Listen, O beloved, to the wondrous play of mind as revealed in these sacred verses. It is by the mind, steadfast in its own nature, that the luminous veil of the body is assumed—much like the fierce heat of the sun creates a shining covering in the world. In this realm, it is truly the mind alone that takes on countless forms: sometimes appearing as a human being, at other times manifesting as a celestial. It may shine forth as a demon, or arise as a yaksha; at times it attains the state of a gandharva, or takes the form of a kinnarā. The mind expands itself into myriad shapes—forests, mountains, cities, and towns—assuming all these forms through its own power. Thus, the multitude of bodies is no more than grass, wood, or dust. When one reflects upon this, there is little else to investigate—for it is the mind alone that is worthy of examination. Indeed, all this world, with its endless variety, is but the play of the mind; apart from this, only the supreme Self remains. The Self is beyond all conditions, pervading and supporting everything; by its grace, the mind leaps and runs through the world. Therefore, it is the mind that acts and causes action within bodies; it is born and dies, for such change does not belong to the Self. By sincere inquiry, the mind dissolves, and with its dissolution, the highest good arises. When the mind—so called—is exhausted and action is no longer stirred by harmful impulses, then one is truly liberated and does not take birth again. O venerable one, you have spoken of three kinds of births among men, and the mind is their chief cause, being both existent and non-existent. But how has this mind, which is pure consciousness and free of impurity, arisen, expanded, and become the creator of this manifold world? Indeed, there are three kinds of space, each distinct: the space of mind, the space of consciousness, and the elemental space. These three are common to all and exist everywhere; through the power of pure consciousness, they become united in existence. The space of consciousness is both within and without, the knower, the revealer of being, pervading all. The space of mind is beneficial to all beings, the creator, made up of divisions of time and thought, by which all is spread forth. The elemental space has an unbroken form stretching through the ten directions; it is the essence of the elements and supports wind, water, and more. Both the spaces of mind and elements arise under the influence of the space of consciousness, for consciousness is the root of all effects, just as day is the cause of activity. The mind that wavers, thinking “I am inert, I am not inert,” is impure; this very mind gives rise to space and the other elements. The idea of threefold space is only imagined for the sake of instruction, for those whose inner self is not awakened; it is not meant for the awakened. In truth, there is but one supreme Brahman, all-pervading, pure, eternal, indivisible, and free from all distinctions. Teachings that employ duality and nonduality are given only to the ignorant, never to the awakened. O Rama, as long as awakening has not dawned, I teach the conception of the threefold space only for the sake of understanding. Space, mental space, and all the rest arise from tainted consciousness, just as mirages appear from the heat of the desert. When consciousness, becoming impure as mind, creates the illusory worlds, confusion arises—like a magician’s trick. The state of mind, belonging to this impure consciousness, is perceived by the unwise, just as the ignorant see silver in a shell. Here, bondage is due to ignorance, and liberation comes through knowledge. O sinless one, wherever and however the mind arises, it always strives for its own liberation. There is said to be a vast, empty, and peaceful yet terrifying wilderness, where not even the smallest corner is seen in the sky. In that place dwells a single man with a thousand hands and eyes, his mind greatly agitated and fearsome, his form spread wide. With his thousand arms, he seizes many clubs and strikes his own back, fleeing from himself. He strikes himself with strong blows, and his own fearful mind runs for hundreds of leagues, fleeing from itself. Crying out as he flees far and wide, exhausted and helpless, his feet and limbs broken, he collapses. Helpless, he quickly falls into a great, dark, blind well, its depths filled with the darkness of night and the pride of ignorance. After a long time, he rises from the blind well, only to again strike himself and flee from himself. Going still farther, he enters a thicket of karanja bushes, filled with thorns, like a grasshopper leaping into fire. In a moment, he emerges from the dense grove, again striking himself and fleeing from himself. Again, wandering farther, the blind man quickly falls into the same blind well, his limbs disordered in his haste. Rising from the well, he enters a grove of plantains, again striking himself and fleeing from himself. Going farther still, he enters a lovely plantain forest, cool as moonbeams, as if laughing. From that cluster of plantains, he emerges again in a moment, and from the plantain forest, he enters the bright thicket of karanja bushes. Thus, O beloved, is the restless journey of the mind, ever striking itself, fleeing from itself, wandering through pain and pleasure, ignorance and awakening, until it finds rest in the supreme Self.