In the unity of consciousness-space, empowered by the force that belongs to both of us, a remarkable event unfolds: the king, his queen, and their servants—all together—come to know each other deeply, their awareness united. Through the firm resolve of supreme order, great manifestations of consciousness recognize one another, each reflecting the other as if gazing into a mirror. Within this mutual recognition, clarity dawns. The king sees, “This is my natural wife, this is my natural companion, this is my natural queen, and this servant is naturally mine.” Yet this profound understanding remains shared only among the king, the queen, and you and me; we alone perceive this uninterrupted wonder, while it remains hidden from all others. A question arises: Why did she, the queen, not come to her husband with her own body, even though the wedding was arranged? Lila, you speak gracefully—please explain. For those whose minds have not awakened, even if they reach the worlds of the siddhas through accumulated merit, they cannot arrive there with their own bodies, just as a shadow cannot reach the sunlight. In the primal creation, destiny is established by the awakened ones, just as truth never merges with falsehood. As long as a child clings to the fantasy of a goblin, no real experience can arise for someone who is free from such thoughts. Similarly, as long as the fever of indiscrimination persists within, the coolness of discernment—the moon’s gentle light—cannot arise. One who is firmly convinced, “I am this body made of earth and elements, I have no higher movement in space,” cannot hold any other conviction. Thus, neither knowledge and discernment, nor virtue or boon, allow one to reach the supreme world merely by possessing a virtuous body. Just as a dry leaf instantly burns when it falls onto a coal, so too this body, though divine, perishes as soon as it is obtained. The expansion gained by good fortune is only as far as one remembers, “I am that consciousness”—so is one’s state. If someone mistakes a rope for a snake, how can he perform the actions of a snake? In oneself, what does not exist cannot give rise to any activity. What is experienced as “this is dead” is merely false, arising only from the prior cultivation of habit. In the web of the world perceived by oneself, the delusion of transmigration is easy; but in what is imagined by others, habitual notions of creation and so on do not occur. The cycles of transmigration experienced within are far removed from the external web of beings, unseen and unknown, like the moon’s disk to those who do not perceive it. Therefore, those who know the knowable, or who have taken refuge in the supreme dharma, attain the ātivāhika body; others do not. The state of the elemental body is false, its nature is made of delusion; just as shadows cannot stand in sunlight, others cannot reach stability. Līlā, who knows the knowable but has not taken refuge in the supreme dharma, has merely reached the city imagined by her husband. Thus, she has departed, O Ambika—see, her husband has begun to abandon his life-force. What is to be done here now? Questions arise: How has destiny come among the existences and non-existences of beings? How is it that non-destiny is spoken of in matters like death and birth? How does natural disposition arise? How does existence enter into objects? How does heat reside in fire and stability abide in earth? How does coldness exist in snow? What is the existence in time, space, and so on? How do the arising and ceasing of being and non-being, and the perception of gross and subtle, occur? How does great height, as seen in grass, bushes, and sprouts, not come to a thing even when the cause for its height remains and the object itself is not destroyed? At the time of the great dissolution, when creation and its foundation have set, only the infinite, peaceful, space-like existence—the true Brahman—remains. In the form of consciousness, Brahman imagines itself as a particle of light, thinking, “I am this,” just as in a dream one experiences awareness or flying in the sky. This particle of light perceives grossness within itself, in itself. Though the universe is unreal, it appears real in experience. Within that, Brahman knows itself as Brahman, saying, “I am this.” Then it creates a kingdom of thought; this world is truly only its own sky-like self. In that first creation, whatever forms of awareness were described as existing in whatever way and wherever, those remain there even now, unmoving. Whatever form consciousness takes, in that very way it appears as another self; being itself unrestrained, nothing here is fixed. The notion of “nothing at all” does not apply to the very nature of consciousness; for, having abandoned all forms, how could it possibly remain? At the beginning of creation, consciousness itself, within, takes on various forms in itself; even now, by its own being, it remains as cold, fire, and so on. Therefore, for one who exists, it is not possible to abandon one’s own being; as long as there is consciousness and so forth, this order does not perish. Whatever is formed, wherever, whether space-like or earth-like, from the beginning of creation until now, it is not possible for it to move away from that. Whatever consciousness is manifested in whatever way, unless there is an opposing force, it does not depart from that; by the habit of experience, it remains as it is. At the beginning of the world, what is not produced, yet is experienced as this—that is the formation of consciousness-space, like the pleasure of a woman in a dream. It is established that the appearance is unreal, though it seems real; thus, the awareness of its own nature is such, and so are the experiences of beings. The stream of consciousness that was established at the beginning of creation is still observed to remain, even when stirred by another influence. The awareness that has taken on the nature of space becomes the consciousness of the sky; the awareness that has assumed the form of time becomes the consciousness of the ether as time. Thus, the story of consciousness unfolds, ever reflecting its own nature, ever abiding in its own order, from the beginning to this very moment.