From the vastness of consciousness itself arises a subtle power—this is the sense of “I,” the very living being whose nature is vibration and action. This living being, known by its movements and activities, is born from consciousness and is nothing but its own dynamic play. Whatever is conceived as consciousness, or as the mind with its many self-created names and meanings, becomes divided by endless distinctions and modifications. Yet, these divisions are not truly real; they are only imagined overlays upon the undivided whole. In the very vibration of consciousness, there is no real separation between the agent and the action. Action is only the movement of consciousness itself, and this movement alone is what is remembered as the person. This living being is none other than the vibration within consciousness; it is the mind of all people. The mind, being of the very nature of the senses, moves in countless ways, flowing outwards and inwards, ever restless. Yet, the radiance of consciousness is tranquil, undivided, and free from distinctions. This very radiance is the world itself; apart from this, there is truly nothing else—no cause, no effect, nothing outside of consciousness. Within this realization, one abides in the certainty: “I am unbreakable, unburnable, untouched by water or wind, eternal, present everywhere, steadfast and unmoving. This is my true nature, firmly established.” Let people argue as they wish, caught in their own delusions. Such wandering in confusion is not for those who have awakened and are free from doubt; they have arisen beyond such disputes. Wherever ignorance is entrenched in what is seen and has form, there distinctions and transformations seem to arise. But in the formless, in the consciousness that knows both form and formlessness, in the pure space of awareness, in the very essence of being and non-being, such distinctions do not exist. The rays of consciousness, tasting the flavors of objects, bring forth powers named time and so on. The pure sky of consciousness, sweet as honey, blossoms forth its own wonders. Spontaneously, the wondrous bow of consciousness shines, unstruck by any hand; spontaneously, the marvelous gem of consciousness acts, without any cause. The unique vibration of consciousness arises on its own—the wind of consciousness, never inert. The diverse movements of consciousness flow forth, the waters of consciousness unconfined by any channel. High above, the wondrous peak of consciousness rises, unconstructed by effort; the delightful radiance of consciousness shines forth, ever manifest and self-luminous. The light of consciousness, ever pure and self-revealed, arises in the knower from knowledge itself, and seems to set when ignorance prevails. By its own nature, consciousness enters 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 nothing but the 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. As the blackness of dense darkness in consciousness, the world 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, the smoothness of milk—all these are the world in consciousness alone. The coldness of snow, the blazing of flame, the oiliness of ghee, the wave in the river—each is the world in consciousness, appearing as qualities in the play of awareness. The world is the sweetness of consciousness-honey, the golden ornament of consciousness, the fragrance of the flower of consciousness, the fruit on the vine of consciousness. The very existence of consciousness is the existence of the world; the existence of the world is the very form of consciousness. Here, difference and change do not remain, just as impurity cannot remain in empty space. Thus, by the reality of Being, the three worlds—real and unreal—are indistinguishable, for their very essence is non-different. Existence and non-existence are but that one alone. The meanings of “part” and “whole” are like the horns of a rabbit—imagined by those who deny direct experience. Let reproach fall upon them, for such distinctions are groundless. Where the world does not exist—with its mountains, earth, rivers, and lords—because only consciousness is one, how could confusion between this and that arise? Even if consciousness is dense as the heart of a stone, it remains clear in its own space, and within it holds all tranquil arrangements, just as a stone does. In the expanse of objects, you are like a particle of space; for you, there are no notions such as “you,” “that,” “me,” “self,” “being,” or “non-being.” Like the many lines within a leaf, this consciousness, by its own nature, holds within itself both the distinct and the non-distinct, the manifest and the unmanifest. Know, through direct experience, that consciousness is the root cause of all clusters of causes, the progenitor even of the Creator, and by its own nature, causeless. And the non-existence of this consciousness, which is not an object, cannot even be spoken of; for whatever exists is seen to arise, like a sprout from a seed. Just as the three worlds exist within space—undivided and perfectly empty—so within the great consciousness, all that is seen is truly the supreme state. Be firm in this realization, born of direct experience. When the sage had spoken thus, the day moved toward evening. The sun set, and the assembly, offering their salutations, departed to bathe as the rays of the sun faded into dusk. Know, then, that this world is only space, just as a pearl appears in the sky; in the pure expanse of consciousness, the world shines forth in the same way. Just as a celestial maiden carved on a pillar seems to stand out but is not truly separate, so too, in the pillar of consciousness, there is neither carving nor carver to be found. Just as the ripples within the ocean, though unshaken in their essence, appear to arise naturally, so too, the knowable and the knower seem to appear in the supreme, though they are not truly separate. Even the patterns of sunlight seen within water, though appearing substantial to the world, are insubstantial to the atom—so too is the appearance of the world. The appearance of the world, which is neither manifest nor unmanifest, is not separate from Brahman; it is like the network of sunlight on water, which is perceived as distinct. Even though earth and the other elements seem to be experienced in this world, which is of the nature of space, they do not truly exist—just as in dream or imagination. In this space-like consciousness, which appears as the grasping of objects as real, nothing actually arises—just as water does not exist in a mirage river. In this world, where there is no grasping of objects, which is like a city of the Gandharvas, the appearance of things is like a river in the desert—an illusion that seems visible, but is not truly there.