Brihadaranyaka Upanishad

In the beginning, there was only the Self, existing alone in the form of a person. Surveying all around, the Self found nothing else—only itself. It declared, “I am,” and thus, “I” became its name. To this day, when someone is called, they first respond, “I am,” before speaking any other name they possess. This Self, before all else, had burned away every trace of evil, and so was called the “person” (puruṣa). Anyone who truly knows this, and wishes to burn away what is before them, can also do so, just as the Self did. At first, the Self felt fear, for one who is alone is often afraid. But then it reflected: “Since there is nothing else but myself, of what should I be afraid?” With this understanding, fear vanished, for fear arises only from the presence of another. However, though alone, the Self found no delight. Desiring a second, it expanded itself into the form of a man and woman locked in close embrace. Then, dividing itself in two, it became husband and wife. As the sage Yājñavalkya said, “This is like one side of a split pea.” Thus, the space is filled by woman. The two were united, and from their union, human beings were born. But the woman, reflecting on her origin, wondered, “How can he unite with me, having produced me from himself?” She concealed herself. The Self, seeking her, took the form of a bull, and she became a cow; they united, and cattle came into being. Again, he became a stallion, she a mare; he a donkey, she a she-donkey; and from their union, single-hoofed animals were born. He became a he-goat, she a she-goat; he a ram, she a ewe; and thus goats and sheep came into existence. In this way, all pairs of creatures, down to the ants, were created. Knowing, “I am indeed the creation, for I have created all this,” the Self became the source of all creation. Whoever realizes this truth, in their own life, becomes a creator within creation. Then, rubbing himself, the Self produced fire—from his mouth and his hands. Thus, the inside of the mouth and the yoni are hairless. People say, “Let us worship this god, let us worship that god,” but all gods are but partial manifestations of this very Self. All that is moist here, the Self created as semen; this is Soma. Thus, all food and the eater of food are encompassed: Soma is food, and Agni is the eater of food. This, indeed, is the supreme creation of Brahman. Being superior, the Self created the gods; being mortal, it created mortals. By knowing this supreme creation, one attains joy in it. At first, all was undifferentiated, distinguished only by name and form: “He is such by name, such by form.” Even now, all is recognized only by name and form. The Self has entered here, down to the tips of the nails. Just as a razor is hidden in its case, or the earth in its nest, the Self is not fully manifest, and so is not seen. When breathing, the Self is called “breath”; when speaking, “speech”; when seeing, “eye”; when hearing, “ear”; when thinking, “mind.” These are but its names according to their functions. Whoever worships each one separately does not know the whole; such a person becomes only as each one. One should meditate upon the Self alone, for in the Self all these become one. This is the foundation of everything: the Self is the means by which all is known. Just as one follows a track by footprints, so one who knows this attains fame and the sacred verses. This Self is dearer than a son, wealth, or anything else. If someone claims something else is dear, and another says, “That which you call dear will perish,” let it be so. One should meditate upon the Self alone as dear. For whoever does so, the dear does not perish. People say, “By knowledge of Brahman, all will become,” and they wonder, “What is that Brahman, since all came from it?” Indeed, in the beginning, Brahman alone existed. It knew itself: “I am Brahman.” Therefore, all became from it. Whoever among the gods, sages, or humans awakened to this truth became that Brahman. Seeing this, the sage Vāmadeva declared, “I became Manu, I became the Sun.” Even now, whoever knows, “I am Brahman,” becomes all. Neither gods nor ancestors rule over such a one, for he becomes the Self. But whoever worships another, thinking, “He is one, I am another,” does not know; he is like cattle for the gods. Just as many cattle serve a human, so each person serves the gods. When a single animal is taken, it is unpleasant; how much more when many are taken. Thus, what is unpleasant for the gods is that which humans know. Again, in the beginning, Brahman alone existed. It differentiated itself and created the best form—Kṣatra, sovereignty. These are the divine Kṣatras: Indra, Varuṇa, Soma, Rudra, Parjanya, Yama, Mṛtyu, and