O goddess of all gods, this mystery is truly beyond comprehension. Just as it is inconceivable that the earth and mighty mountains could exist within a simple house, so too is the wonder of this creation. Hearing this, the goddess is urged: “O divine one, please explain these wonders with pure understanding. Those who are established in grace and strength are not shaken by such mysteries.” The speaker assures her, “I do not speak falsely, O beautiful one. Listen carefully: the division of destinies is not determined by me, nor by others like me. When another divides destiny, I alone establish the boundary. If I were to break that boundary, who else could uphold it?” Consider the twice-born soul, the brahmin, who, with his household and his battlefield, perceives the land and its kingdoms as if they exist only in the sky—seeing them as nothing but sky itself. The memories of the past are lost, and new memories arise; just as in a dream, the waking memory is different—so is the transition at death, O lady. Just as the three worlds arise in a dream from imagination, just as battles in a story are imagined, and just as water appears in a desert mirage, so too is this world. This land, with its mountains, forests, and cities, exists within the house of the brahmin—like an image reflected in the mirror of imagination. Though it appears real because of its dense manifestation, it is actually unreal, arising within the hollow of consciousness-space. Whatever arises from the unreal—no matter how it is named by memory—is also unreal, just as a wave in a mirage-stream is not real. This house of yours, and the space within it—know that I, you, and all this, indeed everything, is nothing but space alone. Dreams, associations, intentions, and direct experiences are the chief means of illumination and understanding here, like lamps lighting the way. Within the house of the brahmin, inside dwells the twice-born soul; within that, the earth with its oceans and forests exists, just as a bee resides within a lotus. Deep within some tiny cavity, in a minute recess of that earth, this city appears—like a hair-tip floating in the sky. In this city, O slender one, stands your house. How can such a multitude, as vast as a herd of elephants, exist within something so minute? In each and every atom, O dear one, consciousness abides; within each, worlds exist—so who can truly count them? On the eighth day, O Supreme Lady, that brahmin died; yet for us, many years have passed—how can this be? Just as there is no real extension of space, there is also 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 creation of 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. Having experienced 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 truly appeared or become established—only pure space remains. Just as in a dream, consciousness is both the seer and the seen; so too, in the waking world, only consciousness exists, always in unity. 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 no real difference, just as waves are not different from water. Therefore, this universe is unborn, because it is unborn and indestructible; and because it is like space, it does not truly exist. What appears is only consciousness. Even though objects appear, their nature is that of the supreme sky; so too, even with objects, it remains the nature of the supreme sky. Since objects arise from this, there is nothing apart from it, just as waves arise from water; and even the state of being a wave does not truly exist, like the horns of a hare. It alone appears as objects, yet by its nature it is never lost; therefore, there is truly no object to be seen—so how can there be the notion of seer and seen? In just a moment, immediately after the delusion of death in a living being, the splendor of the perception of the three worlds arises as a mere appearance. Depending on place, time, initiation, sequence, arising, mother, father, and lineage; depending on age, awareness, location, intention, kin, servant, and the setting and rising of effort—the consciousness-body perceives: “I am born, though never actually born,” along with place, time, action, substance, mind, intellect, and senses. Instantly, at the end of death, the body perceives youth: “This is my mother, this is my father, I was a child, I am this,” thus it thinks. Whether experienced or not, whatever sequence is made of memory, later that arises for him—like the fruit arising from a flower. All of this is felt to pass in a single blink; yet for King Harishchandra, a night once lasted twelve years. Thus, O goddess, the play of consciousness weaves worlds within worlds, and all appearances arise and subside within the boundless expanse of pure awareness.