrapped around by skin and flesh, / Inwardly filled with impurity; / Not a single thing is good. / A leather bag holding feces and urine, / The nine apertures constantly oozing, / Like a ghost, of no use: / How is it worthy of your self-esteem? / Your body is like a walking latrine, / Covered over with thin skin; / Cast aside and kept at a distance by the wise, / Just as a person walks away from a latrine. / If people knew your body / As I loathe and detest it, / All would keep far away from it, / Just as people avoid a privy. / You adorn your own body / With flowers, incense, and garlands; / What ordinary people covet and love, / The wise are not deluded by. / You are a heap of impurity, / A collection of vile and foul things; / Like an adorned latrine house, / Which fools consider fine. / Your ribs are attached to the spine / Like rafters resting on beams and pillars; / The five viscera are inside the belly, / Impure as a basket of dung. / Your body is like a dung house, / Treasured and clung to by foolish men; / Adorned with pearl necklaces, / Outwardly pleasing like a painted vase. / If one wished to dye empty space, / From beginning to end it could not be stained; / You wish to come and burn me, / Like a moth throwing itself into fire. / All the poisons of desires— / I have now entirely extinguished them; / The five desires are already far removed, / Māra's net is already torn apart. / My mind is like empty space, / Unattached to anything whatsoever; / Even if heavenly desires were to come, / They could not defile my mind.