The mind, restless and ever-churning, is like the ocean lashed by the mighty Mount Mandara—its waters surging in all directions, agitated by countless thoughts. Try as I might, I cannot contain this vast ocean of delusion within, for it teems with waves, whirlpools, and the lurking crocodiles of illusion. Seeking the tender shoots of enjoyment and heedless of the pitfalls ahead, O Brahman, my mind—like a deer—runs far and wide, ever escaping restraint. Never does my mind, with its ceaseless activity, find rest; it remains unsettled, tossed about like the ocean’s unending turmoil. Its movements, stirred by a multitude of desires, bind me in many places, much like a lion trapped within a cage, pacing restlessly. Mounted upon the chariot of delusion, the mind stealthily steals away the fleeting happiness of the body, just as a swan can extract milk alone from a mixture of milk and water. Hidden in the small bed of endless imagination, the mind’s movements lie dormant, O chief of sages, leaving me afflicted and disturbed. With thirst knotted tightly within, O Brahman, I am ensnared by my own mind, like a bird caught fast in a hunter’s net. The constant smoke of anger and the fiery cavity of anxiety burn me, O sage, just as dry grass is consumed by a blazing fire. Driven by cruel craving, I have become insensible, O Brahman; like a corpse devoured by jackals, I am consumed by my own mind. Unsteady and inert, tossed by waves, I am carried away like a riverside tree swept along by a powerful current. My mind, empty and restless, has cast me far away, like a blade of grass swept off by a fierce wind. Though I long to cross the ocean of worldly existence, my impure mind blocks my passage, like a flood held back by a dam. Just as something descending into the netherworld is pulled down by another, so too am I encircled and bound by my mind, like a log lowered into a well by a rope. My mind, falsely magnified and sharp with endless reasoning, seizes me like a goblin snatching away a child. O Brahman, the mind is hotter than fire, more unyielding than a mountain, harder than a diamond, and fiercely uncontrollable. It falls upon objects of desire like a bird upon bait, and in the next moment withdraws, like a child quickly losing interest in a toy. O Father, my mind—dull by nature yet ever restless—moves in wide, swirling patterns, carrying me far away like a sea teeming with serpents. O noble one, even drinking up the great oceans, leaping over Mount Sumeru, or consuming fire would be easier than mastering the mind. The mind is the cause of all things; when it exists, so do the three worlds. When it is dissolved, the world is dissolved. Therefore, it must be treated with the utmost care. Surely, from the mind arise hundreds of joys and sorrows, just as forests spring from fertile earth. But when, through discernment, the mind is thinned, these surely subside, O sage. Here, where the hope of conquering all qualities is bound by greatness, I have arisen to conquer that enemy—the mind. With my inner agitation gone, I find no delight in fortune, which is vast, inert, and impure, like a mass of clouds obscuring the moon. In the sky of consciousness, during the night of inner darkness, relentless thirst flits about as flocks of fault-birds. The burning pain within, matured in its essence, has left me parched with anxiety, like mud scorched by the blazing sun. In the great forest of my mind, thick with the darkness of delusion, the demon of hope, intoxicated, dances wildly in the emptiness. The mist of rajas, shining with golden hues, causes my anxiety to blossom now, like a cluster of ashoka flowers. Enough of this inner confusion! This craving, which devours all intentions, has arisen with poisonous delight, swelling like a wave in the ocean. It surges with the tumult of powerful waves, flowing down the mountain of my body—a river of craving, full of restless, ever-changing forms. When I try to restrain its force, it is like dry grass before a storm; my mind, like the chataka bird, is carried away by impure thoughts. Whatever noble quality or virtue I attempt to hold, craving cuts it down, just as a mouse severs the strings of a lute. Like an old leaf in water, dry grass in the wind, or an autumn cloud in the sky, I am tossed about in the cycle of anxious thoughts. Unable to reach our own true ground, we are bewildered in the net of thoughts, just as birds are ensnared in a net. Father, I am burned by the fire called craving, so much so that I do not expect relief even from nectar. My mind, like a frenzied horse mad with craving, runs far and wide, returning again and again, swiftly wandering to the ends of the directions. Craving, bound to dullness, moves ceaselessly up and down—ever agitated and knotted, like a fierce rope on a wheel without a hub. Within the body, a person is drawn along by craving, tightly bound and constantly disturbed, just as a bull is led swiftly by a rope. Here in this world, craving for sons, wives, and family ever pulls and weaves a net among people, just as a fowler casts snares for birds. Craving, like a dark night, deludes even the wise, blinds even the seeing, and wearies even the joyful. Crooked, soft to the touch, yet hinting at poisonous imbalance, craving is like a black serpent that burns even when barely touched. Like a black demoness, craving tears at the hearts of men, weaving illusions, bringing misfortune, and remaining ever wretched.