The Self, the innermost essence, cannot be grasped by mere instruction, nor by the sharpest intellect, nor even by much hearing or study. It is not through these means that one attains the Self. Rather, it is only when the Self chooses a person that its true nature is revealed to them. But this realization is not possible for those who have not turned away from evil deeds, who lack tranquility, who are not composed, or whose minds are restless and unpeaceful. Such individuals, even if they acquire knowledge, cannot attain the Self. Who can truly know the Self, for whom Brahman and Kshatra are but food, and death itself is only a condiment? This Self is beyond ordinary comprehension. Those who have performed noble deeds, who have entered the deepest, most secret cave of the heart, and who know Brahman, as well as those who have completed the five sacred fires and the triple Nachiketa sacrifice, understand the difference between the shadow and the light. They alone recognize the truth. For the wise, Brahman is the imperishable bridge, the highest reality, which leads those who desire to cross over the ocean of fear to the shore of fearlessness. Nachiketa, may we too attain this supreme state. Understand this: the Self is like a rider, the body is the chariot, the intellect is the charioteer, and the mind is the reins. The senses are the horses, and their objects are the paths they travel. The wise say that the Self, joined with the mind and senses, is the enjoyer—the one who experiences. If a person lacks understanding and their mind is always unrestrained, their senses become uncontrollable, like unruly horses for a charioteer. But one who possesses understanding, whose mind is always restrained, has senses that are well-controlled, like good horses for a charioteer. The one without understanding, whose mind is unsteady and impure, does not attain the supreme state; instead, he enters again and again into the cycle of rebirth. But the person of understanding, with a steady and pure mind, attains that state from which there is no more birth. The one who has understanding as the charioteer and the mind as the reins reaches the end of the journey—the highest state of Vishnu. There is a hierarchy in our being: objects are higher than the senses, the mind is higher than the objects, the intellect is higher than the mind, and the great Self is higher than the intellect. Higher than the great Self is the unmanifest, and higher even than the unmanifest is the Person. There is nothing higher than this Person; this is the ultimate limit, the supreme goal. This Self is hidden in all beings—it does not shine forth openly. Only those with subtle vision, sharp intellect, and refined understanding can see it. Let the wise restrain speech in the mind, the mind in knowledge, knowledge in the great Self, and the great Self in the peaceful Self. Arise, awake! Approach the wise and understand. The path is sharp, like the edge of a razor, and difficult to traverse—so say the sages. That which is soundless, touchless, formless, undecaying, tasteless, eternal, and scentless; without beginning or end, higher than the great, and steadfast—realizing this, one is freed from the jaws of death. Having heard and told the ancient story of Nachiketa, spoken by Death himself, the wise are honored in the world of Brahman. Whoever, with devotion, teaches this supreme secret among those who know Brahman, or at the time of the Śrāddha, is prepared for infinity—indeed, they are prepared for infinity. The Self-born has turned the senses outward, so people look outside themselves and not within. Yet, some wise person, desiring immortality, turns their gaze inward and beholds the inner Self. Children pursue outward desires and fall into the wide net of death. But the wise, knowing the reality of immortality, do not seek the permanent among impermanent things. That by which one knows form, taste, smell, sound, touch, and the pleasures of union—by this alone all is perceived. What remains unperceived? This, indeed, is that. He who observes the end of dreaming and the end of waking through that Self, knowing the great, all-pervading Self, does not grieve. He who knows this Self—the enjoyer of sweetness, the living soul close at hand, the lord of what was and what will be—does not shrink from anything. This, indeed, is that. He who was born before ascetic practice, who was born before the waters, who, having entered the secret place, abides there, whom all beings perceive—this, indeed, is that. That which, as the goddess Aditi, composed of divinity, arises with the breath and abides in the secret place, which was brought forth by beings—this, indeed, is that. Hidden in the woods is Jātavedas, cherished like an embryo by pregnant women. Day by day, to those who are awake and offer oblations, Agni is to be praised by men. This, indeed, is that. From whom the sun rises and into whom it sets, in whom all the gods are established—no one goes beyond that. This, indeed, is that. Whatever is here, that is there; whatever is there, that is here. Whoever sees difference here goes from death to death. This is to be attained only by the mind; here, there is no diversity at all. Whoever sees difference here goes from death to death. The Person, of the size of a thumb, stands in the middle within the Self, the lord of what was and what will be—he does not shrink from anything. This, indeed, is that. The Person, of the size of a thumb, like a flame without smoke, the lord of what was and what will be—he is today, he is tomorrow. This, indeed, is that. As water poured on a rugged mountain runs off in various directions, so, when one sees duties as separate, one follows them accordingly. But as pure water poured into pure water becomes one, so, Gautama, does the Self of the one who knows become. In the city with eleven gates resides the unborn Self, who has established himself, though the mind may be crooked. He does not grieve; being liberated, he is free. This, indeed, is that. The Self is the swan dwelling in purity, the Vasu abiding in the mid-region, the priest on the altar, the guest in the house, present among men, in the noble, in the righteous, in the sky, born of water, born of cows, born of truth, born of mountains—truth, the great. He raises the breath upward, and sends the downward breath back; all the gods worship the dwarf seated in the middle. As this embodied one, while the body falls away, is released from the body—what remains here? This, indeed, is that. No mortal lives by breath or by the downward breath; they live by another, on whom these two depend. Thus, the Upaniṣad reveals the mystery of the Self, the eternal truth, hidden in all beings, to be realized by the pure and discerning heart.