Kamma: Action and its fruit
Deeds ripen into results of their own kind. So the giving here works like a harvest rather than a handout: clear seeing grows in the man whose days were sown clean, and hauling grows in the man who spent them grabbing. A field returns the crop planted in it, and no argument talks it into returning something else.
Avippaṭisāra: Freedom from remorse
Clean conduct leaves nothing behind to regret. That is the quiet machinery behind wisdom, knowledge, and joy arriving in the same pair of hands: with no hidden ledger of harm to keep, the mind is free to look straight at things and light enough to be glad. Someone who owes nobody anything sleeps through the night.
Taṇhā: Craving
Thirst is the older word for it, and thirst is what chasing wind feels like from the inside. You run all day with both hands open, close them on nothing, and set out again at dawn. Nothing ever lands in the palm, so the appetite is exactly as sharp at dusk as it was at sunrise.
Upādāna: Clinging
Grasping is craving with its fist closed. Gathering and heaping up makes it visible: a pile in the yard that keeps growing because the hands will not open, and the growing is itself the travail. Carrying a load you refuse to set down is heavy work, and the load gets no lighter for being called a blessing.
Anattā: Not-self
No owner stands behind what is owned. The heap raised by so much labor simply changes hands, and Qoheleth had already watched his houses and vineyards and silver sitting there waiting for a successor he did not pick. "Mine" was a word said over a pile that was always on its way somewhere else.
Anicca: Impermanence
Whatever is put together comes apart. Vanity is nearer to vapor: breath on a cold morning, in front of your face and gone before you finish looking at it. Silver, orchards, and the satisfaction of gathering them all have that shape, which is why the column never adds up no matter how much is entered in it.