Listen, O noble one, to the profound mystery of creation and mind as revealed by the ancient sages. In truth, all that appears as this world is but the play of mind; the forms of body and matter have no real existence, just as there is no oil within grains of sand. It is only the mind that is called saṃsāra, for it is stained by passions and suffering. When these impurities fall away, that same mind is said to be liberation itself. Therefore, the mind must be mastered, protected, and carefully examined. Treat it with nobility—nourish it, engage it in wholesome activity, guide it, and uphold it with vigilance. For within the mind lie all the diverse forms of the three worlds, folded in like a peacock’s egg, waiting to unfold in their own time. The conscious aspect of mind is the very seed from which all things spring, while its inert aspect becomes the world itself—a limb of illusion. In the very beginning, before creation, earth and all forms did not truly exist; they were formless and unborn, like a dream that seems to be seen yet is not. By extended awareness, the mind perceives creation and the like; by inert awareness, it sees mountains and other forms; and with subtle awareness, it knows the subtle. The body, in truth, is void, not real. The mind, as the self pervading all, is filled with its own cognitions—serene, pure, and gentle, like clear water illumined by sunlight. Yet, when the mind is immature and ignorant, it sees the Lord of the world as unreal. But with true understanding, it perceives its own pure and flawless nature. How does the self come to be seen as the source of duality and the confusion of unity? Listen, for I will explain this through stories passed down in sequence. Whatever is spoken with apt similes and sweet, charming words enters the listener’s heart, spreading through it like oil in water. But speech without simile, harsh or obscure, hurried and poorly expressed, never finds its way into the heart—it perishes, like clarified butter poured into ashes. All the stories and teachings in the world, all knowledge, when told through vivid examples and analogies, illuminate the mind swiftly, just as the moon’s white rays light up the night. Long ago, Brahma himself spoke to me of creation. Now, as you ask, O Raghava, I will recount to you what I learned. I once approached the blessed lotus-born Brahma and asked, “O Brahman, how do these groups of creations arise?” Brahma explained: The mind alone manifests the world, appearing real, just as restless patterns swirl upon the surface of a lake, taking on many forms. At the dawn of a new day, when one awakens and desires to create the world, listen to what happened in a previous cycle. Once, at the end of the cosmic day, having withdrawn all creation, I remained alone, tranquil and focused, passing the night in solitude. At the end of that night, awakening and performing the sacred twilight rites, I turned my gaze to the vast sky to observe the beings. As I looked, I saw the sky neither dark nor light, but utterly expansive, empty, and boundless. Resolving, “I shall imagine this creation,” I observed the sky with a mind pure and subtle. Then, as my mind spread into that vastness, I beheld great creations, each existing separately, enduring without interruption. These worlds, unseen by one another, were accompanied by Brahma, Vishnu, and Indra, along with gods, asuras, gandharvas, kinnaras, serpents, and humans. There stood Meru, Mandara, Kailasa, Mahendra, Malaya, and other mountains, continents, islands, rivers, and regions—ten in number—shining with brilliance. In each of these, like reflections, were ten lotus-born ones, dwelling upon lotus stalks, riding swan-chariots, each established in their own domain. From these ten, in their separate realms, arose radiant rows of beings, blazing with flames, illuminating the worlds with their brilliance. Great rivers flowed, oceans resounded, the sun’s hot rays shone forth, and winds surged through the sky. The gods played in the heavens, humans rejoiced on earth, and asuras and serpents dwelled contentedly in the netherworlds. All the seasons, adorned with auspicious qualities, were woven into the wheel of time; as their appointed moments arrived, they adorned the earth with a bounty of fruits. The established ways—both auspicious and inauspicious—matured and spread toward the horizons, bringing forth the fruits of heaven and hell as destined. All living beings, seeking either enjoyment or liberation, strove according to their wishes and in proper order, each at the appointed time. The seven worlds, continents, oceans, and mountains, too, resounded with mighty reverberations as the cycle approached its end. In some places, night had arrived; elsewhere, it lingered steadfastly. In the mountain valleys, darkness stood, moving swiftly like a flash of light. Within the blue lotus of the sky, the honeybee of the wandering cloud roamed, while the network of stars shone forth, filling it like a cluster of stamens. At the end of the cycle, dense mist rested upon the peaks of Meru; pure cotton gathered in the hollows of silk-cotton trees, like tufts in bone cavities. The girdle of the Lokāloka mountain, roaring with the tumult of battle-oceans, was adorned with fragments of darkness and sapphire, gleaming with its own jewels. The earth, bearing the low, humming cries of creatures, stood amidst the expanse of worlds like a woman in the inner chambers of a palace. The splendors of the seasons, adorned by rows of white days and streaks of night in between, appeared like garlands of lotuses and water-lilies. The many realms of earth, each with its own divisions and inhabitants, shone with a reddish glow, like clusters of pomegranates in a grove. The triple-flowing, triple-path rivers, moving upward and downward, shimmered pure as the crescent moon, resembling the sacred thread of the universe. Thus, O listener, all this arises from the mind’s own play and vision—appearing real, yet ever rooted in the pure, unfathomable consciousness that is the Self.