When one attains direct knowledge and realizes that the knower, the known, and the means of knowing are all nothing but Brahman, then all talk of transmigration loses its meaning—only Brahman remains as the sole reality. Transmigration arises only because of perceiving something as other than Brahman; but when Brahman alone is recognized, there is no awareness of anything else. If no awareness exists apart from Brahman, then what need is there for liberation or inquiry? All distinctions and divisions become meaningless. O Rama, your question shines forth only at the moment of conclusion; just as a garland of flowers, however beautiful, does not truly shine if offered out of season, so too, words spoken out of their proper time do not fit the occasion. Everything finds its place only in its right season. Time itself grants obstacles and permissions; indeed, the fruition of all things is determined by time. In this way, the individual self, present as the sleeper, perceives within itself, as time passes, the state of being a progenitor, which now has ended. He who, preceded by the awareness of the utterance of Om, beholds the Vedas and rules in the kingdom of his own mind, quickly becomes established in this understanding. Knowing the unreal as if it were real, in the space of the pure self, the world—shaped like a mass of mountains—unfolds within that space. Here, nothing is truly born and nothing perishes; the world, like a city of the Gandharvas, expands within Brahman. The existence of Brahma and other beings is composed of both reality and unreality; so too is the existence of all, whether serpentine or demonic. This is only a confusion of consciousness; even when it arises, it is unreal. From Brahma down to the worm, when true knowledge ceases, so does awareness. Just as Brahma comes into being, so too does the worm; but the worm, dominated by gross elements and insignificant actions, is limited. Whatever life exists in a living being, consisting of inclination toward objects, that alone is his manliness, his essence, and his action. From the creation of Brahma down to the destruction of an insect, when the illusion that is mind-only ceases, only pure perception remains. When the objects of knower, means of knowledge, and the known do not exist apart from pure consciousness, then the doctrines of duality and unity are as unreal as the horn of a hare or a lotus in the sky. The cosmic egg of Brahma, which seems to have firm existence, is falsely imagined; just as the self, through the action of a silkworm, appears in the form of its own saliva. Whatever is seen by Brahma as real appears in that very way; this is the certain understanding of those who know reality regarding the nature of things. Whatever thing arises cannot exist even for a moment or an age without its own nature; this is the certain understanding of the nature of things. That which has arisen is unreal, and only the unreal increases; it experiences only the unreal, and thus the unreal dissolves. Within pure consciousness is creation; pure consciousness is within all; in truth, all beings are pure consciousness—indeed, everything is pure consciousness. Pure consciousness alone is inside, outside, above, below, as the knower, the means, and the known; thus it assumes the position of the knower. Ever peaceful, by this, all existence abides always as one, perfectly balanced, beyond even the fourth state. Here, an ancient tale is recounted, the great web of questions spoken by a demoness, all-encompassing. There is, on the northern side of the Himalayas, a demoness named Karkaṭī, fierce as the Sālabhañjikā of the sooty mountain. She, called Viṣūcikā, is a maiden afflicted by justice, her body emaciated like the Vindhya forest by reasoning. Her eyes blaze like great fires, her nostrils filled with smoke; she is clad in dark blue garments, black as night bound in a body. Shrouded in mist-like robes, her headcloth like a dense cloud, her breasts hanging like rain-clouds, she ever bears the banner of darkness. Her eyes are steady as lightning streaks, stars among tamāla trees; her nails tipped like the edge of a cat's-eye gem, she laughs with a garland of ashes. Adorned with garlands of flowers made from heaps of fleshless human bodies, she shines with a necklace of corpses strung with fierce entrails on every limb. Her earrings are dreadful skulls, agitated by the possession of spirits; her mighty arms blaze like thunderclouds seized by the sun. Because of her immense body and the scarcity of her own food, the fire in her belly was never satisfied, like a flame that cannot be quenched by a mere trace of water. Never did that great-bellied one attain satisfaction; like the tongue of the submarine fire, she was always restless, and once she began to reflect. “If I were to swallow all the people living on Jambudvīpa, I would still not cease my constant hunger, just as the ocean never stops inhaling the rivers. My hunger is not appeased even by clouds or mirages; only that method is suitable which allows one to survive in adversity. Who can trouble all people equally, when they are protected by mantras, herbs, charity, austerity, worship of the gods, and the like, and are free from obstacles? I shall perform supreme austerity with an unwavering mind; for by the power of intense austerity, even what is difficult to obtain can be attained.” Thinking thus, driven by the hunger to consume all living beings, she remembered a remote and forbidding place suitable for austerity. She climbed that peak, her eyes steady as lightning, her body endowed with hands and feet, dark as a mass of clouds. There, she stood firm to bathe in the sky and practice austerity, standing on one foot, her eyes unmoving like the moon and sun. Gradually, for her who remained unmoved by cold or heat, like a rock that has been cut, days, fortnights, months, and seasons passed by.