As the sage spoke, he described the sublime state where the mind’s habitual tides of attraction and aversion fall silent. He likened this to the calm after the wind ceases—when movement ends and stillness prevails. In such a state, when nothing at all remains—when all that is left is the subtle essence of space, direction, and earth—what form could the pure radiance of illumination possibly take? It is formless, beyond all appearances. When the world of experience—the three realms, you, and I—has dissolved into non-existence, then the seer, the one who witnesses, attains the state of pure being. This is the immaculate nature of the Self. Just as a mirror reflects countless mountains and things, yet remains only a mirror, so too does the pure Self remain unchanged amidst infinite reflections. When the confusion of the seen—ideas of ‘I’, ‘you’, and ‘the world’—is pacified, pure oneness arises, established in the seer who no longer observes objects. If this confusion does not subside, then the notion of nonexistence does not apply to what exists, nor do we truly know nonbeing in this visible realm, which brings about error. Therefore, the sage asks: “O Brahman, how can this fever of perception be pacified, this ceaseless agitation that gives rise to delusion and suffering?” He urges Rama to listen to a mantra for the pacification of this demon of perception, by which it will utterly perish. He explains: Whatever exists, O Raghava, its destruction is certain; yet even when it is destroyed, its seed may linger within the heart. The seed of memory, arising again in the space of consciousness, produces the notion of the seen, which, though insubstantial, spreads the fault in the forms of world, mountain, and sky. Thus, the fault of non-liberation persists, and there is no trace of its absence; for this reason, divine sages and seers are seen as vessels of liberation. If this world and its beginning truly existed, then liberation would be impossible for anyone; whether the seen is external or internal, it is only destined for destruction. Therefore, O Rama, listen to this most formidable assertion, by which, through the following discourse, you will surely come to understand. This so-called ‘I’, marked as having the form of space and the elements, and the word ‘world’—in truth, neither has any real referent at all. Whatever is seen here, any array of appearances before you, all that is truly the one Brahman alone—ageless, immortal, and unchanging. From fullness, fullness arises; in peace, supreme peace abides; in space alone, space appears; Brahman stands established in Brahman. There is no object seen, nor seer, nor act of seeing; neither void, nor inert, nor conscious—only this peace is spread everywhere. The sage illustrates the unreality of the world with images: a mountain is ground by the son of a barren woman; a rabbit’s horn is measured; a rock, stretching out its arms, dances the Tāṇḍava. Grains of sand flow with oil; stones’ daughters recite scriptures; painted clouds thunder—such, O Lord, are these words. This world, said to be made of the sky of old age, death, and suffering—why do you and I even speak of it as existent? Just as this universe is neither established, nor arisen, nor existent, so, O Brahman, tell me in such a way that this may be determined. The sage confesses: “I am not endowed with speech; listen, O Raghava, it is being explained: just as this appears unreal, like the son of a barren woman in a desert.” In the beginning, this was not produced; therefore, there is nothing at all. This appears in the mind, like a city in a dream. Indeed, the mind at the beginning of creation is unproduced, with an unreal form. Thus, listen, I will explain how this is experienced. The mind, composed of perceptions, generates this fault which is of the nature of decay; it is unreal, with the appearance of unreality, like one dream within another. That mind, by its own freedom, swiftly imagines the body; by this, the splendor of this magic is spread out and extended. The mind flashes, moves, dances, begs, becomes, sinks, withdraws by itself; it even attains immortality, yet only fluctuates by its restless power. This is the nature of the mind. Rama, eager, asks: “O Lord, tiger among sages, what is this confusion of the mind here? How does it exist, how is the mind produced, and from where does this mind made of illusion arise? O Lord, please briefly tell me about the origin at the beginning; afterwards, you will explain the rest, O best among those who speak.” The sage replies: When the great dissolution arrives and non-being prevails, at the start of creation, only peacefulness remains, with all appearances gone. The radiant, unborn, divine, and flawless Lord abides, never setting; always, everywhere, the supreme Self, the great Lord, the source of all. From whom words return, who is realized by the liberated; whose names such as ‘self’ are imagined, not arising from his own nature. He is the person seen by the Sāṅkhya philosophers as Brahman, by the Vedāntins as pure consciousness, and by the knowers of knowledge as utterly pure awareness. He is emptiness for the proponents of emptiness, the illuminator for those who praise the sun’s brilliance; always the speaker, the rememberer, the true enjoyer, the seer, the doer. He is both existent and non-existent in the world; though dwelling in the body, he is far away; this is the light of consciousness, just as radiance comes from the sun. From whom gods like Viṣṇu arise, as rays from the sun; from whom countless worlds emerge, like bubbles from the ocean. That into which all objects of perception merge, like streams into the great ocean; that which illumines itself and all things, like a lamp. That which abides in space, in bodies, in stones, in waters, in vines, in dust, in mountains, in winds, and in the netherworlds. That which swiftly floods the eightfold city (the body) here and there; by which the deluded are rendered mute, like stones absorbed in meditation. By which the sky is made empty, mountains are made solid, waters are made to flow swiftly, and by whose power the sun shines brightly. Thus, the sage reveals the mystery: the world and all its appearances are nothing but the play of the mind, which itself is born of the one, radiant Self. All is Brahman, ageless, immortal, and unchanging. The mind’s confusion and the world’s drama are mere dreams within dreams, and the true Self abides, untouched, pure, and peaceful.