O Rama, in this world, only thought, ever restless and radiant, shines forth in all directions. Just as the vast ocean is nothing but water in its essence, so too is everything, at its core, the Self within the Self. It is thought alone that first arises within the Supreme Self, and from this subtle movement, all activity unfolds, just as the day expands from the gentle light of dawn. The entire world is but a web woven from thought-constructs; truly, all is nothing but thought, O playful one. Therefore, abandon mere thought and take refuge in the thought-free state. By doing so, you will surely attain peace, O Rama. The one who is deluded, caught in the net of his own thoughts, falls into confusion, not so the wise. It is like a non-spirit bewildered by the visions of a spirit, or a child lost in fantasy. Who, indeed, is this imagined being, this yakṣa, considered the foremost among knowers of Brahman? By whom is this great delusion—unreal in truth—ever taken up? By association with the elements, the yakṣa, taking the form of ego, is falsely conceived here, just as a child might imagine a goblin. When only the supreme reality abides in all, how, from where, and in what manner does this so-called ‘I’ arise? In truth, there is no ego, for there is no difference in the supreme Self; it is like a traveler, due to imperfect vision, seeing water shimmering in the heat where there is none. The mind, with all its restless activity, is called saṃsāra, the cycle of worldly existence. Yet, relying on the Self, the Self alone shines forth—just as water glistens through water. Therefore, O Rama, abandon unsupported false perception, and take refuge in true perception, which is grounded and blissful. With an intellect inclined toward inquiry and free from the agitation of delusion, discern the truth and completely abandon the untrue. To say ‘bound’ or ‘unbound’ is truly pointless—why do you grieve in vain? For the infinite reality of the Self, what, how, and by whom can bondage occur? In the undivided Supreme Self, where the notion of multiplicity arises only through conceptualization, what can be bound and what can be liberated in this all-pervading reality of Brahman? Though you are inherently free from suffering, you feel pain because of its apparent presence—why grieve over a wounded limb? No affliction of division, unity, or change truly exists in the Self. When the body is destroyed, injured, or diminished, what harm comes to the Self? Just as gold within a crucible remains unharmed even when the crucible is burnt, so too does the Self remain untouched. Let the body fall or be destroyed—what loss comes to us? When a flower is crushed, is its fragrance, which abides in space, truly lost? Let the lotus-like body be struck by the frost of pleasure and pain—what harm can come to us, who are established in the expanse of space, like bees that have flown away from the lotus? Let the body fall, be destroyed, or depart to the farthest sky—what injury can there be to your true nature, which is distinct from it? Just as the connection between cloud and wind, or bee and lotus, is fleeting and external, so too, Rāghava, is the relationship between your body and your Self. The mind is called the body of the entire world; its essence is the power of the Self, which is consciousness, and this never perishes at any time. You may believe that this Self, the supremely wise, perishes; but it never perishes at any time—why do you grieve in vain? Just as the wind passes through a broken cloud, or a bee leaves a dried lotus and goes into the endless sky, so does the Self depart when the body is destroyed. Even as one wanders in this world, the mind does not perish; without the fire of knowledge, the destruction of the Self is not even a topic for discussion. Consider the analogy of the jar and the berry, and the space within the jar—so is the existence of body and Self, perishable or imperishable. Just as a berry enters the hand and bursts in the jar, so the Self enters the sky and moves within the body. When the jar is gone, its space remains as the space of the sky; likewise, when the body is exhausted, the embodied one remains, free from affliction. The mind and body of creatures are concealed from place and time, repeatedly covered by the veil of death, lying dormant—why lament? Even the ignorant man, when place and time are concealed at death, why should he fear, O mighty-armed one? No one perishes here. Therefore, O Rama, abandon the notion ‘I am this’—a mere fancy—just as the lord of birds, eager to fly the sky, leaves behind the eggshell. For this is a mental power, binding one to what is desired and undesired; by it, through delusion, this world is imagined in vain, like a dream. This is ignorance, difficult to cross, the cause of suffering; when not recognized, it gives rise to this illusory world. Deluded by it, one perceives space as if it were a wall, frost as fire, all due to the inherent nature of one's own being. This world, seemingly substantial, is in truth insubstantial, arising sluggishly like something real; it is conjured up by this power, like a long dream. Its very essence is mere imagination, assuming the role of doer; it makes the eyes of the world restless, like a peacock’s plume fluttering in the sky. Lead this power to dissolution, O Rama, through inquiry—just as the sun, lord of the day, melts a block of ice. Just as the rise of the sun benefits those seeking the disappearance of frost, so too, through inquiry, is fulfilled the aim of one seeking the dissolution of the mind. Ignorance has arisen, spreading a web of misfortune and difficulty; like a magician’s illusion, it showers golden rain. The mind itself performs its own destruction; indeed, the mind dances the drama called self-slaughter. The mind perceives itself only for its own ruin; the misguided intellect does not recognize the destruction approaching. But by the mere absence of conceptualization, the mind quickly attains its own state of freedom from conceptualization, and in that state, suffering does not arise.