In the wisdom of the scriptures, it is taught that the very essence of consciousness is perception itself—inseparable and pure. Beyond this nature of consciousness, there is nothing else that can be found in birth or death. Sometimes, consciousness is restless, like a whirlpool churning in a river; at other times, it is tranquil, as calm as still water; and at times, gentle and soft—such is the living flow of consciousness. Just as the joints of a long creeper are found within its length, so too are births and deaths encountered in the unbroken continuity of conscious existence. Consciousness—the true person—is never born, nor does it die. It simply perceives the illusion of birth and death, much like confusion experienced in a dream. The person is nothing but pure consciousness; when and where could it ever perish? What else could a person be, apart from consciousness? Reflect and tell: From the beginning until now, whose consciousness has died, what has died, and how? Bodies are countless and perish, but consciousness remains undiminished. If the mind were to die in just one being, then with the death of that one, all would have died here. It is only the diversity of tendencies that the living being experiences for itself; for these alone, birth and death are designated by name. Thus, nothing is truly born, nor does anyone truly die. The living being merely tumbles in the whirlpool of tendencies. Because the appearance of individuality is utterly impossible, these tendencies—by the reasoning that they do not exist—are destroyed through firm knowledge. By thoroughly observing the rise and fall of the world-process, with its miseries born of the fear of existence, let this truth be established: The living being with unarisen tendencies is indeed liberated. Seeking further understanding, a question is posed to the goddess of the gods: Just as this creature dies and is born again, tell me how this comes to be, so that my knowledge may grow. When, in the flow of the channels within the body, disorder arises due to the wind, the creature’s consciousness seems to subside. Yet pure consciousness is eternal; it neither arises nor subsides, abiding everywhere—in the immobile and the moving, in the sky, the mountain, the fire, and the wind. When all movement ceases, solely due to the restraint of the vital air, the body is said to be dead, and at that time, it becomes inert. When the body has become a corpse and the vital air has merged into space, consciousness, still bearing impressions—the sky-like self—remains right there. This subtle entity, possessing impressions, is called the jīva; it remains at the place of death, whether in the cremation ground or in the sky. Therefore, in common usage, it is referred to as the preta; this consciousness, mixed with impressions, abides like fragrant air. When it abandons all this and exists in another vision, it takes on various forms, like a dream or a thought. There, within itself, it becomes endowed with memory as before; at the end of death or fainting, it perceives another body. Within itself, it sees the framework of bones filled out; in another, only space; on the supporting earth, with the sun, and the dwelling of sky-born beings. Now, hear the distinctions among pretas, for they are of various kinds: ordinary sinners, moderate sinners, and gross sinners. There are also those of ordinary virtue, those of middling virtue, and those of excellent virtue; for some, there is a distinction among these, while for others, two or even all three may be present. Someone burdened with great sins, for years after death, experiences a stupor like death, inwardly deluded, with a heart as hard as stone. Then, after some time, awakened by the stirrings of latent impressions, he endures for a long period the unbroken suffering born of those impressions. Having passed through hundreds of wombs, moving from one suffering to another, he sometimes enters this bewildering dream of worldly existence. Or, at the end of the delusion of death, such a one instantly experiences, as if rooted in the heart, a dullness overwhelmed by hundreds of sufferings—even taking birth as a tree or the like. Again, he undergoes sufferings in hell corresponding to his own latent tendencies, and after that, is born in various wombs on earth after a long time. But one of middling sin, immediately after the delusion of death, perceives for a time a dullness like the belly of a stone. Then, awakening after some time, either by some cause or just so, he partakes of various births among animals and others, and will enter worldly existence. After death, an ordinary wrongdoer experiences, according to his own tendencies, a body that appears whole and intact. Just as in a dream, he perceives things as he imagines them; in that very moment, such memories arise for him in this way. But those who possess great merit, immediately after death and confusion, experience with awareness the realms of heaven or the cities of the vidyādharas. After enjoying the results of other actions elsewhere, corresponding to their deeds, they are born again in the human world, in auspicious and virtuous places. Those of middling virtue, immediately after death and confusion, see their own body lying there as if they are rising above it. Those of ordinary virtue, immediately after death and confusion, are carried by the wind through the sky and enter into plants and sprouts. There, becoming a beautiful fruit, they enter the hearts of people, and from there, they take up residence in a womb as the process of birth unfolds. According to their own tendencies, these departed ones experience this succession at the end of unconsciousness, either gradually or all at once. At first, they realize: “We are dead.” Then, in succession, those who know say: “We have arisen again through the offering of rice balls and other gifts by relatives.” Then, the attendants of Yama, bearing the noose of time, thus declare: “I am being led away by them and, in a moment, I go to the city of Yama.” Thus, the scriptures reveal the subtle journey of consciousness—unborn, undying, abiding forever—moving through the cycles of experience, shaped by tendencies, and ultimately finding its way through the mystery of existence.