Just as the word “bracelet” refers to a particular form shaped from gold, yet there is nothing in gold itself that is essentially “bracelet,” so too, the meaning we give to the word “world” does not truly exist in the Supreme Reality. The world, in its entirety, exists only within Brahman and has no separate essence of its own; its reality is no more than the imagined “braceletness” in gold. What appears as the world is, in truth, as insubstantial as a wave moving in the river of suffering—an unreal spectacle, like the dazzling illusion conjured by a magician, projected by the mind alone. The wise have given many names to this imagined phenomenon: ignorance, transmigration, bondage, illusion, delusion, and great darkness. All these are but labels for what is merely conceived in thought. Now, listen as I describe the nature of bondage, for by understanding this, O Rama—whose face is as radiant as the moon—you will come to know the true nature of liberation. Bondage arises from the triad of the seer, the seen, and their mutual existence. The seer is bound by dependence on the seen, and when the seen is absent, the seer is freed. The seen is what we call the world—the sense of “I,” “you,” and so forth—which emerges from the process of creation. As long as this perception persists, liberation cannot be attained. This malady of the seen does not subside through mere intellectual declarations such as “not this, not this”; in fact, it only grows stronger through the very thoughts that sustain it. Neither reasoning nor religious observances like pilgrimage can reveal the true nature of the visible world; these are but methods of inquiry, not the means to discern reality. If the world were truly visible, it would never cease to exist anywhere; for that which is unreal has no existence, and that which is real never ceases to be. Wherever this essence—both sentient and insentient—abides, there the glory of the visible arises, even within the smallest atom. Thus, the visible world exists; yet, through austerity, meditation, and recitation, I have cleansed it away—just as one polishes a mirror and is satisfied with its clarity. Even if the visible world remains, it is reflected—without doubt—even within the smallest atom, in the mirror of consciousness. Wherever it appears, O Rama, it is as if reflected in a mirror: mountains, earth, rivers, and all else arise in the mirror of consciousness. Then, from this vision, arise again sorrow, old age, death, birth, the grasping and relinquishing of existence and non-existence, the gross and the subtle, the moving and the unmoving. I have cleansed this visible world from myself; I no longer abide in it. Yet, this alone remains as the inexhaustible seed for the remembrance of transmigration, even in samadhi. When the vision of the world persists, there is no experience of the imperishable state of deep sleep, nor of the fourth state beyond waking, dreaming, and sleep, nor of thought-free absorption. Indeed, when the mind emerges from absorption, all this world reappears as uninterrupted suffering, just as it does at the end of deep sleep. O Rama, when that state is attained, what need is there for further absorptions? For when calamity strikes again, what happiness remains, even if equanimity lasts but a moment? Or, if one attains a state of thought-free absorption, I consider that to be the stainless state, resembling the imperishable deep sleep. But when the vision of the world is present, that state is not attained by anyone; for, due to the mind’s delusion, the illusion of the world arises wherever one may be. If the seer forcibly cultivates a state like that of a stone, even then, when that state ends, the perception of the world arises again. And even those who attain absorptions without thought do not reach a truly stonelike state; this is the experience of all. Nor do such absorptions reach maturity if they become like a stone; instead, they become the supreme, peaceful state—consciousness itself, unborn and undecaying. Therefore, if this visible world were truly real, it would never cease; the notion that it can be ended by austerity, recitation, or meditation is but an ignorant assumption. Just as a lotus seed rests within the hollow of a closed lotus stalk, so too does the perception of the seen reside within the perceiver. As taste exists in substances, as oil is present in sesame and other seeds, and as fragrance is in flowers, so too does the perception of the seen exist in the perceiver. Wherever camphor or similar substances are kept, their fragrance arises accordingly; in the same way, the world appears within the core of consciousness. Just as your own dreams, imaginations, and the notion of a mental kingdom are known only through your own experience, so too is the realm of the seen present in the heart. Therefore, just as a demon dwelling in the imagination can destroy a child, so too does this form of the seen within destroy the perceiver. Just as a sprout, remaining within the seed, produces a radiant body at the proper place and time, so too does the perception of the seen unfold. And just as the wonder of a substance always arises in the heart, unceasing within its core, so too does the existence of the world naturally abide within the core of one whose body is pure consciousness. Now, listen, O Raghava, to the story of Akashaja, which is an ornament to the ears—the section called “Origin,” by which you will come to understand. There was once a twice-born named Akashaja, supremely righteous, ever devoted to meditation, and always intent on the welfare of all beings. When he had lived for a long time, Death began to ponder: “Indeed, I consume all beings in due course, for I am inexhaustible. Yet why do I not devour this Brahmin Akashaja? In this matter, my power is blunted, like the edge of a sword against a stone.” Thinking thus, Death went to that city to slay him, for those who are truly resolute never abandon their effort. As Death himself entered that dwelling, at that very moment, a fire, blazing like the fire at the end of an age, burned him. Even after breaking through that great network of flames and entering within, Death tried with all his might to seize the Brahmin with his hand. But even though he saw the Brahmin right before him, Death could not grasp him with a hundred hands—just as even the strong cannot restrain a person of firm resolve.