Those who are steady of mind and wise, having conquered all fatigue, direct their awareness to the very crown of the head. In that sacred place, an inner fire is always kindled, much like a flame burning steadily in a pot set upon the hearth. From this seat, the living being breathes and speaks, but when the soul’s purpose is spent, a sense of purposelessness arises. The inner fire then consumes what remains; again, the soul is left without purpose. In this dissolution, it is only the wind—the vital breath—that departs from the body, and with its departure, the body’s warmth is lost. One may envision the wind as if held in the palms, leaving the body and taking with it the qualities of air. Just as water, freed from the great ocean, may remain in another vessel for a time, so too does the breath quickly enter elsewhere and is destroyed, just as the vessel itself is destroyed. Of the four elements that compose the being, if even one is absent, there is no doubt—the being cannot remain. Fire, for instance, is extinguished when it lacks fuel or food; when either is afflicted, the whole aggregate of body and life dissolves. In this state, what does the living being tire of? What does he hear, and what does he say? When a creature dies after giving, how can what is given—like a cow—save anyone? All these dissolve right here in this world; there is no reunion for them. For one consumed by fire, how could there be life again? As long as life remains, one acts; but when death comes, how could one return? The dead are gone, and from the seed, the seed is destroyed. At this, a disciple pleads, “Turn them back, O all-knowing one, for I have taken refuge in you. Speak again, best of sages, and dispel my doubt.” The sage replies: The living being goes on to another body, but the body itself decays. Just as fire is seen in kindling that is consumed by fire, so too is the soul’s journey. When the fuel is used up, the fire is no longer perceived. He whose movement, measure, or form is not known—of him, I know only that he perishes, like a fire at rest without fuel. As the fire disappears when its fuel is exhausted, so too, when the body is abandoned, the soul remains, subtle and pervasive like space. It is the fire that sustains the vital breaths—let this soul be understood as such. When that bodily fire is lost, the body becomes insentient, devoid of life. This is true not only for all moving beings but also for those that are immobile. Because these three—fire, breath, and body—are united, their apparent duality is established upon the earth. Know that those without form are indeed formless, while those with bodies possess form. A seeker then asks, “What are the characteristics of the soul in that state? Tell me, O sinless one. I wish to know what kind of soul resides in the bodies of living beings.” The sage responds: When the body is broken apart, the soul is not perceived at all. When there is pain in the subtle, mental body, who is it that truly suffers? O great sage, when the mind is distracted, the soul becomes ineffective. If the mind is disturbed, the eye, though open, does not truly see. And when overcome by sleep, one does not know memory or make effort. Who, then, is it that desires, contemplates, hates, and utters speech? It is he who perceives scents, tastes, sounds, touch, forms, and all the subtle qualities—this is the soul, subtle, ever-present, and the witness of all experience.