When the time of the great dissolution arrives, all that is manifest—transformed through Rudra and the other powers—becomes non-existent and invisible, vanishing into an unknown somewhere. In the wake of this dissolution, what remains is a profound, unmoving stillness. No light shines there, nor is there darkness; something remains, unnamable and unmanifest, and that alone endures. This remainder is not emptiness, nor is it space. It is not the seen, nor the act of seeing, nor the myriad elements and objects that dwell within infinity. Its nature cannot be described; its form is fullness beyond fullness. It is neither existence nor non-existence, nor both, nor their absence. It is not a dwelling or a place. What abides is pure consciousness—objectless, infinite, ageless, and auspicious. It has no beginning, middle, or end; it stands independent and free from all affliction. In this, the world shines forth, as a pearl or a swan might appear in a vision—present, yet not truly present. It is divine, its nature encompassing both existence and non-existence. This reality has no ears, tongue, nose, skin, or eyes, yet everywhere and always, it hears, tastes, smells, touches, and sees. It alone, by its light, reveals all forms—both of existence and non-existence—and perceives the endless, beginningless creation, which is harsh and without coloring. With half-opened eyes, perceiving its own true nature as the ever-shining Self—like the star in the middle of the brow—it sees the world as a mere appearance. For this One, there is no other cause of the all-pervading Lord, just as the horn of a hare does not exist. To it, this world is but an effect, like waves upon the water. As the lamp of pure consciousness burns ceaselessly in the vessel of the mind, its light alone illumines the three worlds. Without this presence, even the sun and other luminaries, though they shine, are as darkness; only in its presence does the mirage of the three worlds appear. In this, the glory of the world seems to arise when there is movement, and to be hidden within when there is stillness—just as a circle of fire appears when a torch is whirled. Its nature is the pure, imperishable, all-pervading great Self, whose play is the creation and dissolution of the world, whose essence is both movement and stillness. Its existence, like the wind, pervades all as both movement and stillness; though spoken of as distinct only by name, in truth it is not different. This One is always awake, always asleep, and at no time or place is it merely asleep or awake. That which is motionless is auspicious and peaceful; that which moves is the existence of the three worlds. The play of motion and stillness is its very nature, and it alone fills all forms. Just as the fragrance in flowers does not perish when the flowers fade, and as the whiteness in white cloth is present yet cannot be grasped, so too is this reality. It is like a mute who yet speaks, a thinker who is like a stone, an enjoyer who is always satisfied, and a doer who possesses nothing. Though without limbs, it possesses all limbs—a thousand hands and eyes; though established in nothing, by it the entire world is pervaded. Though lacking the power of the senses, all actions of the senses belong to it; though without mind, all the ways of mental creation are its own. From not perceiving this, arises the fear of the serpent of worldly existence; but upon seeing it, all such fears flee completely. In the vast, radiant witness, fixed like a lamp, actions occur; when it is present, diverse activities arise, preceded by movement. From it arise rows of objects—pots, cloths, hundreds of things—just as waves, droplets, surges, and ripples arise from the ocean. That very One appears as another, through the confusion of countless objects, just as gold appears different when fashioned into bracelets, armlets, or anklets. You, who are the essence of a single radiance; I, these people, and all others—whoever is not you, not I, nor these people, due to ignorance of the Self—are, in truth, all the same. That same One is both distinct and not distinct, existing and not existing, and perishable—like the multitude of waves arising in water, where the visible world appears. From that arises the measure of time, the visibility of the visible, the workings of the mind, and by whose light all lights shine forth. Whatever you know as action, form, taste, smell, touch, sound, or consciousness—that is that very Deva; and by whom you know, that too is that very One. That awareness which stands in the midst of the seer, seeing, and the seen—O noble one, by attending to that, you will realize your own Self. Unborn, undecaying, unclouded, eternal, Brahman, everlasting, auspicious, stainless, without beginning, ungraspable by barren knowledge, blameless, devoid of all constructions, the cause of causes, the experience that is unknowable, the knowing, the inner knower—this is its nature. At the time of the great dissolution, that which remains—let it be formless; there is no doubt about this. How could this be void? How could it not be luminous? How could it not be of the nature of darkness? How could it not be of the nature of space? How could it not be of the nature of consciousness? How could there not be a living being? How could there not be the principle of intellect? How could there not be mind? How could there be nothing at all? How could there be everything? By such questions, my own delusion seems to be expressed. You have raised a most difficult question; yet I will break through it effortlessly, like the sun dispelling the darkness of night. At the end of a great aeon, that which remains as existence is not truly void; listen as I explain what that is called. Just as a carved figure remains within a pillar, so too the universe abides there; therefore, that state is not void. In this way, this vast experience, called the world, appears; whether it is real or unreal, where then is emptiness? Just as a pillar with an uncarved figure is not devoid of the figure, so too, dear one, the world is Brahman; therefore, that state is not void.