For a long time, I lingered like a patient tortoise, hidden away in the caves along the ocean’s shore. The waves crashed ceaselessly outside, their echoes mingling with the deep, resonant sounds of groves nearby. Then, in another time, I played as a royal swan, gliding among the lotus stalks that swayed in the gentle lake breeze, surrounded by clusters of moving leaves. As I watched the soft cradling motion of grass blades, I noticed a weary mosquito lying helplessly with its mate, both exhausted. I wandered on the trembling waters, tossed by waves and kissed by the tips of dancing ripples, moving alongside the young water-vine through mountain streams. Overcome by passion in the fragrant halls of Gandhamadana and Mandara, a young Vidyadhara, swept away by longing, fell at her feet. Tormented by desire, I lay for a long time on beds sprinkled with camphor, my mind tossed about like moonlight reflected in orbs of mirrors. My mind, bewildered and unsteady, my limbs disturbed by countless forms of suffering in various births, I was swept along by the swift current of the long river of worldly existence, driven irresistibly by the winds of fate. Yet, from the solid core of adamantine strength, from the dense wall of the cosmic egg that stretched over millions of yojanas, the question arose: how did both of you emerge? Where is this cosmic egg, where its wall, and where that impenetrable solidity? Surely, O goddess, you both remain within the inner sky of the royal palace. In that very mountain village, in that very house, the brahmin named Vasiṣṭha enjoyed his sovereignty. That same pavilion, that empty space, he experienced as the earth itself, surrounded by the four oceans. On that seat of earth, which is the very essence of space, he and Arundhatī experienced the royal city and its palace. There, one called Līlā arose, and by her, knowledge was honored; together with knowledge, she leapt into the wondrous and delightful sky. Within the space of a hand’s breadth, deep inside the house, she reached another cosmic egg, a mountain, and even the palace of Indra. He departed from the cosmic egg and returned to his own house, just as a man lying in bed moves from one dream to another. All this is but a manifestation of consciousness, nothing but space. There is no cosmic egg, no world, no walls or distance. Only his own mind shines forth, enchanting both alike; where is the cosmic egg, where is the cycle of existence, when all arises from mere impressions? This space of knowledge is truly unobstructed and infinite. Whatever is stirred by one’s own mind appears, just as wind moves by the force of vibration. The space of consciousness is unborn and peaceful, always and everywhere; through mind alone, the world appears, manifesting itself within itself. For the awakened, this is emptier than space; for the unawakened, it is as solid and immovable as a mountain of adamant. Just as, in a dream, a radiant city appears while one remains at home, so too, within the essence of consciousness, this unreal world shines brightly. As water appears in a mirage, and gold seems to take the form of a bracelet, so too does this unreal world appear real, and visibility arises within the self. Thus, as the two maidens reflected on these mysteries, they, graceful in form, departed from their house and stepped outside, their movements charming and measured. The villagers did not see them as they gazed ahead at the mountain, its caves kissed by the sky and its peaks touched by the sun’s orb. The mountain was draped in a wondrous blanket of forests, blooming in every color, alive with the songs of birds and the music of many waterfalls. Clusters of marvelous blossoms adorned its slopes, saffron-tinged clouds drifted above, and flocks of birds rested on the shining tips of mica rocks. The banks of all the rivers were hidden beneath the wide-spreading sāravañjula trees, while the playful wind danced among unfinished rocks, ravines, and twining creepers. Clouds, like masses of flowers, veiled the sky, and rainwater collected in hollows, while long rivers carried clusters of gleaming pearls. The wind shook the ranks of moving trees and forests, stirring the very edges of the directions, and the shade from dense woods at the forest’s edge brought a constant, cooling comfort. The two maidens saw for themselves that mountain village, as if a fragment of heaven had fallen to earth. Channels and streams carried the full waters of lotus ponds, where birds with curved beaks sang, and the hollows and caves echoed with their calls. The groves resounded with the deep lowing of herds of cows—fierce and thunderous—filled with the humming of bees and dense thickets, cooled by shade and thick winds. Sunbeams scarcely entered, blocked by mist and dust, and the spaces between dense clusters of blossoming flowers were shrouded in shadow. Broad, white waterfalls poured over rocks and boulders, recalling the splendor of the ocean of milk churned and cast aside by the mountains. The courtyards overflowed with great fruit-laden trees, shining under the weight of their heavy clusters, as if gathering a wealth of flowers. Trees, shaken by swift, trembling winds that produced a jingling sound, seemed overflowing with sap, scattering a great rain of blossoms. Birds, some hidden and some cautious, made soft sounds, startled by the sudden drip of water from rocky peaks, yet remained unafraid. The river teemed with birds whose movements followed the swirling eddies, eager to taste the spray at the edge of leaping waves. There were children, startled by the sight of crows resting atop tall palm trees, scattering pieces of sugarcane chewed and discarded by the aged village folk. Village boys, adorned with garlands of flowers and garments made of blossoms, cooled themselves in the shade at the edge of dense groves of kadamba, neem, and jujube trees. Thus, the world unfolded before them, wondrous and vivid, a reflection of consciousness itself.