Just as food is inevitably consumed by great hunger and old age, so too does the body, even when filled with pride and other qualities, gradually wear away, ultimately proving empty and powerless. Youth, with all its fleeting charm, is quickly recognized and then abandoned, just as the virtuous turn away from the wicked. The very form we inhabit is ever pursued by death, that friend of destruction and constant companion of old age, just as a skilled fowler seeks out a bird. This life, unstable and stripped of happiness by old age, is always abandoned—by the best and the ordinary alike. Truly, in this world, nothing is so devoid of virtue and so claimed by death as the span of life itself. Delusion arises in vain and grows in vain. I am afraid of this false, illusory ego, the enemy so difficult to overcome. It is only because of ego that the storehouse of faults torments the utterly miserable; it is because of ego that the diverse forms of worldly existence arise. From ego spring misfortunes, from ego arise diseases; even effort itself is born of ego—ego is the great delusion. Relying on that ego, the supreme and ancient enemy, I neither eat nor drink water, let alone enjoy any pleasures, O sage. The long rope of worldly existence, which deludes my mind, is woven by the fault of ego, like a snare set by a hunter. All the long, harsh, and great sufferings that arise are born from ego; yet, they vanish like the leaves of the khadira tree. But with the moon of tranquility, the lion-faced thunderbolt of virtue, and the autumn of the cloud of knowledge, I abandon ego. I am not Rama, nor do I have desire, nor is my mind attached to objects. I wish to remain peaceful within my own self, just as a sage. Whatever I have enjoyed, done, or taken under the sway of ego—all of that is truly unreal; reality is only the absence of ego. If the thought "I am" exists, O Brahman, then in adversity I am sorrowful, and in prosperity I am happy; therefore, true wealth lies in freedom from ego. Having abandoned ego, O sage, with a peaceful mind, I remain free from agitation, even amidst the flood of enjoyments, though their foundation is fragile. O Brahman, as long as the cloud of ego expands, so long does the cluster of thirst for objects blossom. When the dense ego has become peaceful, the vine of craving, deprived of its support, will swiftly vanish, like the flame of a lamp that has been extinguished. Within the great mountain of ego, the mind—like a wild, intoxicated elephant—roars with thunderous crashes, just as clouds resound with thunder. Here, in the vast cave of the body, the lion of dense ego roars mightily; by this, the entire world is pervaded. Strung together with the threads of craving, extending through countless births, a necklace of pearls is made and worn at the throat by the fierce hook of ego. Sons, wives, and families—all these are spread out here like a web, lacking any true mantra, by this difficult enemy called ego. When the notion "I am" is completely wiped away, then, by that very act, all wicked afflictions are truly eradicated. When the ocean of "I am" becomes calm and perfectly tranquil, the mist of confusion that clouds the mind gradually disappears somewhere. Now, since I am free of ego, yet languishing here in ignorance and sorrow, O sage, please tell me whatever is appropriate. I do not take refuge in that impermanent, inner abode of all misfortunes, which is unbound and not endowed with the highest virtue. O great one, earnestly instruct me, for I remain in the utterly painful state of ego-identity. The mind, worn out by faults, though engaged in noble deeds and honored by the virtuous, is as restless and unsteady as a feather blown by the wind. Greatly agitated, the mind runs here and there in vain, becoming ever more distant and dejected, like a villager lost in a foreign town. It attains nothing anywhere, even when great wealth is acquired; it never reaches fulfillment within, like a basket never filled with water. Always empty, ensnared by the net of desires, the mind does not attain even a little satisfaction, like a deer separated from its herd. Possessing a nature as fleeting as waves and worn away by afflictions, the mind does not attain contentment, even for a moment, having abandoned peace. Agitated by thoughts, it rushes in all ten directions, like the waters of the ocean churned by the blow of Mount Mandara. I am unable to restrain the great ocean of delusion in the mind, filled with waves, whirlpools, and crocodiles of illusion. Desiring the tender shoots of enjoyment, not considering the fall into a pit, O Brahman, the mind-deer runs far away. Never does my mind, with its restless activity, abandon that state of being plucked and scattered, like the ocean's ceaseless agitation. With its restless movements, stirred by a multitude of thoughts, the mind binds its resolve in many places, like a lion confined in a cage. Mounted on the chariot of delusion, the mind steals away the body's fleeting happiness, just as a swan extracts milk from water. Hidden in the small bed of endless imagination, the movements of the mind do not awaken, O chief of sages; thus I am afflicted and disturbed. With thirst tightly knotted and gathered within, O Brahman, I am bound by the mind, like a bird caught in a net. By the constant smoke of anger and the cavity of anxiety's flames, O sage, I am burned by the mind, as dry grass is burned by fire. Led by cruel craving, I have become dull, O Brahman; like a corpse devoured by a jackal, I am consumed by the mind.