Just as a wave is inseparable from water, or a pot is nothing but clay, so too is the existence of this world woven seamlessly into its underlying reality. Yet, if one asks whether the world is of the nature of mere space, the analogy falls short. For clay and water, though possessing form, are not truly equal to the formless; Brahman, the ultimate reality, is pure like space itself, and the world abides within it in a similar but subtler way. Indeed, the space of consciousness is even purer than physical space, and whatever arises within it—be it the world, words, or their meanings—shares in that very essence. Just as the sharpness of a sunbeam is hidden except to the one who feels its heat, so too, within the supreme expanse of consciousness, pure awareness is never found apart from the objects it illumines. Thus, consciousness itself may seem inert, for in its own nature it is without objects; the world’s very existence is compelled by that reality’s inherent nature. All forms, all light, and every mental construction arise only from that one reality; nothing else exists outside of it. In truth, the entire universe, as it appears, is like the state of deep sleep or the ineffable fourth state, turiya, alone. The yogi who has stilled his mind and abides in a deep-sleep-like awareness, even while engaging in the world, is firmly established in Brahman—the formless source of all forms. Just as water’s fluidity persists whether it takes shape or not, so too does the universe exist within the Supreme, whether manifest or unmanifest. From the infinite arises the infinite; from the formless, the formless spreads forth. The universe appears from Brahman, yet it has no objective reality of its own. The fullness gives rise to fullness, and what is established is always full; thus, the universe is truly unborn, and whatever seems to be born is that same fullness. Where cognition cannot arise, there can be no sense of objectivity; where there is no experiencer, how could there be sharpness, as in a mirage? What appears as real is, in fact, unreal—arising in supreme consciousness from the mind. Without a reflection, there can be no status of being a reflection. This reality is subtler than the subtlest atom, purer, more refined, and supremely peaceful—even more so than the space within the sky. It is not limited by direction, time, or anything else; it is vast beyond measure, without beginning or end, appearing as an illumination where there is nothing to be illumined. Where only the essence of consciousness exists, the mind—shaped by the winds of latent impressions—cannot have form. Since only consciousness arises, there is truly no separate living being: no intellect, no mind, no senses, no latent tendencies. Even though this state encompasses dissolution and beginnings, it remains ageless, peaceful, empty, and greater than space from our perspective. A question arises: What is the nature of ultimate reality, whose form is infinite consciousness? The answer is thus: At the time of the great dissolution, what remains as the cause of all causes is the supreme Brahman. When one’s sense of self dissolves with the cessation of mental activity, what remains is an indescribable form—the true reality. In that state, there is neither a visible world nor a seer; with the absence of objects, all is dissolved. Whatever shines as pure illumination—that is the form of reality. When the living being’s nature is oriented toward objects, it is the body; but pure, peaceful consciousness alone is the cause of all causes. When the thumb or finger is untouched by wind or the elements, what remains is the supreme Self—the living mind in its purest form. After long contemplation, the form that endures—without sleep, infinite, not inert, and firmly established—is what remains, O sinless one. Whatever is at the heart of space, stone, or wind—of that ungraspable consciousness-space—is the form of the supreme Self. The state of the ungraspable, mindless, living one who acts—that peaceful, supreme existence is the being of the primordial substance. The center of consciousness-light, the core of radiant brilliance, the heart of perception—these are the forms of the supreme Self. The awareness that is beginningless and endless, present within sensation, light, the visible, and darkness—that is the supreme Self’s true form. From that which the world appears to arise—though it is ever unarisen in form, appearing divided yet undivided—that is the supreme Self. Even for one engaged in worldly affairs, the seat that is like a stone—space within non-space—is the form of the supreme Self. Wherever the triad of the known, the knowing, and the knower arises or subsides, that alone is the highest reality. That in which these three are reflected, as in the great mirror of non-mind, is called the supreme form. Whatever form of great consciousness is free from mind, senses, and their tendencies, whether in the moving or unmoving, that alone remains at the end of creation. If the form of the unmoving is consciousness itself, free from mind and intellect, then it is equal to the supreme. In the peace of Brahma, the sun, Vishnu, Hara, Indra, Sadashiva, and others, it is this one supreme Shiva who abides; all else is merely designated—indestructible, untroubled, desired, mixed or unmixed, subtle—the support of all that is supported. A question is asked: This radiant, visible world, with all its forms and names—O Brahman, where does it go when the great dissolution arrives? From where does it come, and of what kind is it? Where does the son of a barren woman go? Where does the sky-forest go, and from where does it arise? The answer is clear: The son of a barren woman and the sky-forest never exist, nor will they ever exist; they have neither visibility nor non-existence. Just as in the sky of a barren woman’s son there are never any forests, so too, the entire visible world never truly exists. That which never existed at the beginning is neither produced nor destroyed; thus, there can be no talk of its origin or destruction. In this way, the ultimate reality is revealed: all appearances are but the play of consciousness, without true birth or death, ever full, ever at peace.