Listen, O Rāma, to the wondrous unfolding of creation and dissolution as revealed in the scriptures. For one who perceives, sunrise and sunset occur just as he conceives them; at the dawn of creation, these arise from the very nature of existence, and later, from the contemplation of duality and unity. Understand that the space of the mind, the space of consciousness, and the physical space are truly one, bound together by their inseparable existence. This mind-body, which arises with the desire for experience, is all-pervading—it comes forth with the urge to know, and it manifests as experience itself. It dwells within even a speck of dust, is carried into the hollows of the sky, merges into the seed-casings, and becomes the sap that nourishes the sprout. It shines forth as the wave upon water, dances within the heart of a stone, pours down as the raincloud, and, becoming stone, remains steadfast. As it wishes, it moves through the sky and even within the bellies of mountains; it assumes the form of infinite space, and then that of the smallest atom. It becomes the support of great mountains, the fixed seat with the sky as its head, bearing the body’s interior and exterior, and giving rise to the shoots of countless forms. It becomes space itself, holding millions of lotus-born abodes, unique as the ocean of its own self, like the formation of countless whirlpools. This mind-body, whose awareness has not yet arisen, at the beginning of creation is vast as space; becoming great, it knows itself, and having attained its own nature, it abides. Its watery nature is indeed unreal, but appears to arise through understanding, just as a man in a dream imagines himself to be the son of a barren woman. Is this mind, or is it not? How does it become thus, and how do forms arise from it—or not—in an instant? Each mind possesses this power to form such appearances; for each mind, distinct illusions of the world arise separately. From the gathering of worlds, whether lasting a moment or an epoch, they arise and dissolve—sometimes in the blink of an eye, sometimes over an age. Immediately after death, or from great delusion, this state occurs; it emerges swiftly or slowly, depending on the being. The stupor of death and its kind is experienced individually; this, O wise one, is the path to the great dissolution. After dissolution, each being separately unfolds creation, just as the movements of innate dreams, imaginations, and confusions. At the end of the night of the great dissolution, the cosmic self, whose form is mind, manifests this world; likewise, after death, each one does so individually. Creation after death is experienced as memory; so too does the cosmic self experience it—thus, the universe does not arise without cause. At the time of the great dissolution, all beings, including Viṣṇu and Śiva, attain disembodied liberation; how could memory possibly exist then? One whose self is awakened like ours is necessarily liberated; how then could beings like Brahmā and others, who are disembodied, not be liberated? For living beings who exist now, in the cycles of death and birth, memory becomes the cause due to the absence of liberation. When the living being, at the end of the stupor of death, seems to awaken within, yet remains unawakened, that is called the primary state. That is called space, that is called primordial nature, that is the unmanifest, both inert and conscious; this is the sequence of transmigration and forgetfulness at the arising of the world. When that great principle becomes inclined toward awakening and is awakened, then from that space arise the subtle elements, directions, time, action, being, and so on. That very undifferentiated state, not yet awakened, becomes the five senses; when awakened, it becomes the body—this is known as the subtle body. Due to impressions accumulated over a long time, filled with imagination, this subtle body assumes the awareness of physical embodiment—thus it is for all beings. At the very moment a being dies, it swiftly perceives this entire world-experience as it is, right there. By space alone, it experiences the clear illusion: 'I am this world'; the living being, of the nature of space, seems to be born as a self of the form of space. Cities, towns, mountains, suns, clusters of stars—all filled with the teeth of old age, death, weakness, and the caverns of disease and distress— With the rush of being and non-being, gross and subtle, moving and unmoving, with mountains, earth, rivers, regions, days and nights, and the rise and fall of aeons—With the firm conviction, 'I was born from this father, in this lineage; this is my mother, this is my wealth,' and the arising of such tendencies— With the notions, 'This is my good deed, this is my bad deed,' and the fabrications of 'mine'; playing in the heart with thoughts like, 'I was a child, now I am young'—Thus, in each case, the thicket of worldly existence arises, blossoming with stars and flowers, with trembling leaves like dark clouds— Roaming with herds of men and beasts, with gods, demons, and birds; a grove dense with the pollen of worlds, the illusion of Māyā, and thick with magical bowers. Filled with oceanic lotus-ponds, with the peaks of Meru and other mountains as mere clods, within the seed of the lotus of the mind, the sprout of experience lies hidden. Wherever this living being dies, there in an instant he perceives thus; in each world-egg that arises, so it is, again and again. Myriads of Brahmās, Rudras, Indras, Maruts, Vishnus, and Suns, along with Meru, oceans, continents, and worlds, have been seen and gone. These visions have gone, will go, and are going, in the undestroyed Reality; who is able to count those that are enriched by Brahman? Thus, this world made of walls truly does not exist apart from thought; and thought itself is only space—reflect on this. That which is consciousness-space alone is regarded as supreme; thought, too, is consciousness-space, and that alone is the highest state.