Just as a child, frightened by a phantom conjured from its own deluded mind, finds relief when reason dissolves the illusion, so too do all the myriad phenomena of this world—unreal in themselves—vanish when touched by the sharp sword of discernment. The long-standing phantom of worldly existence, which brings endless suffering and is imagined by a mind clouded by ignorance, is also dispelled by the light of reason. When all such illusions are cut away, what remains is a state of pure, undisturbed, infinite oneness, unsupported by anything else. This is the highest fruit borne by the powerful tree of discernment. In this state, steadfast and noble, radiant with the joy of clear stability, desirelessness arises naturally—cool and gentle, like the soothing light of the newly risen moon. For those established in this supreme reason, which is the great medicine for the mind, there is neither craving nor rejection. The mind, ever-supported and vast, becomes like limitless space—neither rising nor setting, neither grasping nor abandoning, neither suffering nor seeking peace. It simply abides, witnessing all, perceiving the world within itself. Such a mind is not extinguished, nor does it remain confined within or without; it neither clings to inactivity nor becomes absorbed in action. Unconcerned with what has passed and attentive to what arises, the mind remains neither agitated nor utterly unperturbed, but shines steadily, like the full ocean. With such a mind, the great-souled, noble-hearted yogis—liberated while still living—move through the world, untouched by its turmoil. After living as they wish for as long as they desire, these steadfast ones finally lay aside the body and attain the state of pure being. Even when thoughts arise—“Who am I, and whose is this world?”—the wise diligently reflect, practicing self-inquiry and applying skillful means. O Raghava, just as a king discerns the nature of action—whether fruitful or fruitless—by discernment alone, so too is all confusion and doubt resolved. The teachings of the Vedas and Vedanta, and the reasons for their establishment, are revealed only through discernment, just as a lamp illuminates the earth at night. Even in darkness, a clear and unwavering eye, bright with discernment, perceives what is hidden, just as a bright light never fails. But one who is blind to discrimination is truly pitiable—like a person blind from birth, of poor understanding—while the self endowed with discernment, possessing divine sight, prevails over all things. Discernment, filled with the Supreme Self and the sole means to great bliss, is a true wonder. It should be cherished and never abandoned, even for a moment. One adorned with discernment is esteemed even among the great, just as a fully ripened mango delights all. But those whose minds lack the beauty of discernment, even if they rise in knowledge, repeatedly fall into the pits of suffering. No one cries out in pain as much—not the sick, nor those afflicted by countless misfortunes—as the ignorant person whose self is destroyed by lack of discernment. It is better to be a worm in the mud, among thorns in a pit, or dwelling in a dark cave, than to live without discernment. One should abandon unreflectiveness, the dwelling place of all misfortune, rejected by the virtuous and the utmost limit of perpetual distress. A noble soul must always be engaged in reflection, for those who fall into the pit of existence, reflection is the true support. By holding oneself firmly with one’s own self through reflection, one can lead the restless mind—like a deer—across the ocean of delusion called saṃsāra. This inquiry—“Who am I? How has this fault called saṃsāra arisen?”—when conducted according to reason, is true reflection. For the person lacking reflection, whose mind is hard as stone, only endless suffering is produced—a darkness filled with the tumult of delusion. O Rāghava, for those whose vision is fixed on the arising and ceasing of things, nothing true is ever known except through reflection. By reflection, truth is known; from truth arises repose in the Self; and when the mind is at peace, all suffering comes to an end. Truly, the actions of the best become fruitful and manifest in the world; may your own reflection, clear-sighted and well-considered, bring you to peace and shine forth. Now, contentment is indeed the highest good; it is called happiness itself. One who is content, O destroyer of foes, attains supreme rest. For those whose minds have long rested in the happiness of contentment and prosperity, even the sovereignty of the virtuous appears as worthless as dry grass. O Rama, a mind endowed with contentment remains undisturbed even amidst the turmoil of worldly affairs, never afflicted by adversity. Those who have attained supreme satisfaction by drinking the nectar of contentment find all worldly enjoyments insignificant by comparison. Even the waves of nectar do not satisfy as much as the sweet taste of contentment, which destroys all faults. One who abandons unfulfilled desires, remains equal in what is attained, and is free from inner distress and agitation—such a person is truly content. As long as contentment does not arise within the mind, calamities spring up again and again, like creepers from fertile soil. A mind cooled by contentment, seen through pure and clear understanding, blossoms greatly, like a lotus under the rays of the sun. But when the mind is unsettled by expectation and lacks contentment, knowledge cannot be reflected there, just as a faded face cannot be seen in a dull mirror. Yet for the one in whom the sun of contentment rises perpetually, the lotus of their being does not wither in the dense night of ignorance.