In that sacred vision, the elements themselves revealed their hierarchy: earth, water, fire, air, and then space—each one surpassing the last by tenfold, transcending the limits of the lower, all in a single, timeless instant. Within this vastness, he beheld the supreme ether—immeasurable, boundless—and saw the entire world spread within it, appearing as insignificant as a single atom. She, too, witnessed the marvel: within the cosmic eggs, countless veiling creations shimmered in the ether, like motes of dust dancing in a sunbeam. In that great ocean of ether, within the waters of supreme emptiness, she saw bubbles and clusters arising—manifestations born from the very nature of the great, conscious fluid. Some of these forms fell downward, some rose upward, others moved sideways, while a few remained utterly still, fixed in their own awareness. Wherever and however awareness arose in any of them, in that very place and manner, their forms appeared—shaped by consciousness itself. Yet, in that realm, there was truly no above or below, no coming or going; it was a different state altogether—a return to the very origin of our own being. There, awareness arose and arose again, springing forth by its own nature, only to subside by one’s own thoughts, vanishing like a web of childish imaginings. In such a radiant expanse, what could be called above, below, or across? If there is no fixed position, what then is the measure of space? In this limitless vastness, the cosmic eggs of Brahman, with all their coverings, shone like tiny bubbles suspended in the sky. All objects within moved without independence; the portion of earth within each cosmic egg was called ‘below,’ but in truth, all else was void. For the ants wandering on a round clod in the sky, their feet marked ‘downward,’ their backs ‘upward’—the ten directions were only so designated from their perspective. For some, the earth in their hearts was covered by a web of trees and anthills, while the clear sky was encircled by the sun, moon, gods, and demons. This world, with its villages, cities, and mountains, had arisen from the subtle desert element, enveloped—like a ripe myrobalan fruit by its skin—by the undiminished. Just as elephants roam the Vindhya forest, so, in that supreme expanse, rivers of universes flowed. Everything was contained in that; from that, everything arose; that was everything, everywhere, always pervading, even the smallest particle. In that ocean of supreme light, composed of pure consciousness, the waves called universes continually arose and subsided. Some, empty within, remained as the nights of the dissolution of all thoughts; like waves in the water-ocean, they were cast into the ocean of emptiness. For some, at the end of the cycle, an inner rumbling sound arose—yet it was neither heard nor known by others, whose attention was absorbed in their own nature. In others, at the very beginning, the desire to manifest stirred, like a tender shoot sprouting within a seed moistened by creation. At the time of great dissolution, some beings, their refuge scattered by the sun’s rays, began to melt away, like drops of frost under heat. Others, not having attained their destined realms, kept falling for an age—until, having disintegrated, they were reborn as forms made only of consciousness. Some remained motionless, like a hairball suspended in the sky, their fortunes flickering like the vibrations of wind. From the practice of Vedic scriptures, a different path was described for others; for some, the beginning was extended, and their sequence of existence was established otherwise. Among these, some were beings like Brahma and others, some were creators like Vishnu and the rest; some were lords of creatures, while others were beings without any lord. Some were lords of wondrous creations, some among the animal forms; some were filled with a single ocean, devoid of water or anything else. Some were lumps of stone and metal, some dwelled within the paths of worms; some were entirely divine in form, others partly human. Some were always enveloped in darkness, inhabited thus; some were filled with swarms of gnats, possessing the glory of fig fruits. Some beings were always empty within, their essence arising from the stillness of emptiness; others, who seemed full in this world, did not even conceive of such emptiness, like the silent mountains of the sky. Within them was such an inner vastness, a great expanse, which was not even bestowed by Vishnu and the other gods who grant life. In each cosmic egg, a portion of earth, by its very nature, acted like a magnet, drawing the elements together, just as a jewel attracts iron. That origin of creation lay beyond the reach of the mind; therefore, O wise one, I do not have the power to describe that world. Just as intoxicated yakshas dance unseen by each other in the dense darkness of a vast forest, so too, within the supreme sky, countless great worlds shimmered and arose. Thus reflecting, the two of them left that world and beheld their own palace, as if it were a city lying silent in deep sleep. They saw the great royal corpse, heavy with garlands of flowers, and beside it, the subtle body—an apparition born of the mind’s play—seated nearby. The place was filled with people overcome by the deep sleep of three dark nights, while the air was thick with the fragrance of incense, sandalwood, camphor, and saffron. Upon seeing him, Lila, eager to enter her husband’s world-cycle once more, allowed herself—her body formed of mere thought—to fall into that very sky. She entered a certain expanse, the world-cycle created by her husband’s thought, breaking through the covering of the world and the shell of the cosmic egg. Together with the goddess, she reached once more the vast pavilion of the cosmic egg—now covered again—and swiftly entered it in the same way as before. There, she beheld the world born of her husband’s thought: a marsh of existence, where, like a swan seeing a mountain-lotus sullied by dark waters, she saw the beauty of creation clouded by the darkness of ignorance.