As the soul journeys beyond this world, entering realms unseen, he encounters both the fruits of joy and the consequences of evil. When he falls asleep, he carries with him the subtle impressions of his waking life. In that state, he destroys and recreates these impressions by his own power, shining with his own radiance. In sleep, this person becomes his own light. Within that dream world, there are no chariots, charioteers, or roads—yet he conjures chariots, charioteers, and roads. There are no joys, delights, or pleasures—yet he creates them anew. There are no ponds, rivers, or lotus pools—but he fashions them by his own will, for he is the creator in that realm. Verses are recited about this mystery: In sleep, having laid aside the body, the sleeper shines in his own light. He takes the pure essence and returns to his own place—the golden person, the solitary swan. Guarding his nest with breath, the immortal one moves beyond it, wandering and returning wherever he desires, ever the golden person, the solitary swan. At the end of dreams, the soul, moving among higher and lower forms, creates countless shapes. Sometimes he enjoys pleasures, sometimes he eats, sometimes he encounters fearsome visions. Others may see the pleasure gardens he creates, but none see him himself. They say, “Let no one disturb him there.” If he does not return when sought, he becomes difficult to cure. Some say, “This is just his waking world.” Whatever he perceives while awake, he perceives again in sleep; here, indeed, the person becomes his own light. “So it is, Yajnavalkya,” the questioner affirms, offering wealth and requesting further teachings for liberation. Having enjoyed, roamed, and witnessed both merit and sin in the dream state, he returns, each thing to its own place, for the sake of awakening. Whatever he perceives there, if nothing follows after it, by that he becomes—for this person is unattached. Again, “So it is, Yajnavalkya,” and the seeker offers a thousand, requesting more for liberation. Similarly, having experienced merit and sin in dreams, he returns, each thing to its own place, for awakening. Whatever he sees there, not followed by anything else, by that he becomes, for he is unattached. The seeker repeats his request for further wisdom. In the waking state, too, after enjoying, moving about, and witnessing merit and sin, he returns, each thing to its own place, for the sake of dreaming. Just as a great fish swims along both banks, eastern and western, so does this person traverse the boundaries of dream and waking. Just as a bird or swan, flying in the sky, tires and folds its wings, so this person hastens to the limit where, in sleep, he desires nothing and sees no dreams. The channels of his being are as numerous as the arteries in the body, split into thousands, filled with colors—white, blue, yellow, green, and red. When one feels struck, subdued, grasped, cast into darkness, or as if falling into a pit, or sees frightening things while awake, this is the fear born of ignorance. But when one thinks, “I am the king, I am the divine, I am all this,” that is his highest world. In deep sleep, he desires nothing and sees no dreams. This is the true fulfillment of his desire, without further longing. Just as when embraced by a beloved, one is unaware of anything outside or inside, so too, this person, embraced by the intelligent Self, is not conscious of anything outside or inside. This is the state of complete freedom, untouched by evil, unbounded in form, and filled with inner joy without sorrow. Here, all roles dissolve: the father is no longer father, the mother no longer mother, the worlds are not worlds, the gods are not gods, the Vedas are not Vedas, the sacrifice is not a sacrifice. The thief is not a thief, nor the killer of a fetus a killer, nor the outcaste an outcaste, nor the mendicant a mendicant, nor the ascetic an ascetic. He is untouched by good or evil, having crossed all sorrows of the heart, free from them. When he does not see, yet seeing must be understood here. He does not see, for the seer’s seeing never ceases—it is imperishable. Nor is there a second thing here, separate from it, that he could see. When he does not smell, yet smelling must be understood; for the smeller’s smelling never ceases, nor is there a second thing to smell. The same is true for tasting, speaking, hearing, thinking, touching, and knowing. There is no cessation of the faculty, for it is imperishable, and there is no second thing apart from it. If there were something else here, then one would see another, smell another, taste another, speak to another, hear another, think of another, touch another, know another. But like water, he alone exists—the seer, without a second. This is the world of Brahman, O Emperor, his highest attainment, supreme state, highest world, highest bliss. All other beings live on only a fraction