Just as the three worlds exist within the vast expanse of space—undivided and perfectly empty—so too does all that is perceived dwell within the great consciousness, which is the supreme state itself. One who realizes this directly stands firm in the truth that all appearances are rooted in that boundless awareness. As the sage finished imparting this wisdom, the day slipped gently toward evening. The sun set, its rays fading into dusk, and the gathered assembly, offering their respectful salutations, quietly dispersed to bathe as night approached. The sage’s words lingered in the air: this world is, in truth, nothing but space—just as a pearl seems to shine in the sky, so too does the world appear in the pure expanse of consciousness. Like a celestial maiden carved upon a pillar, who seems to stand forth yet is never truly separate from the pillar itself, so in the pillar of consciousness there is neither a distinct figure nor its maker to be found. Ripples may arise naturally upon the ocean, yet their essence remains unshaken; in the same way, the knower and the known seem to appear in the supreme, though they are never truly apart. The patterns of sunlight that shimmer within water may seem substantial to the eye, but to the atom they are insubstantial—just so is the world’s appearance. This world, appearing neither fully manifest nor unmanifest, is never apart from Brahman; it is like the network of sunlight on water, perceived as distinct but never truly separate. Though earth and the other elements seem to be experienced in this world—which itself is of the nature of space—they do not truly exist, just as things seen in dreams or imagination are not real. 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 true grasping of objects, all appearances are like a city of the Gandharvas—an illusory city in the sky—or like a river in the desert, seeming visible but insubstantial. Just as a mountain seen in a dream has no real measures or scales, so too all visible forms in the world are merely space, filled only by imagination, not by substance. Apart from the conceptual differences made by the ignorant between the words ‘world’ and ‘Brahman,’ there is truly no distinction in meaning between ‘world,’ ‘Brahman,’ and ‘space.’ This radiance—the mere shining forth of consciousness and non-consciousness—is related to space as subtly as a cloud of imagination is to a real cloud. Just as a dream city may seem clear compared to a waking city, so too does this world seem clear compared to an imagined world. Therefore, this world, which appears as both inert and conscious, is in reality nothing but pure space. Know that the words ‘void’ and ‘space-world’ are interchangeable, both being of the nature of consciousness. Thus, nothing has ever truly arisen here—neither the world, nor its beginning, nor anything seen; it remains as it is, unnameable and unmanifest. The world itself is the great space, the space of consciousness, undivided and whole; it is like a region of atomic size, or like a scale that cannot be filled. It is of the nature of space alone, pure and free from the grasping of forms; within this space, a wondrous vision made of space stands, like a city conjured by imagination. Now, listen to the story of the pavilion, an ornament for the ear, by which, without doubt, this meaning will bring peace to your mind. “O Brahman,” a listener implores, “for the growth of true understanding, tell me quickly and in brief the entire story of the pavilion, that knowledge may increase.” Thus begins the tale: On this earth, there was a noble family, blooming like a lotus. Its head was King Padma, illustrious, blessed with many sons and great wealth. In upholding boundaries, he was as steadfast as the ocean; to his enemies, he was a sun dispelling darkness; to his beloveds, a moon to the night-lotuses; to faults, a fire consuming dry grass. Among assemblies of the wise, he was like the Meru mountain; from the ocean of his deeds, the moon of fame arose; he was a lake for the swans of noble virtues, and a sun to the lotus of the arts. He was the wind dispersing the ocean of enemies, the lion among elephants of pride, beloved of all branches of knowledge, and a mine of wondrous qualities. He was the Mandara mountain churning the sea of foes, the honey of a multitude of blossoming graces, the god of love armed with the flowers of good fortune. He was the playful breeze at the sport of the creeper, the hero at the festival of daring, the moon to the night-blooming water-lily of nobility, and the fire to the rare creeper of sport. By his side was his fortunate wife, Lila, full of charm and endowed with every auspicious quality, appearing on earth like a freshly blossomed lotus. She was adorned with all prosperity, sweet-spoken in her playfulness, gently radiant with joy, her smile rising like a second moon. Her lotus face captivated the minds of the denizens of Alaka; her body was cool and her heart as pure as the lotus’s core—she was a living embodiment of the lotus. She smiled with the radiance of jasmine clusters in the play of vines, full of flavor, her hands as tender as new shoots, adorned with flowers, a goddess of fortune in human form. Radiant and pure, auspicious and a joy to the people, she entered the earth like the divine river Ganga, delighting in the company of swans. For the king, another delight arose, as if a new beloved, to serve for a long time the flowers of the earth, which grant all delight. When he was anxious, she was anxious; when he was joyful, she was joyful; when he was disturbed, she too was disturbed; like a reflection, the beloved felt fear only when he was angry. With this celestial maiden of the earth—his only consort—King Padma enjoyed the taste of unfeigned love. Together, they wandered through gardens and forest thickets, in dense groves of tamala trees, upon beds canopied with flowers, and in dwellings entwined with vines. They delighted on palace beds strewn with blossoms, in avenues adorned with flowers, on spring garden swings, and in playful lotus ponds. They found joy in sandalwood groves, beneath the shade of santana trees, in the homes of kadamba and neem, and within the hollows of paribhadra trees. Their happiness extended to mountain caves and valleys, rooms with windows, riverbank terraces, and mansions atop elephants. In summer, they found coolness within icy mansions, in bowers entwined with creepers, among golden palaces and trees, and in halls adorned with pearls and rubies. Wherever jasmine and coral trees bloomed, their pollen fragrant, in the gardens of spring where cuckoos sang in flocks—there they rejoiced together, immersed in the bliss of love and the beauty of creation.