O Rama, the fault of non-liberation remains ever-present in the world, with not even a trace of its absence. For this reason, the divine sages and seers are recognized as true vessels of liberation. If this world and its beginning truly existed as real, liberation would be impossible for anyone; whether what is perceived is external or internal, all is destined only for destruction. Therefore, listen carefully, Rama, to this most formidable assertion. Through the discourse that follows, you will surely come to understand. This so-called ‘I,’ which appears as the form of space and the elements, and the word ‘world’—in truth, neither has any real referent at all. Whatever is seen here, whatever array of appearances lies before you, all is in reality the one Brahman alone—ageless, immortal, and unchanging. From fullness, only fullness arises; in peace, supreme peace abides; in space alone does space appear; 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 pervades everywhere. Consider absurdities: a mountain is ground by the son of a barren woman; a rabbit’s horn is measured; a rock stretches out its arms and 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. I am not endowed with speech; listen, O Raghava, as it is explained: just as this appears unreal, like the son of a barren woman in a desert. In the beginning, nothing was 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. Listen, and 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, and withdraws by itself; it even attains immortality, yet only fluctuates by its restless power. 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. 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. From which arise the varied visions of worldly existence, like showers from a cloud filled with inexhaustible nectar. In which the waves of the three worlds, consisting of appearance and disappearance, ceaselessly shimmer like sunbeams in sunlight. That which is of the nature of destruction yet is itself indestructible, which dwells within all things; hidden, distinct, yet present in every being. The natural vine that has grown in space, bearing the fruit of the cosmic egg, whose leaves are the mind and senses, and which dances by the wind. That consciousness-gem shines forth, emerging through every body; in which, like rays in the moon, these streams of the world’s web flicker. In which, within the tranquil mass of consciousness, in the nectar-raining brilliance, the elements flow as streams, and perceptions flash like lightning. Objects sparkle mutually by its illumination; by which the unreal is born as unreal, and the real attains true existence. This moving body acts without desire in the presence of that supreme jewel, which abides in the self, silent and inert. By which fate, space, time, movement, vibration, and actions have come and gone, as it approaches all beings. Because of its pure consciousness-nature, it becomes like space through knowledge of space; through knowledge of objects, it assumes the state of objects, yet remains unestablished. Thus, O Rama, all that appears and all that seems to arise is but the play of consciousness, ever pure, ever peaceful, abiding everywhere and in everything, the source and the end of all.