Your husband, once a simple man, has now attained prosperity and become a king; and you, Arundhati, who were known as the wife of a Brahmin, are now his queen. Together, the two of you rule this kingdom, a noble couple newly born upon the earth, like a pair of chakravaka birds or like Shiva and his consort. Thus, your entire journey through birth and rebirth has been revealed—it was all but a delusion, the vast sky itself seeming to take the form of the soul. From this delusion, reflected in the mirror of consciousness, arises the illusion of worldly existence. Though this illusion is not real, it nevertheless brings about the end of worldly wandering, even as it springs from unreality. So, who truly is deluded, and who is free from delusion? All of creation is nothing but the play of limited, unimpeded knowledge—there is nothing else that actually manifests. Listening to these words for a long time, Līlā’s eyes grew wide with wonder. With a voice adorned by playful syllables, she spoke, “O goddess, how can what you say be true? Where is the soul that has departed to its own home, and where are we, standing here? That world is so different from this—the earth, those mountains, the ten directions—how can they all exist within the house where my husband lives? It is as if the mighty Airāvata elephant, intoxicated, is somehow bound inside a mustard seed, or as if a mosquito battles a host of lions within the hollow of an atom. Imagine Mount Meru placed within the eye of a lotus and swallowed by a honeybee, or peacocks dancing in wonder at the thunder of dream-clouds. This is all truly inconceivable, O goddess of gods; the idea that earth and mountains exist within a house is equally beyond understanding. Please, O goddess, explain this to me with clear knowledge, for those who are established in grace and strength do not become disturbed by such mysteries.” The goddess replied, “I do not speak falsely. Listen carefully, O beautiful one. The division of destinies is not performed by me, nor by others like me. When another divides destiny, I alone establish its boundary. If I were to break that boundary, who else could uphold it? The twice-born soul, with its home and its battlefield, perceives all lands and kingdoms as existing only in the sky, seeing them as nothing but sky. Old memories fade, and new ones arise for you both; just as in a dream, the memory of waking life is different—so it is with death, O lady. Just as the three worlds arise in a dream from imagination, so too are the three worlds imagined, like the battles in a story or water in a desert mirage. This land, with its mountains, forests, and cities, exists within the Brahmin’s house, as if inside the mirror of imagination. Though it appears unreal, its dense manifestation makes it seem real, all within the hollow of consciousness-space. Whatever arises from unreality, even if remembered, is also unreal—like a wave in the stream of a mirage. This house of yours, and the space within it—know that I, you, and all of this are nothing but space alone. Dreams, associations, intentions, and direct experiences—these are the chief sources of illumination and understanding, like lamps in the darkness. Within the Brahmin’s house dwells the twice-born soul; within that, the whole earth with its oceans and forests exists, just as a bee resides within a lotus. In some tiny cavity, in a minute recess of that earth, this city appears, like the tip of a hair floating in the sky. In this city, slender one, stands your house—so how can such a multitude, like a herd of elephants, exist within something so minute? In every atom, O dear one, consciousness abides; within each, worlds exist—who can ever count them? On the eighth day, O Supreme Lady, that Brahmin died; but for us, many years have passed—how can this be? Just as there is no real extension of space, so too there is no real extension of time. Listen as I explain this as it truly is: just as the creation of the world appears only as a projection of consciousness, so too the appearance of moments and cycles of time is merely a projection of consciousness. Because the world, moments, cycles of time, and the birth of beings all arise from consciousness, listen, dear one, to the true sequence of their appearance. After experiencing a moment, the living being undergoes the illusion of death and revival; yet, with a mere opening of awareness, even in space, it assumes the form of space itself. It thinks, ‘I am established here in this support; I exist here,’ and sees, ‘This body with hands and feet is mine.’ At the very moment it thinks of the body, it also thinks, ‘I am the son of this father; these are the years I have lived. These are my delightful relatives; this is my pleasant dwelling. I was born, I was a child, and now I have grown to be like this.’ All those relatives, likewise, move about as before; due to the unity of the dense space of consciousness, they also exist within his own self. Thus, even before these names arise in the forest of worldly existence, nothing at all has appeared or become established—only pure space remains. Just as in a dream, consciousness is both the seer and the seen; so too, in waking life, only consciousness exists, always united. Therefore, in a dream, the experience of seer and seen is nothing but consciousness. As in a dream, so too does consciousness arise with the vision of the other world; and just as it arises in the other world, so it also arises here. Thus, among dream, the other world, and this world—whether unreal or real—there is not the slightest difference, just as waves are not different from water. Therefore, this universe is unborn, and because it is unborn and indestructible, it is like space—it does not truly exist. What appears is only consciousness.