Who will penetrate this earth & this realm of death with all its gods?

Who will ferret out the well-taught Dhamma-saying, as the skillful flower-arranger the flower?

The learner-on-the-path will penetrate this earth & this realm of death with all its gods.

The learner-on-the-path will ferret out the well-taught Dhamma-saying, as the skillful flower-arranger the flower.

Knowing this body is like foam, realizing its nature —a mirage—

cutting out the blossoms of Mara, you go where the King of Death can’t see.

The man immersed in gathering blossoms, his heart distracted:

death sweeps him away— as a great flood, a village asleep.

The man immersed in gathering blossoms, his heart distracted,

insatiable in sensual pleasures: the End-Maker holds him under his sway.

As a bee—without harming the blossom, its color, its fragrance— takes its nectar & flies away:

so should the sage go through a village.

Focus, not on the rudenesses of others, not on what they’ve done or left undone,

but on what you have & haven’t done yourself.

Just like a blossom, bright colored but scentless:

a well-spoken word is fruitless when not carried out.

Just like a blossom, bright colored & full of scent:

a well-spoken word is fruitful when well carried out.

Just as from a heap of flowers many garland strands can be made,

even so one born & mortal should do —with what’s born & is mortal— many a skillful thing.

Na pupphagandho paṭivātameti, na candanaṃ tagaramallikā ^[1];

Satañca gandho paṭivātameti, sabbā disā sappuriso pavāyati.

No flower’s scent goes against the wind— not sandalwood, jasmine, tagara.

But the scent of the good does go against the wind. The person of integrity wafts a scent in every direction.

Sandalwood, tagara, lotus, & jasmine: among these scents, the scent of virtue is unsurpassed.

Next to nothing, this scent —sandalwood, tagara— while the scent of virtuous conduct wafts to the devas, supreme.

Those consummate in virtue, dwelling in heedfulness,

released through right knowing: Mara can’t follow their tracks.

As in a pile of rubbish cast by the side of a highway

a lotus might grow clean-smelling pleasing the heart,

so in the midst of the rubbish-like, people run-of-the-mill & blind,

there dazzles with discernment the disciple of the Rightly Self-Awakened One.

Pupphavaggo catuttho niṭṭhito.