Īśāna. There is nothing higher than Kṣatra. Thus, the Brāhmaṇa worships the Kṣatriya from below in the Rājasūya sacrifice. Kṣatra alone grants him fame. The womb of Kṣatra is Brahman. Therefore, even if the king reaches supremacy, he ultimately returns to Brahman, his own source. Whoever injures him becomes more sinful, just as one who departs from the best. The Self differentiated itself further, creating the divine classes spoken of in groups: the Vasus, Rudras, Ādityas, Viśve Devas, and Maruts. Then, it created the Śūdra class, Pūṣan, who nourishes all that exists. Again, the Self created the best form—Dharma. This is the sovereignty of sovereignty. There is nothing higher than Dharma. Thus, the weaker submit to the stronger by Dharma, as to a king. What is Dharma is truth. Therefore, one who speaks truth is said to speak Dharma, and one who speaks Dharma is said to speak truth. Both are the same. Thus, this is Brahman, Kṣatra, Vaiśya, and Śūdra. Among the gods, Brahman became Agni; among humans, Brāhmaṇa; by Kṣatriya, Kṣatriya; by Vaiśya, Vaiśya; by Śūdra, Śūdra. Among the gods, they seek the world through Agni; among humans, through Brāhmaṇa. By these two forms, Brahman became. But whoever leaves this world without knowing his own world, the unknown does not enjoy him, just as the Veda not recited or other acts not performed. Even great deeds are ultimately exhausted. One should meditate upon the Self alone as one’s world. For such a person, deeds are not exhausted; from his own Self, whatever he desires, that he creates. Moreover, this Self is the world of all beings. By offering sacrifices, one attains the world of the gods; by reciting, the world of the sages; by desiring offspring or giving offerings to ancestors, the world of the ancestors; by serving humans or giving them food, the world of humans; by providing grass and water to animals, the world of animals; and when creatures in his house—dogs, birds, insects—live by him, the world of those beings. Just as one who desires well-being for all worlds, so all beings always desire well-being for him who knows thus. In the beginning, there was only the Self, one and without a second. The Self desired: “May I have a wife, then I may beget offspring, then may I possess wealth, then may I perform actions.” Such is the extent of desire; one does not gain more than this by wishing. Even now, when one is alone, they desire these things, and until each is attained, they consider themselves incomplete. Completeness is found in this. The mind is his Self; speech his wife; breath his offspring; sight his human wealth, for by sight he finds what is beneficial; hearing his divine wealth, for by hearing he learns what is beneficial. The Self is his action, for by the Self he acts. This sacrifice is fivefold, the animal is fivefold, the person is fivefold, all this is fivefold, whatever exists. Whoever knows this attains all. By intelligence and austerity, the Self generated seven kinds of food: one common to all, two assigned to the gods, three reserved for himself, and one given to the animals. In that, everything is established, both what breathes and what does not. Why do these foods not diminish, though they are always eaten? Whoever knows this inexhaustibility eats food with its symbol and reaches the gods, living upon strength. Of these seven foods, one is common to all—this is the food that is eaten. Whoever worships this food is not overcome by evil, for it is mixed. Two foods are assigned to the gods: the offered and the re-offered. Therefore, offerings are made to the gods, both the main and the secondary, as in the new and full moon sacrifices. Thus, one should be a sacrificer with oblations. One food is given to the animals: milk. At first, both humans and animals live upon milk. Thus, when a child is born, they first lick clarified butter or it is applied to the breast. When a calf is born, it is said, “It is not yet eating grass.” In milk, everything is established, both what breathes and what does not. When people say, “By offering milk throughout the year, one conquers death again,” one should not understand it so. For whatever day one offers, that day one conquers death again; thus, knowing this, one gives food to all the gods. Why do these foods not diminish, though they are always eaten? In all these teachings, the refrain is clear: from the unreal, lead me to the real; from darkness, lead me to light; from death, lead me to immortality. The unreal is death, the real is immortality; darkness is death, light is immortality. Thus, one prays, “Do not make me mortal; from death, lead me to immortality.” And in this knowledge, nothing is concealed.