Listen, O noble one, to the wondrous nature of that pure Consciousness, the Self. For the one in whom the lamp of awareness burns ceaselessly within the vessel of the mind, its radiance alone illumines the three worlds. Without this presence, even the sun and other shining lights are as darkness, for it is only in the light of this Self that the mirage of the worlds appears. Within this Self, when there is movement, the glory of the world seems to arise; when there is stillness, it is hidden, just as a whirling torch creates a circle of fire that vanishes when the torch is still. The nature of this Self is pure, imperishable, and all-pervading. The creation and dissolution of the world is its play, and its essence is both movement and stillness. Like the wind, its existence pervades all things as both motion and rest. Though we speak of these as different, in truth, there is no real separation. This Self is always awake, always asleep, and yet neither awake nor asleep at any time or place. When motion ceases, it is peace and auspiciousness; when there is movement, the three worlds come into being. The play of motion and stillness is its very nature, and it alone fills all forms. Just as the fragrance in a flower remains even when the flower fades, and as the whiteness in cloth is present yet cannot be grasped, so too is this Self—subtle, ungraspable, yet ever-present. It is like a mute who speaks, a thinker who is as still as stone, an enjoyer who is always content, a doer who possesses nothing. It is without limbs, yet it possesses all limbs—a thousand hands and eyes. Though established in nothing, it pervades the entire world. Lacking the sense organs, it is still the agent of all sense activities; without a mind, all mental creations arise from it. When this Self is not perceived, the fears of worldly existence arise like a serpent; but upon seeing it, all such fears vanish completely. In the vast, radiant witness—fixed like a lamp—actions take place. When this presence is recognized, all activities arise, led by movement. From it emerge endless rows of objects—pots, cloths, and countless things—just as waves, droplets, and surges arise from the ocean. Through the confusion of innumerable objects, that one appears as another, just as gold appears different when shaped into bracelets, armlets, or anklets. You are the essence of a single radiance; I, these people, and all others—whoever is not you, not I, nor these people, because of ignorance of the Self—are in truth all the same. That very one is both distinct and not distinct, existing and not existing, and perishable—like countless waves arising in water, where the visible world appears. From that Self arises the measurement of time, the visibility of all things, the capacity for mental calculation, and by its light, all other lights shine. 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 stands at the center of the seer, the seeing, and the seen. 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—such is the Self. At the time of the great dissolution, that which remains is formless—of this, there is no doubt. How could it be void? How could it not be luminous? How could it not be of the nature of darkness or space? How could it not be consciousness, not be a living being, not be intellect or mind? How could there be nothing at all, or everything? Such questioning reveals the depth of delusion. You have asked a most difficult question, yet I will dispel it as the sun dispels the darkness of night. At the end of a great aeon, that which remains as existence is not truly void; let me explain what that is called. Just as a carved figure remains in a pillar, so too the universe abides in that state; therefore, it is not void. In this way, this vast experience called the world appears—whether real or unreal, where then is emptiness? Just as a pillar with an uncarved figure is not devoid of the figure, so too, the world is Brahman; that state is not void. As a ripple on gentle water neither truly exists nor does not exist, so too this world has entered the state of both emptiness and non-emptiness within Brahman. Because of the limits of place, time, and direction, a doll can be made from a tree; but in the inert substratum, by whom and how could any inner confusion arise? Therefore, such examples as the doll and the tree only partially resemble the true state of the world; no comparison is entirely adequate. This world never arises from anything else, nor does it ever cease; in this way, only pure Brahman, of such a nature, abides in its own Self. The concept of 'emptiness' is imagined only in relation to 'non-emptiness'; since true non-emptiness is impossible, how can there be either emptiness or non-emptiness? This radiance in Brahman does not arise from any material element; so how could sun, fire, moon, stars, or the like exist in that which is imperishable? The absence of the light of the great elements is called darkness; but since there is no absence of the great elements here, there is never any darkness. Its illumination is only the direct experience of one whose nature is like space; whatever is within is known by that alone, not by anything else. That state, free from both darkness and light, is the ageless abode; know it to be like the space within a vessel, the container of the world's existence. Just as there is no real distinction in the fruit called bilva, so too, here, there is not the slightest separation between Brahman and the world.