He who can curb his wrath as soon as it arises, as a timely antidote will check snake's venom that so quickly spreads, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who entirely cuts off his lust as entering a pond one uproots lotus plants, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who entirely cuts off his craving by drying up its fierce and rapid flow, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who entirely blots out conceit as the wind demolishes a fragile bamboo bridge, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who does not find core or substance in any of the realms of being, like flowers which are vainly sought in fig trees that bear none, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who bears no grudges in his heart, transcending all this “thus” and “otherwise,” — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who has burned out his evil thoughts, entirely cut them off within his heart, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as the serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who neither goes too far nor lags behind, entirely transcending the diffuseness of the world, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who neither goes too far nor lags behind and knows about the world: “This is all unreal,” — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who neither goes too far nor lags behind, greedless he knows: “This is all unreal,” — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who neither goes too far nor lags behind, lust-free he knows: “This is all unreal,” — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who neither goes too far nor lags behind, hate-free he knows: “This is all unreal,” — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who neither goes too far nor lags behind, delusion-free he knows: “This is all unreal,” — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who has no dormant tendencies whatever, whose unwholesome roots have been expunged, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. States born of anxiety he harbors none which may condition his return to earth, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. States born of attachment he harbors none which cause his bondage to existence, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin. He who has the five hindrances discarded, doubt-free and serene, and free of inner barbs, — such a monk gives up the here and the beyond, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin.