Listen now to the wisdom imparted, as the Lord speaks of the true nature of the self and the world. He says: Just as gold, which is shaped into various ornaments by one’s own hand, remains all-pervading and unchanged within every golden object, so too am I, ever present, within all beings and forms, though they bear many different names and identities. This knowledge, O beloved, is threefold in its states, reflecting the three guṇas—sattva, rajas, and tamas—and takes the forms of cause, effect, and agent. Yet, beyond their union and separation, there exists a fourth state, untouched and pure; that alone is the ultimate truth. Know that whatever is not present before, nor after, nor in the middle, is but a temporary designation—mere name and form. Only that which is established as real by the Supreme truly exists; this is my understanding. That which does not truly exist, yet appears to do so, is a transformation born of rajas. The self-luminous Brahman, by its own wonder, shines forth as the manifold variety of Brahman, the senses, their objects, the mind, and all their modifications. Therefore, by clear reasoning that discerns Brahman, and by skillfully refuting opposing views, one should cut away all doubts. Thus, one becomes tranquil, content in one’s own bliss, and indifferent to objects of desire. The true self is not the body made of earth, nor the senses, nor the gods or demons, nor the elements of wind, water, or fire. The mind is but food, the intellect is sattva, ego is space, and earth is the balance of the elements. How could the senses, which are composed of the guṇas, affect the one whose true abode is known? And what fault is there if the senses are agitated? Just as clouds, though present, do not touch the sun, and when they depart the sun remains unaffected, so too is the self untouched. Just as space is not tainted by the qualities of wind, fire, water, or earth as they come and go, so too the imperishable self is untouched by sattva, rajas, and tamas—the causes of transmigration in the mind. Nevertheless, one must avoid association with the guṇas, which are creations of māyā, until, by firm devotion to me, the impurity of rajas is cleansed from the mind. There are those false yogis who, hindered by obstacles caused by gods or humans, again practice yoga out of habit, but not according to the method of karma. Action is performed, and the living being acts, compelled by some cause or by fate. But the wise, even while living in the world, having renounced all thirst for results, experience their own inner happiness. Whether standing, sitting, walking, lying down, releasing, or eating—whatever state the self assumes, the mind established in the self does not perceive it as anything else. If one perceives an unreal object of the senses, and through reasoning sees something contrary, the wise do not consider it real—just as a dream vanishes upon waking. The patterns of guṇas and actions, previously acquired and not distinguished from the self due to ignorance, cease by mere observation; the self is neither grasped nor abandoned. Just as the rising sun destroys darkness for the eyes but does not create it, so too does keen discernment destroy the darkness of ignorance in the intellect. This self-luminous, unborn, immeasurable one is the great experience, the experience of all; it is the one without a second, by whom speech and life are directed, and when speech ceases, only that remains. The delusion of self is only this: the notion of difference in the pure. Apart from the self, there is no support for one’s own self. That which is apprehended by name and form, in the fivefold way and uncontradicted, is, even if meaningless, mere praise; such duality belongs to those who consider themselves wise. For a yogi whose yoga is not yet mature, disturbances arising in the body may hinder him; for this, a prescribed rule is given. By the power of yogic concentration, some destroy afflictions through postures and retention; others dispel disturbances with austerity, mantras, and medicinal herbs. Some remove inauspicious influences by meditating on me, by chanting my name, or by following the path of the masters of yoga. Certain wise ones establish this body as stable and well-formed in youth, and then engage in various methods to attain perfection. But such skill is not to be esteemed, for that effort is fruitless, since the body is perishable, like the fruit of a tree. If, through constant practice of yoga, the body becomes fit for longevity, the intelligent should not place faith in it, but abandon yoga and devote themselves to me. A yogi who follows this path, taking refuge in me, remains undisturbed by obstacles, free from desire, and experiences his own happiness. Now, a story is told to illustrate this wisdom. When the beloved wife, unaware that her dearest husband has departed, sits in her place, she behaves as before. But when, in worship, she does not feel the warmth in her husband’s feet, her heart grows anxious, like a doe separated from her herd. She grieves for herself, helpless and friendless, weeping with tears, pressing her breasts in the forest, and cries out in a clear voice, “Rise, rise, O royal sage! You must protect this land, encircled by the ocean, which fears the robbers and kṣatriya outcasts.” Thus lamenting, the young woman followed her husband into the forest; falling at his feet, she shed tears without restraint. She built a wooden funeral pyre, placed her husband’s body upon it, and, preparing to follow him in death, fixed her mind while she lamented. There, an old friend appeared—a self-realized brāhmaṇa—who gently consoled her with soothing words as she wept. He said: “Who are you? Whose are you? Who is this lying here, for whom you grieve? Do you remember me as a friend, with whom you once wandered? Do you recall yourself, O friend, as my unknown companion? Leaving me, you sought another place, absorbed in earthly pleasures. O noble one, you and I were swans, companions dwelling in the lake of the mind; for thousands of years, there was no separation between us. But you abandoned me, O companion, and descended to earth with a worldly mind; wandering, you saw a place fashioned by a certain woman. There were five gardens, nine gates, one guardian, three chambers, six families, five marketplaces, and a fivefold nature—the abode of woman. The five sense objects are the pleasures; the nine gates are the channels of life; the digestive fires and food are the compartments; the family is the collection of senses. The marketplace is the power of action; the elemental nature is imperishable; the lord of power is the person who has entered here, yet does not realize it. There, you, touched by Rāma, delighting, lost memory and hearing; from that association, O friend, you attained such a degraded condition.” Thus, through this story and teaching, the Lord reveals the nature of the self, the delusion of worldly life, and the means to transcend suffering and return to one’s true, blissful essence.