With a mind attuned to inquiry and clarity, free from the restlessness of delusion, you are now called to discern the truth and leave behind all that is untrue. To speak of being “bound” or “unbound” is truly futile—why grieve without cause? For in the infinite reality of the Self, who can bind, what can bind, and by whom could bondage ever occur? In the undivided Supreme Self, multiplicity arises only as a notion, a mere conceptualization. In this all-pervading reality of Brahman, what could possibly be bound, and what could be liberated? Though you are, by your very nature, untouched by suffering, you experience pain only because it seems to be present. Why, then, do you lament over a wounded limb? No true affliction of division, unity, or change exists in the Self. When the body is destroyed, injured, or diminished, what harm can come to the Self? Just as gold remains unscathed within a crucible, even if the crucible is burned, so too does the Self remain untouched. If the body falls or is destroyed, what is truly lost? When a flower is crushed, is its fragrance—dwelling in space—ever lost? Let the body, like a lotus, be struck by the frost of pleasure and pain—what harm can come to us, who are established in the vast expanse of the Self, like bees that have flown away from the lotus? Whether the body falls, is destroyed, or departs to the farthest sky, your true nature, which is distinct from the body, remains unharmed. The relationship between your body and your Self, O Rāghava, is like that between the cloud and the wind, or the bee and the lotus—connected yet ultimately separate. The mind is called the body of the entire world; its essence is the power of the Self, which is consciousness, and this essence never perishes. You may believe that this Self, the supremely wise, perishes; but it never perishes. Why do you grieve in vain? Just as the wind passes through a broken cloud, or a bee leaves a dried lotus and enters the endless sky, so does the Self depart when the body is destroyed. Even as one wanders through this world, the mind does not perish; without the fire of knowledge, the destruction of the Self is not even a subject for discussion. Consider the analogy of the jar and the berry, and the space within the jar—so too is the relationship between body and Self, whether 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 all creatures are hidden from place and time; repeatedly shrouded by the veil of death, they lie dormant—so why lament? Even the ignorant man, when place and time are concealed at death, need not 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 soar the sky, leaves behind the eggshell. For this is a mental power, binding one to both the desired and undesired. Through this power, the world is imagined in vain, like a dream, due to delusion. This is ignorance, difficult to cross and the cause of suffering; when not recognized, it gives rise to this illusory world. Under its spell, one perceives space as a wall, frost as fire, all because of the inherent tendencies of one’s own being. This world, though seemingly substantial, is in truth without substance. It arises slowly, appearing real, conjured by the power of ignorance, like a long dream. Its very core is imagination, taking on the role of doer; it makes the eyes of the world restless, like a peacock’s feather 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. As the sun’s rising brings about the disappearance of frost, so too does inquiry fulfill the aim of one seeking the dissolution of the mind. Ignorance has arisen and spread a web of misfortune and difficulty—like a magician’s illusion, it showers golden rain. The mind itself brings about its own destruction; indeed, it dances the drama called self-slaughter. The mind perceives itself only to its own ruin, and the misguided intellect does not recognize the destruction that approaches. By simply ceasing to conceptualize, the mind swiftly attains freedom from concepts—here, suffering does not arise. By quickly discarding its own conceptualizations, and aided by discernment, the mind abandons its form and begins to realize the Self. The destruction of the mind is a great awakening, a mighty upheaval; strive for the mind’s dissolution, do not chase after its endless wanderings. In this forest, thick with trees of uninterrupted pleasure and pain, and fraught with the serpent of death, the mind—lacking discernment—is master of all and the sole cause of calamity. After the sage spoke thus, the day drew toward evening and the sun set. The assembly, offering their salutations, departed to bathe, and, together with the sun’s rays, moved into the darkening hour. Now, the mind, arising from the Supreme, like a restless drop from the ocean, expands and spreads this world here and there. It quickly makes the small seem large and the large seem small; it turns what is its own into something else, and what is other into its own. Whatever thing, however small, the mind imagines—even as tiny as a span—it swiftly makes it shine like a great mountain by its own power. Having gained a footing and arisen from the highest state, the mind, in a mere instant, creates and dissolves worlds. Whatever is seen here in this world, whether moving or unmoving, in every form, all of it has arisen from the mind. Surrounded by space, time, action, substance, and power, the mind, ever fickle, moves from one state to another, like an actor upon the stage.