Listen, O dear one, to the unfolding of divine wisdom and the enchanting play of the Lord, as revealed in the sacred verses. First, the Lord spoke of the astonishing power of his own illusion, māyā, which takes the form of a woman. This force, so potent, conquers even those who have triumphed in all directions; by merely arching her brows, she subdues the mighty who have walked the earth. He warned that one aspiring to the highest stage of yoga should never mingle with women, for those who have realized the true self by serving him declare that such association is the gateway to hell. The illusion, crafted by the gods in the form of a woman, approaches slowly and must be recognized as death for the self—just as a well covered with grass is a hidden danger. Deluded, a man may mistake her for his wife, though she is none other than the Lord’s illusion, appearing even as a cow. By association with women, he enters womanhood himself and becomes bound to wealth, children, and home. He should understand her—who embodies husband, child, and home—as death itself, sent by fate, just as the song of a hunter spells doom for the deer. With a body endowed with life, a man wanders from world to world, ceaselessly performing actions and experiencing their results. The living being’s body, composed of elements, senses, and mind, follows him; when it dissolves, that is called death, and when it manifests, that is called birth. When the means of perceiving an object and the capacity to perceive it are lost, dissolution occurs; the sense of 'I' arises with perception, and that is birth. Just as when the eye or its components lose the ability to see, the seer’s capacity ceases—so too, when both are unfit, vision ends. Therefore, one should not be afraid, nor feel pity or confusion. Knowing the soul’s journey, the wise—free from attachment—should live accordingly. With intellect endowed with true vision, joined with yoga and detachment, one should live in this world, fashioned by illusion, unconcerned with the body. Now, hear of the divine pastime. Śuka spoke: The gopīs, singing and lamenting in many ways, wept loudly, longing to see Krishna. Then, Hari appeared among them, his lotus face smiling, dressed in radiant yellow garments, adorned with a garland—he who bewilders even the god of love. Seeing their beloved returned, the gopīs’ eyes blossomed with joy; all rose at once, as if life itself had returned to their bodies. One joyfully took Hari’s lotus hand in her joined palms; another placed his sandalwood-smeared arm on her shoulder. One slender woman took the betel leaf he had chewed with her cupped hands; another, burning with longing, placed his lotus foot between her breasts. One, her brow knit in agitation, overwhelmed by love, seemed to strike with her sidelong glances, her teeth clenched beneath her lips. Another, with unblinking eyes, gazed upon his lotus-like face, and though she drank it in, was never satisfied—just as the wise are never satiated by his feet. Another, closing her eyes and drawing him into her heart through the opening of her eyes, embraced him with her goosebump-covered limbs, immersed in the bliss of a yogi. All of them, delighted by the sight of Keśava, experienced the highest festival of joy, abandoning the pain of separation, just as people do upon attaining wisdom. Surrounded by those freed from sorrow, the Lord, Acyuta, shone forth even more, like a person empowered by his energies. Taking them, the Lord entered the sandy bank of the Yamunā, blooming with jasmine and mandāra flowers, fragrant breezes, and humming bees. The place was auspicious, its darkness dispelled by autumn moonbeams, with Krishna’s restless hand, and sand soft and bright. Their hearts relieved of pain by the joy of seeing him, as the Vedas reach their goal, they prepared a seat for their beloved with their own upper garments, marked with the red of their breasts. There, seated, the Lord, the master, assumed a seat in the hearts of the yogis, and shone among the assembly of gopīs, worshipped, bearing a form that is the single abode of the fortune of the three worlds. Honoring him, the kindler of desire, with laughter, playful glances, and expressive brows, they touched his feet with their hands placed on his lap, and, praising him, spoke with a slight feigned anger: “One who loves is loved in return by one; another does the opposite; some do not love either. Please tell us, O noble one, which is right?” The Blessed Lord replied: “Those who love each other for their own benefit are friends, but there is no true affection or righteousness there, for it is only for self-interest. Those who love those who do not love them, like compassionate parents, act without fault; here, affection and virtue are excellent. Some do not love even those who love them, let alone those who do not; for they are self-satisfied, fulfilled in themselves, ungrateful, and disrespectful to their elders. But I, O friends, do not love even those who love me, for their devotion; just as a poor man, upon gaining wealth and then losing it, absorbed in its thought, knows nothing else. “Thus, you, weak ones, have abandoned worldly and scriptural duties for my sake, to serve me; though you worship me directly, I hide myself, so you should not resent this, O beloveds. I am unable to repay your flawless devotion, even with the lifespan of the gods; those who have loved me, breaking the hard chains of home, let their virtuous deeds be your reward.” Thus ends the chapter named 'The Consolation of the Gopīs,' in the first half of the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, the scripture of the supreme swan. The teaching continues: When devotion in the form of yoga is directed toward Bhagavan Vasudeva, it quickly gives rise to detachment and knowledge that leads to realization of Brahman. When a person’s mind, through the senses, does not accept any distinction among objects—whether pleasant or unpleasant—then, at that very moment, he perceives himself by himself as unattached, seeing all equally, free from acceptance and rejection, and established in the supreme state. Pure knowledge alone is the supreme Brahman, the Supreme Self, the Lord, the Person; Bhagavan is perceived as one, though appearing as distinct through objects of perception and so forth. To this extent alone, through complete yoga, does the yogi attain the desired goal here: total detachment from all things. The one knowledge, by the outward-turned senses, appears—through illusion—in the form of objects, as Brahman without qualities, taking on the characteristics of sound and so on. Thus, the Lord’s wisdom and his enchanting play are revealed, guiding the soul from illusion to truth, from longing to divine fulfillment.