Listen, O noble one, to the teaching that flows like a gentle river, guiding you toward the truth of your own nature. Just as you do not linger in the affairs of distant villages or cities—places foreign to you—so too, once you have realized the essence of your own being, do not remain entangled in the restless movements of the mind. Regard the mind as you would a stranger in a foreign land, or as a piece of wood or stone: insentient, inert, and apart from your true nature. Consider: there is no water in a stone, just as there is no fire in water. In the same way, the mind does not exist in your Self. How then could it exist in the Supreme Self? That which perceives nothing and acts nowhere—know this, and recognize that you are beyond the mind. If you chase after the mind, which is utterly unlike your true Self, why not chase after the foreigner who dwells at the edge of the land? Instead, constantly disregard the impurity of the mind from afar, and remain established in yourself, free from doubt, unmoved as if dulled by mud. For me, the mind does not exist; it is gone, as if dead today. Become steadfast, like a stone statue, unwavering in your resolve. When you observe, the mind is not present; thus, you are truly without it. Why, then, be troubled by what is meaningless or by matters related to the mind? Those who are dominated by the unreal dice of the mind, whose intellect is feeble, for them—a thunderbolt arises from the moon, a contradiction born of confusion. Abandon the mind far away; whoever you are, remain as you are, steadfast. Be liberated through contemplation, endowed with supreme reasoning. Let those who follow the unreal, the insubstantial mind, be condemned, whose time is spent only in the endless actions of sky and forest. Become a great soul with the mind dissolved, having reached the far shore of existence, with a pure self. Even after long inquiry, nothing impure is found in the mind-self. He neither delights in what has come nor grieves for what has not; free from all anxiety, he simply follows what arrives. O Raghava, you have already known all that is to be known; I believe your tendencies toward all undertakings have become thin. You may abide beyond bodily activity or remain within the body; do not fall into sorrow or joy—you are the Self, free from affliction. When the Self, pure, all-pervading, ever-luminous, abides in you, O Rama, how can there be pleasure or pain, or birth and death? Though you are without relations, why do you grieve over the sorrows of relatives? When the non-dual Self alone exists, who indeed are relatives in the Self? What is seen is only the aggregate of bodily atoms; due to the arising of space, time, and otherness, the Self neither appears nor disappears. Though you are imperishable, why do you grieve, thinking "I perish"? In the Self, which is untouched by death and pure, what destruction can there be? When a pot is reduced to fragments, the space within the pot is not destroyed; in the same way, when this body is lost, you are not destroyed. Just as, when the waves of a mirage have ceased, there is no more heat, so too, when the body is destroyed, the Self does not perish. Why does this desire arise in you? This inner delusion is meaningless. How can the non-dual Self desire something other than itself? O Raghava, whatever is heard, touched, seen, delightful, or smelled—nothing exists in the world apart from the Self. All these powers abide only in that Self; when manifested and spread out, these powers are like the emptiness in space. O Raghava, when the mind is established, this universe appears within its womb; by a threefold process, people here are deluded into existence. When the calming of the mind is accomplished, called the extinction of tendencies, and the cessation of actions is attained, this illusion is destroyed. In this fierce machinery of worldly existence, the strong cord that drives it is tendency. O Raghava, cut this cord of tendency with effort. When not recognized, this tendency gives rise to great delusion; but when known, it bestows the bliss called infinite and leads to Brahman. Having come from Brahman, experiencing worldly existence here as a play, one remembers Brahman again and dissolves back into Brahman. O Raghava, from Shiva—who is formless, immeasurable, and free from all affliction—all beings arise, just as radiance comes forth from light. Just as lines appear on a leaf, waves on water, ornaments on gold, or heat and the like in fire, so too, this threefold world exists as both identical and non-identical with That; it abides in That, is born from That, and is indeed That alone. He is called the Self—Brahman—of all beings; when That is known, the world is known; when That is not known, it remains unknown. For the sake of scripture and worldly usage, those who know have assigned names such as "consciousness," "Brahman," and "Self" to That whose form is all-pervading. That pure experience, free from joy and resentment in the contact of senses and objects, is this very Self—consciousness, imperishable. This consciousness-Self is subtler and clearer than space; in That, the world appears as a separate reflection, but is only its own enjoyment. When the intellect is separate from it, greed, delusion, and the like arise; but when there is no separation, the intellects are indeed in that alone. For one who is bodiless, whose nature is undivided consciousness, how could confusion arise, named as shame, fear, or sorrow? How, like a fool of dull mind, are you overcome by imaginations such as shame and the like, which are unreal and arise from the body, though you are bodiless? For one whose nature is unbroken consciousness, even when the body is destroyed, there is no destruction for one who does not see rightly—how much less for one who is truly wise? Thus, O seeker, abide in this wisdom. Let your mind dissolve, remain steadfast in your true nature, and realize the Self—pure, undivided, beyond all affliction, birth, and death. In this realization, all illusion falls away, and only the infinite bliss of Brahman remains.