Thought (Cittavaggo)

1. In times of old, when Buddha dwelt in the world, there was a certain religious person who had taken his abode under a tree beside the bank of a river. After practising himself in religious exercises for twelve years, he was still unable to get rid of worldly thoughts, or to banish recollections of worldly pleasures—to wit, those resulting from sight, or hearing, or smelling, or tasting, or handling, or thoughts about the properties of things around him (dharma)—and thus after these twelve years he was still unconverted. Buddha, perceiving his capability of conversion, transformed himself into a Shaman, and came to the tree where he sat, and occupied a place near the other. After a while, in an interval of moonshining, lo! they saw a tortoise come up out of the river, and come towards the tree ; at the same time a hungry river-dog ¹ coming along endeavoured to lay hold of the tortoise to eat him. But no sooner did he make the attempt than the tortoise, gathering up his head and tail and legs into his shell, was in perfect safety, and the dog could do him no harm. But no sooner had the dog gone on than the tortoise, emerging from his concealment, walked on again as before. On this the ascetic observed to the Shaman—“This tortoise, because it possesses such a safe protection (lit. ‘a casque of salvation’), the dog was disappointed of his meal.” To which the Shaman replied—“I remember a man who was very different from this. This man, forgetting the impermanency of all earthly things, and indulging in the six pleasures of sense, fell an easy victim to Mâra ; ¹ his body dissolved, his spirit ² gone, he was whirled again through the endless forms of repeated births, a victim of the sorrows and the misery formed by his ill-regulated thoughts ; and then he repeated these gâthâs :

“This body of thine shall soon return to the earth—your form destroyed, your spirit fled—why, then, covet such an abode? It is the mind that makes its own dwelling-place ; from earliest time, the mind reflecting on evil ways, itself courts its own misery. It is the very thought that itself makes (its sorrow). Not a father or mother can do so much ; ³ if only the thoughts be directed to that which is right, then happiness must necessarily follow. Concealing the six appetites as the tortoise conceals his limbs, guarding the thoughts as a city is surrounded by the ditch, then the wise man in his struggle with Mâra shall certainly conquer, and free himself from all future misery.”