Within every being, the mind moves ceaselessly, stirred by scattered thoughts, wandering both within and without. Outwardly, it plays among the grandeur of mountains, rivers, the vast sky, the endless ocean, and bustling cities. In waking life, the mind brings forth what is desired, offering a taste of immortality; yet, if what is undesired arises, it can turn even nectar into poison. Casting aside the marvel of all states, the mind creates whatever form it desires among the objects it perceives. In its movement, the mind becomes like air—subtle and swift; in illumination, it transforms into light; in fluids, it is fluidity itself, all infused with the power of consciousness. On earth, it assumes the quality of hardness; in void-like states, it becomes emptiness. Everywhere, according to its wishes, the mind, imbued with consciousness, takes on whatever form it desires. Such is its power: the mind turns white into black and black into white, unconstrained by place or time. Observe its capacity. When the mind is absorbed elsewhere, even if food is chewed thoroughly, its taste is not truly experienced. What is seen by the mind is seen; what is not seen by the mind is not seen—just as in darkness, form is not perceived by the senses without the mind. The mind finds delight through the senses, but the senses do not delight without the mind. The senses arise from the mind, but the mind does not arise from the senses. Those who realize the unity of the utterly distinct mind and body, who know both the knower and the known—such great souls, learned ones, are worthy of reverence. Consider a woman adorned with blooming flowers, playful and with darting eyes; though attached to a body like wood or a wall, she remains absent-minded. When the mind is absorbed elsewhere, even in a forest, a detached person does not notice his own hand, even if it is bitten by a wild animal. The mind of the sage, always at ease, can make intense suffering pleasant or pleasure painful, adapting swiftly. When the mind is elsewhere, even if a story is told with effort, it is interrupted, just as a vine is cut by an axe. Even a householder, when his mind is caught up in the depths of attachment, experiences the suffering of confusion, as if lost in chasms, clouds, and ravines. In dreams, when the mind becomes radiant, entire cities and mountains appear instantly within the heart, spread out vast as the sky. When the mind is agitated in a dream, it generates within itself a succession of mountain ranges and cities, just as a stirred ocean raises up waves upon itself. Just as rows of waves and crests arise from the water within the ocean, so too, within the body, the mind produces dream-mountains and city-kingships. From the mind arise the various illusions of waking and dreaming, just as shoots give rise to leaves, creepers, flowers, and fruits. The splendors of waking and dream actions are not separate from consciousness, just as golden ornaments are not separate from gold. All the diverse and wondrous manifestations arise from consciousness, just as streams, drops, foam, and beauty are seen in water. This activity of the mind, appearing as waking and dream experience, takes on various roles according to the flavor it absorbs, just like an actor assumes different parts. Just as the state of being a caṇḍāla arose for Lavaṇa through the power of appearance, so too does this world seem to be experienced, though it is only a product of mental conception. Whatever is perceived in any way is immediately manifested in that manner; the creation of the mind’s conception—shape it as you wish. Within embodied beings, the mind assumes forms of various cities, rivers, and mountains, producing the illusion of waking and dreaming states. By the force of appearance, the mind attains the state of a celestial or a demon, or even that of a serpent or a mountain, just as Lavaṇa did. From being a man, it becomes a woman; from being a father, it becomes a son again; just as an actor swiftly changes roles by his own intention, so does the mind. By intention, the mind perishes; from intention, it arises again. The mind, long practiced, attains the state of living beings, though it has no fixed form. Confused by its own conceptions and carried by the winds of deep-seated tendencies, the mind enters into various wombs through intention, experiencing pleasure, pain, fear, and safety. Pleasure and pain reside in the mind, like oil in a sesame seed; depending on place and time, they may become dense or subtle. Just as oil emerges from sesame seeds through pressing and attains a lasting clarity, so too, when pleasure and pain are condensed by the mind's constant reflection, they become manifest. O Rama, what is called 'place' and 'time' is truly only imagination; for it is by the power of imagination that place and time appear to exist. The mind, in its projection of the body, subsides, rises, moves, delights, and leaps about; but when the projection is fulfilled, there is no actual body. The mind leaps within this body, through various surges and excitements, all fashioned by its own imagination, like a horse galloping in its own enclosure. Therefore, when there is no inner indulgence in restlessness, the mind assumes self-control, like an elephant restrained by a tether. He whose mind does not stir, like a pillar fixed by a weapon, is the true person; the rest are like worms in the mud. He whose mind, once restless, has become established in one place, follows the supreme state through meditation, O sinless one. When the mind is restrained, the confusion of worldly existence comes to rest, just as the ocean of milk becomes still when Mount Mandara ceases to churn it. Whatever growths arise in the mind through the confusions of desires for enjoyment—these alone are the sources of the sprouts of the poisonous tree of worldly existence. The mind, like a restless blue lotus, is encircled by deluded ones—greatly dull, swift in folly, intoxicated and slow with delusion—whose minds, torn and scattered in the whirling cycle, fall like bees lost in the spinning of a wheel.