of this bliss. Among men, one who is prosperous, fulfilled, lord over others, and endowed with every human pleasure is the happiest. The bliss of such a person is the highest among humans. A hundredfold of this is the bliss of the ancestors who have won their world. A hundredfold of that is the bliss of the gods who attained divinity through their deeds. A hundredfold of that is the bliss of the gods by birth, and of one who is learned, sinless, and unshaken by desire. A hundredfold of that is the bliss of Prajapati’s world, and of one who is learned, sinless, and unshaken by desire. A hundredfold of that is the bliss of the world of Brahman, and of one who is learned, sinless, and unshaken by desire. This is the world of Brahman, O Emperor. Thus he was instructed: This is immortality. The seeker offers a thousand again, yearning for liberation. Among men, one who is prosperous, fulfilled, lord over others, and enjoying all pleasures is the happiest. The bliss of such a man is the highest among humans. A hundredfold of this is the bliss of the ancestors; a hundredfold of that is the bliss of the gandharvas; a hundredfold of that is the bliss of the gods who became divine through their deeds; a hundredfold of that is the bliss of the gods by birth, and of one who is learned, sinless, and unshaken by desire; a hundredfold of that is the bliss of Prajapati’s world, and of one who is learned, sinless, and unshaken by desire; a hundredfold of that is the bliss of the world of Brahman, and of one who is learned, sinless, and unshaken by desire. This is the highest bliss, the world of Brahman, O Emperor, said Yajnavalkya. The seeker offers a thousand again, asking for teachings for liberation. At this, Yajnavalkya became afraid, thinking, “The wise king will surpass us all.” This person, after enjoying and moving about in this state between waking and sleep, seeing both merit and demerit, returns again, by the same path, to each new birth, for the completion of knowledge. Just as a heavily loaded cart moves along, so does this embodied self, mounted on the intelligent self, move on, leaving the body when the upward breath departs. When the self reaches its subtle state, whether through old age or being struck down, it departs from the body, just as a ripe mango, fig, or berry detaches from its stalk. In the same way, the person, released from these limbs, returns again, by the same path, to each new birth, sustained by the vital breath. Just as, when a king is about to arrive, the officials, charioteers, village chiefs, and others prepare with food, drink, and lodging, saying, “He is coming, he is approaching,” so too, all beings prepare for one who knows thus, saying, “This is Brahman coming, this is Brahman approaching.” Just as, when a king is about to depart, the officials gather around him, so too, all the vital breaths gather around one who knows thus, when he is about to breathe upward. When the self withdraws its strength from the body, as if into unconsciousness, the vital breaths come together around him; taking only the measure of his light, he moves toward the heart. When the person who dwells in the eye turns away, he no longer perceives forms. They say, “He becomes one; he does not see.” “He becomes one; he does not smell.” “He becomes one; he does not taste.” “He becomes one; he does not speak.” “He becomes one; he does not hear.” “He becomes one; he does not think.” “He becomes one; he does not touch.” “He becomes one; he does not know.” The tip of his heart becomes illuminated; by that illumination, the self departs—either through the eye, the head, or other parts of the body. As he departs, the vital breath follows; as the vital breath departs, all the other vital breaths follow. He departs with consciousness, knowledgeable and aware. His knowledge and deeds, as well as his former understanding, accompany him. Just as a leech, reaching the end of a blade of grass, draws itself together, so does this person, after leaving the body and casting off ignorance, draw himself together. Just as a goldsmith, taking a piece of gold, fashions another, newer, and more beautiful form, so too does this person, after leaving the body and casting off ignorance, fashion for himself another, newer, and more beautiful form—ancestral, celestial, Brahmanic, Prajapatyan, divine, or of other beings. This self is Brahman, composed of knowledge, mind, speech, breath, sight, hearing, space, air, fire, water, earth, anger, non-anger, joy, non-joy, righteousness, unrighteousness—he is everything. As he acts and behaves, so does he become. The doer of good becomes good; the doer of evil becomes evil. By virtuous action, one becomes virtuous; by evil action, one becomes evil. And it is said, “This person is indeed made of desire.” As his desire is, so is his will; as his will is, so is his action; whatever action he does, that he attains.