That living awareness, carried effortlessly by the subtle wind of space, began to journey far and wide through the sky, propelled by the momentum of its own ingrained tendencies. Two women, inseparable from that awareness, followed close behind, just as a pair of bees might pursue a drifting wisp of fragrance borne on the breeze. After only a brief interval, when the swoon of death had faded away, that awareness revived in the intermediate state, subtle and elusive, like a streak of scent stirred by the wind. In this state, he beheld the servants of Yama carrying away his former body, while his relatives performed the funeral rites for what had once been his own form. Onward he traveled, along the path where the fruits of one’s actions shine from afar, moving unstoppably toward the city of Vaivasvata. Upon reaching that city, it was proclaimed that he had never engaged in impure actions—his life was always marked by pure deeds, and, by the blessing of the revered Sarasvati, he had been uplifted. His previous body, now lifeless and clothed in flowers, lay behind him. He was instructed: let him enter that body, go there, and then abandon it. Having done so, he left it behind and soared along the sky-path, swift as a stone launched by a machine. The three—life-force, play, and knowledge—ascended together into the sky. The thread of life soared ahead; the other two, being formless, remained unseen, yet they followed, surpassing even the vast expanse of the heavens. Passing beyond many worlds and departing from the house of the universe, they reached a second world and entered the circle of the earth. There, united with his wish-formed beloved and with the thread of life, they arrived at Padmaraja’s city and entered the innermost pavilion of Lila. In an instant, they entered freely, as wind slips into the sky, as sunlight pervades a lotus, as fragrance mingles with the air. O Brahman, you may wonder: how did he arrive at the house near his own corpse? How did he discern the path of the one whose body had died? Raghava, whatever is firmly established within one’s own tendencies must certainly manifest; thus, all of that resides in the heart—how did he attain it in a month? This immeasurable confusion exists within the very atom of life in the world, just as a mighty banyan tree is contained within its tiny seed—who, indeed, does not see this? The atomic consciousness, by its very nature, contains the three worlds; just as a person sitting in one place can perceive something far away. Through the mind, he always perceives his own treasure, ceaselessly, just as a living body perceives the living soul in the heart as its own reflection. In the same way, the soul perceives its desired object established within its own tendencies, whether it has undergone hundreds of births or is caught in delusion. O Lord, what form does the body take when it is devoid of the tendency for offerings such as piṇḍa? For whom is the piṇḍa not given? If an offering is made to the mother, and one thinks, “This offering is for me,” then, with that impression firmly rooted in the heart, a person partakes of the result of that offering. Whatever the mind is absorbed in, the living being becomes that—such is the experience; this is true for those with bodies and those without, and never otherwise anywhere. By the awareness “I am related,” even one who is not related partakes of the offering; by the awareness “I am not related,” even one who is related does not partake of it. The reality of these objects is according to one’s conception of them; and conception arises from the objects and their causes. Just as, by one’s disposition, even poison may become nectar for a being, so too, by conception, an unreal object attains reality. Without a cause, no effect ever arises for anyone at any time; therefore, be firmly convinced that no effect exists without a cause. Without a cause, no effect has ever been seen or heard of, even up to the time of the great dissolution—nothing arises by itself, on its own, except in one’s own imagination. Indeed, it is only impression that assumes the form of reality, like an object in a dream; it becomes cause and effect, yet in truth, it remains just itself. If a departed one, filled with tendencies, thinks, “There is no merit that belongs to me,” and if a friend, endowed with abundant virtue, dedicates merit to him— In that case, does the merit become lost, or does it persist as an impression? And between what is truly meaningful and what is not, does the force of impression have greater power? Impression arises from place, time, action, and possession of means; wherever these are equally present, the one with greater strength prevails between the two. If the tendency of the one who offers merit is strong, then in a moment the mind of the departed is filled by it; if not, then the impression of the departed quickly prevails. Thus, in this mutual contest, the one with superior power prevails; therefore, one should diligently cultivate good habits through virtuous effort. O Brahman, if the impression arises with superiority of place and time, then at the beginning of a great cosmic cycle, how could place and time themselves arise? This arises due to causes and their cooperating factors; but when these cooperating causes are absent, from where could impression arise? So it is, O noble one: in the true Self, at the time of great dissolution or creation, there is nothing like place, time, or anything else. When the cooperating causes are absent, the perception of the seen does not exist, nor does it arise, nor does anything at all appear. Because the seen cannot arise without a cause, whatever is perceived here is in truth only Brahman, abiding in this form, free from affliction. I will explain this to you further with hundreds of logical arguments; for this purpose, I am making this effort—listen now to the present story. Then, as you arrived, you saw before you a palace with a beautiful interior, adorned with flowers and offerings, and cool as the gentle air of spring.