Snp 1.1 - Uraga Sutta: The Snake
Translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu
Source: https://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/snp/snp.1.01.than.html
License: CC-BY-NC-4.0
License URL: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/
Copyright: ©1997 Thanissaro Bhikkhu.
License notice: The text of this page ("Uraga Sutta: The Snake", by Thanissaro Bhikkhu) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License. To view a copy of the license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/. Documents linked from this page may be subject to other restrictions.
Attribution: ©1997 Thanissaro Bhikkhu. The text of this page ("Uraga Sutta: The Snake", by Thanissaro Bhikkhu) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License. To view a copy of the license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/. Documents linked from this page may be subject to other restrictions. Transcribed from a file provided by the translator. Last revised for Access to Insight on 29 August 2012. How to cite this document (a suggested style): "Uraga Sutta: The Snake" (Sn 1.1), translated from the Pali by Thanissaro Bhikkhu. Access to Insight (BCBS Edition), 29 August 2012, https://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/snp/snp.1.01.than.html .
Changes: Presentation only: original HTML markup reflowed into plain text; wording, numbering and source repetitions retained. No repetitions expanded.
Completeness: ABBREVIATED. Every source-unit character is preserved, including introductions, notes and verse structure. Thanissaro's collection-level note explicitly states that repetitions were cut: https://www.dhammatalks.org/suttas/about.html. This is evidence about the translation method, not an assertion that every individual unit contains an omission; no repetitions reconstructed.

Translator's note: A comparative study among the records of various early Buddhist schools suggests that the verses here, like those in I.3, were originally separate poems, spoken on separate occasions, and that they have been gathered together because they share the same refrain.

 The monk who subdues his arisen anger as, with herbs, snake-venom once it has spread, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who has cut off passion without leaving a trace, as he would plunging into a lake, a lotus, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who has cut off craving without leaving a trace, as if he had dried up a swift-flowing stream, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who has demolished conceit without leaving a trace, as a great flood, a very weak bridge made of reeds, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk seeing in states of becoming no essence, as he would, when surveying a fig tree, no flowers, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk with no inner anger, who has thus gone beyond becoming & not-, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk whose discursive thoughts are dispersed, well-dealt with inside without leaving a trace, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back, transcending all this objectification, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back, knowing with regard to the world that "All this is unreal," sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back, without greed, as "All this is unreal," sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back, without aversion, as "All this is unreal," sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who hasn't slipped past or turned back, without delusion, as "All this is unreal," sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk in whom there are no obsessions — the roots of unskillfulness totally destroyed — sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk in whom there's nothing born of distress that would lead him back to this shore, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk in whom there's nothing born of desire that would keep him bound to becoming, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin. The monk who's abandoned five hindrances, who, untroubled, unwounded, has crossed over doubt, sloughs off the near shore & far — as a snake, its decrepit old skin.