Listen, O noble one, to the subtle truth of existence as revealed by the sages. The individuality you experience—the sense of being a distinct person, with mind, life-force, and memories—arises solely from sensation. When sensation ceases, these faculties do not arise; thus, what you call the individual self is nothing but the play of sensation. In reality, nothing truly rises or sets, nothing comes or goes at any time. All is ever at peace, unborn and unchanging Brahman—pure consciousness, subtle and gentle beyond all grasp. Within the subtlest atom, countless universes appear, projected by consciousness alone. Even within each atom, further worlds exist, endlessly subtle; how, then, can anyone truly reckon or measure this creation? Just as waves arise or subside within water, manifesting or hidden by their own nature, so too the states of waking, dreaming, and deep sleep reside within the individual, coming and going according to their own laws. If even the faintest distaste for pleasures arises in the heart, the scripture declares that one has already attained the highest state. Wherever one is free from attachment, there, liberation is found. Without the sense of 'I am,' who could ever experience the sense of birth? Those who know consciousness as supreme and inferior, unborn, formless, nameless, and the foundation of all that moves and is still—they alone are truly victorious. There is a supreme consciousness, unmanifest and nondual, as subtle as a fine line drawn in water. By this alone are the three worlds sustained; those whose essence is That neither exist nor do not exist, transcending all categories. This consciousness, which is the very nature of 'I', is the source of the lotus-born Brahma. By its own diverse thoughts, it spreads out the universe. Inwardly, it experiences the infinite even within the briefest instant, as if an entire age had passed in a fraction of a blink. Even the countless cycles of worlds seem entirely real when measured by the divisions of the smallest atoms and moments. Yet, within each of these, and within every atomic particle, the same inner illusion appears, declaring, “This is infinite, indeed!” These supreme realities, tranquil and undisturbed, carry forth the succession of creations, just as water flows with hidden eddies within itself. The splendor of creation, being of a false nature, moves upon this vast ocean of existence, like a river scattering flowers fallen from trees on its banks. Creation is like a city seen in a dream, or conjured by magic, or like a city heard of in a tale, or a mountain made of clouds—it appears real, but is as insubstantial as a mere thought. Thus, through proper inquiry, when oneness is truly realized and the undivided Self is known, O best of those who know, all is understood. Yet one may ask: why do bodies remain, even for those who know the truth? It is as if seized by fate—yet what could fate truly be here? Here, there exists a divine order, manifest as the touch of consciousness-power. This is the one reality that inevitably unfolds, pervading all imagined worlds. At the beginning of creation, this order brings forth the endless diversity of beings; thus, it is always established that things must unfold in this way. It is called the great existence, remembered as the great consciousness; known as the great power, and regarded as the great vision. It is spoken of as the great action, heard as the great arising; it is firmly established as the great vibration, and declared as the unity of the great Self. As grass, as worlds, as demons, as gods, as serpents, as mountains—this is its mode of existence throughout all cycles of creation. Sometimes, a deviation in the essence of Brahman is inferred—perhaps as a marvel within the space of consciousness—but otherwise, the order remains unaltered. By beings such as Brahma and others, whose intellects seek to understand what is yet unknown, this order alone is called creation, for it is by its expansion that all arises. The unmoving is seen as moving, established in the noble order of Brahman; without beginning, middle, or end, scripture is like a tree in the sky. Just as lines are etched within a stone, so creation, governed by fate, abides in the Self, and the awakened Brahman seems to instruct even the sky itself. As limbs and their parts are touched in the body by the nature of consciousness, so Brahman, in the form of the lotus-born, is the primary limb of fate and its associates. This is called 'divine'—it pervades all things at all times; having encompassed every object, it remains as pure consciousness. The notion of fate is: “This must vibrate as an object, or become the state of enjoyer; it must be so, it must be so, inevitably.” This alone is the movement of man, grass, shrubs, and all; this alone is the origin of all beings, the world, time, and action. By this, the existence of man and the existence of the world are both observed; when they depart, both are known as one essence. By man and by manliness alone, both action and existence are of the same nature; thus, fate is just so, and so is the fate-manliness. You must ask me, O Rama, about the determination of fate and manliness; fate stands as: “You must uphold the manliness I have spoken.” One who is devoted to fate, thinking “destiny will feed me,” remains inactive and silent; this is the certainty of fate. When a person gathers enjoyments through effort and partakes in them—from sovereignty to liberation—this too is the certainty of fate. Liberation from worldly existence does not come even through imagined means; for those wandering with bodies, this is the certainty of fate. It has neither intellect, nor actions, nor modifications, nor form; it simply stands as this arrangement, established by its own mode of being. This state—“it will surely be thus, just so”—cannot be transgressed, even by the intellects of Rudra and others. Effort should not be abandoned; the wise rely on it, for fate itself is regulated only in the form of effort. Fate is indeed non-effort, but in creation it is effort; fate without the form of effort is fruitless, but with the essence of effort it is fruitful. One who remains inactive due to fate, caused by speechlessness and lack of effort—where does the movement of his vital breath go? Thus, O Rama, the play of fate and effort, the mystery of creation and the supreme reality, are all but the unfolding of pure consciousness, ever tranquil, ever one.