The world appears as a seamless, unbroken expanse, shining forth in its entirety. Yet, what a profound wonder is this play of maya—the great illusion that causes the mind to waver between the notions of duality and nonduality! In truth, whether with form or without form, whether we say “not this, not this,” or whether we speak of difference or non-difference, all these distinctions fall away. What remains is only the One—Shiva—ever free, alone, and undivided. Consider, then: you have no mother or father, no relatives, no wife, no son, no friend. You are not partial to some, nor opposed to others. Why, then, does sorrow or agitation arise in the mind? For you, O mind, there is no day or night, no rising or setting. How could the wise imagine embodiment for one who is, by nature, bodiless? You are neither undivided nor divided, neither subject to pain nor pleasure, neither all nor nothing. Know the Self as imperishable. You are not the doer, nor the enjoyer; you have no actions—past or present. You have no body, whether embodied or disembodied. How, then, could there be any sense of “mine” or “not mine”? You are untouched by faults such as passion, and you do not suffer bodily pain. Know yourself as the one Self—vast, limitless, and open as the sky. O dear mind, what is the use of endless discussion? All such talk is mere speculation. What is essential has been declared: you are the truth itself, boundless as the sky. By whatever means, wherever it may be, even at the moment of death, yogis merge into that reality—just as space within a jar merges into the boundless sky when the jar is broken. Whether at a holy place or in the house of an outcaste, even if memory fails at the end, one who relinquishes the body at that moment becomes the very essence of all-pervading liberation. For the yogis, dharma, wealth, pleasure, liberation, and all beings—moving or unmoving—appear like a mirage, or water shimmering in the desert. Past, future, and present actions—they neither perform them nor experience them. Thus, their mind remains unwavering. Dwelling alone in emptiness, purified by equanimity, the Avadhuta is content. Having abandoned all pride, he wanders naked, finding everything within himself alone. Where the “fourth” beyond the three is realized only in oneself, there is neither virtue nor vice, neither bondage nor liberation—how could such things exist there? He discovers, truly discovers—not through mantra, nor through meter, nor through tantra, but by being absorbed in equanimity and purified by contemplation. This is the utterance of the supreme Avadhuta. All is empty and not empty; true and untrue do not exist. This is spoken from the nature of things, supported by scriptural understanding. Thus ends the first chapter. Whether a child, a pleasure-seeker, a fool, a servant, or a householder—none of these identities should be considered when it comes to the Guru. Who would discard a jewel just because it has fallen into something impure? Here, poetic qualities are not the point; the wise should grasp only the essence. Even a boat without color or form can carry those who wish to cross over. Without effort, by that which is unmoving, both the moving and unmoving are absorbed—by its very nature, consciousness is peaceful and sky-like. He who, without effort, moves the one principle—both moving and unmoving—how could that which is all-pervading and nondual ever be divided for me? I alone am the supreme, the essence of all essences—Shiva—free from coming and going, without distinctions, undisturbed. I am whole and without parts, worshipped by the gods. Being complete, I do not accept division, not even among the gods. Even if there is negligence, there is no doubt—what is there for me to do, being active? Just as bubbles arise and dissolve in water, so too do all phenomena. The elements, beginning with the great, always merge in this way—in soft, fluid, sharp, sweet, and bitter substances. Bitterness, coldness, softness—just as they exist in water, so too do nature and spirit appear to me as undivided. That which is free from all names, subtler than the subtle, supreme, beyond mind, intellect, and senses, stainless, the Lord of the world—where such naturalness exists, how could I be there? How could you be there? How could the moving and unmoving be there? That which is said to be like the sky is indeed sky-like—consciousness, free from faults, all-knowing, truly complete. It is not walked upon the earth, nor carried by the wind, nor covered by water, nor established in the midst of fire. Space is pervaded by That, yet That is not pervaded by anything. It remains both outside and inside, unbounded and uninterrupted. Because it is subtle, invisible, and without qualities, yogis have described it as a support; gradually, that support itself becomes the support. But when, through constant practice, one becomes without support, then by merging into That, one dissolves—free from all inner qualities and faults. For the poison of the world, fierce and causing the stupor of delusion, there is only one unfailing, innate nectar for its destruction. That which is known through experience—formless, yet appearing with form, beyond both existence and non-existence—is called the intermediate state. The external world is called the manifest; the inner is said to be nature; what lies between the inner and the innermost is to be known, like the water inside a coconut. Mistaken knowledge is external; true knowledge is in the middle; and what is subtler than the middle is to be known, just as the water inside a coconut. On the night of the full moon, there is only one perfectly pure moon—so too, one should see That as one; seeing it as two is a mistaken view. Thus, difference in understanding does not belong to all; the giver attains steadfastness, as is sung in countless names. By the grace of the guru’s wisdom, whether foolish or learned, whoever awakens to the truth becomes detached from the ocean of becoming.