O Rama, listen with care to the mystery of the mind and its journey. Minds that have entered the dense thicket of karañja trees are born as human beings, and in that human state, they become absorbed in a single, unified taste of experience. Know, O descendant of Raghu, that the plantain grove—cool and radiant under the moon’s gentle light—represents heaven itself, a realm that delights the mind. Just as whatever enters a grove of plantains becomes wholly immersed within it, so too, minds that are absorbed solely in heavenly pleasures are entirely taken up by that experience. But, O Raghava, those minds that have fallen into a deep, dark pit and have not emerged are bound by the weight of great sins. Again, the minds that have entered the grove of karañja trees and remain there are the minds that become human. Among these, some awaken to their condition and are freed from bondage, while others, taking on various forms, journey from one womb to another, experiencing many births. Some, purified by meritorious austerity—even if their nature remains harsh—come to possess bodies that are stable and fitting for them. Yet, there are those ignorant people who, in their blindness, rejected me as wicked. Their minds, devoid of self-knowledge, have cast aside their own discernment. When the mind, in haste, exclaims, “I have been destroyed by you, you are my enemy,” it is merely the mind’s lament as it slips away from its attachments. The weeping, the loud cries, and the tears shed by a man, O Raghava, are merely the mind’s lamentations as it abandons the web of enjoyments it once clung to. For one whose discernment is only half developed and who has not reached the stainless state, the mind’s abandonment of enjoyments brings intense distress. When, through compassion, an awakened one witnesses the limbs weeping, the mind wonders, “Alas, having abandoned these, where shall I go?” For such a person, when the mind leaves the limbs before reaching purity, distress only increases. But the laughter that arises in a person from the intoxication of awakening, O Rama, is the satisfaction of a mind endowed with complete discernment. For one who has attained complete discernment and left behind the cycle of worldly existence, the mind’s letting go of forms brings ever-increasing bliss. Yet, when the limbs are seen laughing in mockery, the forms perceived by the mind become a source of deception. For a long time, I myself was deceived by the false imaginations constructed by delusion; thus, with mockery, my own limbs are now seen by my mind. The mind that has attained discernment and rests in the infinite calmly beholds its former wretchedness from afar, laughing at what once troubled it. When I questioned that discernment carefully, it seized the mind, as has been shown. And when the limbs have fallen apart and vanished from sight, it is clear that, without the mind’s desire for objects, they naturally come to rest. Consider the tale of a man with a thousand eyes and arms—this is but an illustration of the mind’s capacity for infinite forms. When a person strikes himself repeatedly, it is the mind that strikes itself with imagined blows. When a person flees from himself, striking himself, it is the mind fleeing from its own impulses and striking itself. He strikes his own mind by his own will and flees from himself—see how ignorance manifests! All minds, scorched by their own tendencies, flee by themselves, eager to reach a state of peace. This widespread suffering is produced by the mind itself; and when the self is greatly afflicted, it flees from itself yet again. Within the net of desires and mental impressions, bondage arises on its own; the mind, with threads spun from its own fancies, binds itself just like a silkworm weaving its own cocoon. Just as a restless child plays and brings misfortune upon itself, unaware of the suffering to come, so does the mind play its difficult games, blind to the pain that lies ahead. Like a monkey, heedless of the danger, brings pain upon itself by trying to free its testicles caught in a hole in wood, so too does the mind bring suffering upon itself by its own actions. Yet, with long practice and sustained contemplation, the mind attains stability; having returned to its own natural state by repeated effort, it no longer grieves. Through negligence, however, suffering increases like the peaks of a mountain; but under the mind’s control, all suffering melts away like snow before the sun. Throughout life, the mind must be guarded with noble resolve, born from understanding the scriptures, and by the practice of restraint in passions—as sages do through silence. Then, one attains the pure, cooling, unborn state, which, once established, protects a person from sorrow even in the midst of great calamities. Now, this mind, O Rama, has reached the supreme state of Brahman—becoming one with That, just as a wave merges into the ocean. For the awakened, the mind is nothing but Brahman; just as, for those with ordinary understanding, a wave is not different from the ocean. But for those who have not awakened, the mind is the cause of wandering in worldly existence, just as one who does not recognize the common nature of water perceives a difference between the waves and the water. For those whose understanding is not awakened, the distinction created between word and meaning is imagined, for the sake of their awakening. The supreme Brahman is all-powerful, eternal, complete, and imperishable; nothing exists apart from That, nor is there anything within That which is not the all-pervading Self. Whatever power pleases that all-pervading Lord, He manifests that very power; the all-pervading One reveals that power alone, spread everywhere. O Rama, the consciousness-power of Brahman is seen in living bodies; the power of vibration in the winds; inert power in stones; the power of liquidity in water; the power of fire in flames; the power of emptiness in space; and the power of being in the very existence of things. Thus, all is pervaded by That alone.