Once, there appeared a great black demoness, her form radiant like the peak of a cat’s-eye gem. She was poised to become subtle and thin, and her presence resembled a streak of lampblack cloud in the sky. Shifting her shape, she abandoned her cloud-like appearance and took on the form of a tree. Then, she reduced herself to the size of a man, then a hand, and then a span. Soon, she became as small as a finger, then as tiny as a grain of lentil, and then as slender as a needle. Her form grew even finer, attaining the delicacy of a silken needle, beautiful like the filament of a lotus, standing upright and shining with the subtlety of a mountain peak born in thought. This black needle gleamed—smooth, flawless, and coiled by the subtle body—drifting through the sky, carried along by the wind. Though visible, there was no iron substance within; it was merely a play of consciousness, appearing just as a needle might in a dream. It was as smooth as a jeweled needle, joined to the powers of the mind’s imagination, radiant like a line of beryl, graceful as a string of rods. Like the tendril of a black-lotus stamen borne on the wind, it was so subtle and transparent that it seemed a tiny, clear aperture—a pupil of the sky itself. With a thread grasped by its own tip, a smooth tail, and a shining point, the needle became visible for the sake of vast tranquility, entering into a supreme vow of silence. Seen from afar, it shone like a lamp, attaining the state of pure being. From a distance, with a charming mouth, it seemed to utter silent words into the sky. With eyes half-closed, the demoness resembled a delicate lamp-flame, her hair soft as silk, her forehead still moist from a recent bath, appearing as a playful young woman. Her thread rose like a lotus-fiber, moved by curiosity for the outer world, poised like the chief channel, beautiful as a moonbeam stretching outward. Her senses restrained, her very life-force seemed to move outward, unnoticed, like the subtle stream of awareness in a Buddhist ascetic. Her understanding was as subtle as the doctrine of emptiness—a faint breath of wind through a crevice, a needle whose light was nearly gone, sharp yet imperceptible. Though she had been pointed out for the sake of being seized, he did not make use of her; she herself did not reflect on this. Ah, how ignorance reveals itself! With the tip of the needle, she gave no thought to its emptiness, but simply gazed at her own mental intention, sitting at ease. Without any reflection, the needle’s purpose was desired by her dull mind; for one whose mind is scattered among various objects, prior and subsequent reasoning does not arise. An object, though capable and effective, takes on a different nature through imagination—just as a mirror, filled with whatever forms one desires, is altered by a breath. For this rakshasi, who had taken the form of a needle and abandoned her ample body, even the experience of great death became perfectly pleasant. Indeed, how difficult is the fate of those attached to a single object! The rakshasi, by her own will, cast off her body as if it were mere straw. Other minds perish through excessive pride in a single object, but the rakshasi, proud of her power to devour, did not even notice the destruction of her own body. Even destruction brings pleasure to the ignorant who are excessively attached to one thing. The rakshasi, though now bodiless and needle-formed, remained entirely satisfied. Then, another entity became attached to that needle, and thus arose the living needle—of the very nature of space, formless, with the activity of space as her body. She appeared as a stream of radiant threads, her essence made of vital threads, taking the form of a sharp pain, beautiful like a sunbeam shining through that tiny aperture. She was like the separate edge of a sword, or a row of atoms; like a streak of floral fragrance, assuming the form of subtle art. She was of sinful nature, a movement of mind, intent on the ultimate reality of piercing the state of another’s life. In this way, her body arose, composed of two needles—slender like the husk of wild rice, delicate as a strand of cotton. With that double needle form, she entered the hearts of men, piercing them, and then, fierce, she wandered in all ten directions. By the force of her own intention, she could become light or heavy; abandoning her fierce crab-like shape, she assumed the state of a needle. Even a trivial thing becomes highly coveted by those of little strength; the demoness attained this needle-like ghosthood through her austerity. Even for those with meritorious bodies, the bondage of birth does not cease; the demoness acquired needle-like ghosthood as a result of her actions. As she began to roam to the ends of all directions, carried by the winds, her gross physical body dissolved right there, like an autumn cloud. Entering the body of someone helpless, emaciated, or corpulent, the wind-needle within would become an intense, cholera-like affliction. Entering the subtle body of someone pure and wise, the needle of life within would become an internal cholera-like disease. Thus, sometimes that misguided heart found satisfaction; sometimes it was destroyed by virtue, through rituals of mantra and medicine. For many years, it wandered, devoted solely to roaming, moving with two bodies—both in the sky and upon the earth. On the ground, it was concealed by dust; in the hand, hidden by the finger; in the sky, veiled by radiance; in cloth, obscured by thread. Within, it dwelled in the sinew-stream, in the unfortunate, pale dust; in the dry-lined riverbed, in the subtle-lined old grass. It was found in meaningless, shadowless, empty, breath-giving places; where flies are swept by the wind, where the auspicious tree is absent. In the bulky, knotted bones, on the ever-trembling, quivering ground; in the illusion created by the pure rays of another’s garment, the needle-like demoness continued her subtle, wandering existence.