O Rama, you believe that the Self—the supremely wise inner reality—can perish, but in truth, it never perishes at any time. Why, then, do you grieve in vain? Consider: just as the wind passes through a broken cloud, or as a bee leaves behind a dried lotus and soars into the endless sky, so too 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 true knowledge, the very notion of the Self’s destruction does not arise. Reflect on the analogy of the jar and the berry, and the space within the jar: just as the space remains whether the jar is intact or broken, so too does the Self exist—imperishable—regardless of the body’s fate. Imagine a berry entering the hand and bursting within a jar; likewise, the Self enters the vast expanse and moves within the body. When the jar is gone, its space merges with the space of the sky—unharmed and unchanged. In the same way, 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 veiled by death, and they lie dormant—so why lament? Even the ignorant, when place and time are concealed at death, need not fear, O mighty-armed one, for no one truly 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 identification 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 and the cause of suffering. When unrecognized, it gives rise to this illusory world. Deluded by ignorance, one perceives space as if it were a wall, or frost as fire—all due to the inherent nature of one’s own being. This world, which seems so substantial, is in truth insubstantial, sluggishly arising as if real; it is conjured by this very power, like a long dream. Its essence is mere imagination, assuming the role of doer; it makes the eyes of the world restless, like the fluttering plume of a peacock 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 rising sun benefits those wishing for 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 showering golden rain. The mind itself performs its own destruction—it dances the drama called self-slaughter. The mind perceives itself only for its own ruin; the misguided intellect does not recognize the destruction approaching. By the mere absence of conceptualization, the mind quickly attains its own state of freedom from concepts—where suffering does not arise. By swiftly discarding its own conceptualizations, the mind, aided by discernment, abandons its form and begins to realize the Self. The destruction of the mind is a great awakening, a mighty upheaval—strive for the dissolution of the mind, do not pursue its restless movements. In this forest, dense with the trees of uninterrupted pleasure and pain, and dangerous with the serpent of death, the mind, lacking discernment, is the master of all and the sole cause of great calamity. After the sage had spoken thus, the day moved toward evening. The sun set, and the assembly, having offered their salutations, departed to bathe, going together with the sun’s rays into the darkening hour. Know, O Rama, that the mind arises from the Supreme, like a restless drop from the ocean, and expands, spreading this world here and there. It quickly makes the small appear large and the large seem small; it turns what is its own into something else, and likewise makes what is other into its own. Whatever thing, even as small as a span, the mind imagines, it swiftly makes to 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 has arisen from the mind. Surrounded by space, time, action, substance, and power, the mind, due to its fickleness, moves from one state to another like an actor. It quickly makes the existent into the nonexistent, and the nonexistent into the existent; and it experiences only those joys and sorrows that it has itself imagined. Just as the fickle mind grasps things according to its own uncertainty, so too do the hands, feet, and other organs always act accordingly. Then, that very action, being the intention of the mind, quickly yields its result, just as a vine produces fruit at the proper time when watered. Just as a child makes a variety of playthings from mud in the house, so, O Rama, the mind, through imagination, creates the world. Therefore, as the mind delights in the play of children, in their mud and babbling, why is a single form imagined as the reality among objects in the world? Just as the season-bringing time causes the tree to take on different forms, so the mind alone is responsible for the various forms of objects here. In fantasy, in dreams, and in the fabrications of thought, the mind creates, in its own play, a pond as large as a league within a cow’s hoofprint. This mind makes an age into a moment, and a moment into an age; therefore, those who know say that the sequence of place and time depends on the mind. Because of the intensity or slowness of effort, and the distinction of much or little, the mind is delayed, but not for long, nor due to lack of power. Delusion, confusion, and the coming and going of objects, places, and times—all these arise from the mind, like leaves from the branches of a tree.