Brahman, the great living essence, exists without beginning or end. Though it appears as countless hosts when it becomes the multitude of living beings, in truth, it remains nothing but itself. Through awareness of objects, the individual soul arises and enters the cycle of worldly existence; but when that awareness ceases, its form attains peace and departs from the world. In this way, the lesser souls, through the sequence of actions of the greater souls, ascend toward the state of the original soul, just as copper is refined and attains the state of gold. Here, in this infinite, supreme space, even this apparent group of beings—though truly non-existent—seems to exist, being but the wonder of consciousness, as subtle and pervasive as the very essence of space. This wonder that arises in consciousness by itself is known as the sense of ‘I’, which later becomes the notion of name, body, and all other distinctions. That which is the light of consciousness, endless and of the same nature as consciousness, is the very enjoyment of worlds—reflected from that source alone. This imperishable consciousness, though indivisible in its true form, is spoken of in terms such as transformation and modification, and is known by its own power. Whatever taste consciousness experiences in itself—being the uninterrupted play of its own nature—this alone becomes established as the world of unmanifest light. The power of consciousness, subtler even than space and pervading all, naturally perceives itself as the sense of ‘I’. Whatever shines forth in the self, by the self and for the self, from the smallest sense of ‘I’ to the end of the world, that alone is perceived. That which consciousness marvels at, which brings forth wonder and beauty, is spread out within itself as what is called the world. Consciousness itself is the mind, ego, and imagination, O Raghava; thus, from the subtle elements onward, all is consciousness—so where, then, can duality or unity be established? Abandon the notions of ‘you’ and ‘I’ in the cause of the individual soul, without forsaking existence itself; what remains between being and non-being becomes meaningful in its own right. Just as consciousness was conceived at first in its own existence, so it arises; it appears undivided like space, and then one knows its being and non-being. Consciousness-space, space, the world, desires, oceans, gods, and mountains—all are of the nature of space and the marvel of consciousness; truly, there is nothing else. Whatever arises from something is never different from it; even if the essence has parts, what discussion can there be regarding the partless? Consciousness, ever untouched, has no form; whatever form appears in the world is merely a manifestation of its radiance. Mind, intellect, ego, elements, mountains, directions—these are all alternate expressions; the world’s existence is rooted in the essence of consciousness. Know that the world is but a state of consciousness; there is no world without consciousness. If there were a world without consciousness, consciousness would be inert; but since there is no difference in existence, whence could the world arise? The wondrous play of consciousness, like the seed of a mirage, is itself established as the sole essence of the living being and the world. From the state of consciousness arises its own power, which is the sense of ‘I’; this is called the living being, whose nature is vibration and action, and who is known as such. Whatever is conceived as consciousness, as the mind, with its own produced names and meanings, is divided by distinctions and modifications; therefore, it is not truly existent. There is no separation between the agent and the action within the vibration of consciousness; action is nothing but this vibration, and that alone is remembered as the person. The living being is the vibration within consciousness; that itself is the mind of people. The mind, being of the nature of the senses, moves in many ways. Indeed, the radiance of consciousness—tranquil and devoid of distinctions—is the world; apart from this, there is nothing else such as cause and effect. “I am unbreakable, I am unburnable, I am not subject to wetting nor drying; I am eternal, ever-present, steadfast, unmoving”—this is established. Let people argue as they wish, lost in their delusions; but those who are free from confusion have arisen and do not wander thus. In what is seen and has form, when ignorance is entrenched, distinctions such as transformation arise; but in the formless, in the consciousness that knows, in the space of consciousness, in the essence of existence and non-existence, they do not. The rays of consciousness, through the flavor of objects, produce powers named time and so forth; the pure sky of consciousness, the honey of consciousness, brings forth its own blossoms. Spontaneously, the wondrous bow of consciousness shines, unstruck; spontaneously, the marvelous gem of consciousness acts, without any cause. Spontaneously, the unique vibration of consciousness arises—the wind of consciousness, whose nature is not inert; spontaneously, the diverse movement of consciousness flows—the water of consciousness, not confined to any channel. Spontaneously, the wondrous peak of consciousness rises high, not constructed; spontaneously, the delightful radiance of consciousness shines forth, ever manifest. The light of consciousness, ever self-revealed and pure in nature, arises on its own in the knower from knowledge, and seems to set in ignorance. By its own inertia, it attains the state of deep sleep among inert things; by its own vibration or stillness, the vast sky of consciousness becomes mind or remains as pure awareness. The illumination of consciousness is the light by which the world both exists and does not exist; the world is, and is not, being but the one emptiness of the space of consciousness. The world, as the great form of the light of consciousness, both exists and does not exist; as the vibration of the dense wind of consciousness, the world is and yet is not. The world, as the blackness of the dense darkness of consciousness, exists and does not exist; as the daylight of the sun of consciousness, the world is and is not. The dust of consciousness is the illusion of the world as mountain or atom; the heat of the fire of consciousness is the world’s radiance; the whiteness of the conch of consciousness is the world’s brightness. The world is the belly of the mountain of consciousness; the liquidity of water is the world in consciousness; the sweetness of sugarcane is the world in consciousness; the smoothness of milk is the world in consciousness. The coldness of snow is the world in consciousness; the blazing of flame is the world in consciousness; the oiliness of ghee is the world in consciousness; the wave is the world in the river of consciousness. Thus, all that appears and all that is experienced, from the subtlest sense of ‘I’ to the vastness of the world, is nothing but the marvel and play of consciousness—one, infinite, and ever wondrous.