Listen, O Raghava, and understand the nature of the Self. Just as the shimmering waves of a mirage vanish and leave behind no trace of heat, so too, when the body is destroyed, the Self remains untouched and imperishable. Why, then, does desire arise within you? This inner delusion has no substance; for the non-dual Self, how can there be longing for something apart from itself? All that you hear, touch, see, find delightful, or smell—nothing in this world exists apart from the Self. Every power and faculty you perceive abides only in that Self; when these powers manifest and spread out, they resemble the emptiness of space—present, yet unfathomable. When the mind is firmly established, the universe appears to arise within its womb. Through the threefold process, people become deluded into believing in their existence here. But when the mind is calmed, when its tendencies are extinguished and actions cease, this illusion is destroyed. In the fierce machinery of worldly existence, it is the strong cord of tendency that drives all. O Raghava, with effort, cut this cord of tendency. When left unrecognized, these tendencies give rise to great delusion; but when known, they bestow infinite bliss and lead one back to Brahman. From Brahman, beings come forth, experience worldly existence as a play, and ultimately remember Brahman, dissolving back into it. O Raghava, from Shiva—formless, immeasurable, and free from affliction—all beings arise, just as radiance emerges from light. Just as lines appear on a leaf, waves on water, ornaments on gold, or heat in fire, so too does this threefold world exist, both identical and non-identical with That. It abides in That, is born from That, and is That alone. He is called the Self—Brahman—of all beings. When That is known, the world is known; when That is not known, the world remains unknown. For the sake of scripture and worldly usage, the wise have assigned names such as ‘consciousness,’ ