When an ordinary person who has committed wrongs passes from this world, he finds himself, through the force of his own ingrained tendencies, endowed with a subtle body that seems whole and uninjured. Much like in a dream, he perceives his surroundings and experiences events just as his mind imagines them; in that very instant, memories and impressions arise before him in vivid succession. Yet, for those whose lives have been filled with great merit, the moment of death and the confusion that follows is swiftly replaced by clear awareness. They immediately behold the radiant realms of heaven or the wondrous cities of the vidyādharas, enjoying their reward. After delighting in the fruits of their virtuous deeds in these higher worlds, they eventually return to the human realm, reborn in auspicious and virtuous circumstances, as determined by the residue of their past actions. Those of middling virtue, at the time of death and the ensuing bewilderment, witness their own body lying below, as if they are rising above it, observing from a distance. For those of ordinary virtue, the experience is different: after death and confusion, they are swept along by the wind through the sky, entering into plants and sprouts. There, they become beautiful fruits, which are then consumed by people; from the heart of the eater, they enter a womb, thus beginning the journey toward rebirth. Whether gradually or all at once, according to their own tendencies, these departed souls undergo this succession of states at the end of unconsciousness. At first, there is the dawning realization: “We are dead.” Then, in sequence, those who are aware may recognize, “We have arisen again, nourished by the offerings of rice balls and gifts made by our relatives.” At this point, the attendants of Yama, bearing the noose of time, make themselves known: “I am being led away by them and, in a moment, I shall arrive at the city of Yama.” Again and again, the soul encounters gardens, splendid palaces, and other auspicious things, each a result of their own good actions. The virtuous person recognizes, “These are the fruits of my merit.” Conversely, thorny pits, forests of sword-like leaves, and other dreadful places are reached by those who have committed evil deeds, who then realize, “These are the consequences of my sin.” For the middling person, there is a gentle expanse of earth—cool, green with grass, shaded by pleasant trees and ponds—situated before the city of Yama. Here, arrival at the city of Yama is experienced, along with the presence of the lord of beings and the review of one’s deeds. Thus, each soul approaches the vast forest of transmigration, where the activities of all beings shine forth as they are established. In the sky itself, in the midst of emptiness, one who is awakened perceives the self as void; though it appears to be filled with space, time, action, and extension, in truth, nothing substantial is found. From that place, the soul is directed to experience the fruits of its actions—quickly proceeding either to the auspicious heavens or to hell. The soul reflects: “This heaven I have enjoyed, or this hell I have endured; having abandoned these abodes, I am born again in the cycle of existence.” The journey continues: “From this rice, here I am born, and gradually the fruit of my actions is established here.” Thus, by awakening to the consequences, one becomes aware of the process. The dormant impressions, like seeds, settle within a person; when that seed finds its way into a womb, it becomes an embryo within the mother. That embryo is born into this world according to the actions of previous lives, and the child emerges as fortunate or unfortunate, with a form that is charming or otherwise. The child then experiences youth, drawn toward passion, and, like frost falling upon a lotus, old age eventually overtakes the youthful face. Afterward, disease and death come, followed by the swoon of death. Once more, as in a dream, the soul assumes a body composed of the elements. Again, the journey leads to the realm of Yama, and the soul follows this wandering process yet again—repeatedly experiencing existence in the sky, taking on a form as subtle as space. O Devi, just as delusion arises at the dawn of creation, so too, by your grace, may you explain this again for the growth of understanding. Know that the mountains, the trees, the earth, and the sky—all are of the essence of the highest reality. Because Lord-Consciousness is the Self of all, whatever arises from Him is as pure as the supreme space; thus, that alone suffices in all these realms. At the beginning of creation, the first creator, by analogy to the dream-person, manifests as a shining appearance; in the same way, that state persists even now. That first reflection is the prototype of all objects; whatever is reflected from that original remains established to this day. The hollow space within bodies, into which air enters and causes the movement of limbs, is said to be the very sign of life. Even at the beginning of creation, this very state existed in all moving beings. Though consciousness itself is unmoving, because of its presence, trees and the like exist as they do. This very space of consciousness assumes a portion awakened by awareness; that itself becomes conscious, while the rest is not truly so. If a man is aware of the tip of his hoof or the edge of his eyelid, but not the eye itself, then for him, the life of the eye is not present, nor does it live in any way. In the same way, space is perceived as space, earth as earth, and water as water—each according to how it is conceived. Whatever is thought of in a particular way, that alone is known in that form. Thus, the one who contemplates all bodies as moving by their nature, and the unmoving as unmoving, remains established as the Self of all. Therefore, whatever is called “moving” truly exists as such, having assumed that form; being known as such, it remains so even now. Whatever is called “inert” and is not known is the unmoving; even now, know that as inert—such as stones, trees, grass, and the like. Yet, in truth, there is no separate existence of inertness or consciousness; at the beginning of creation, there is no distinction here, for all share the common substratum of existence. The names that exist within trees and stones are only their own inner awareness; their existence here is established only by the presence of intellect and similar faculties. The intellect and so on that exist within the interiors of the unmoving and the like—these are simply other names, referring to other things, established by different conventions.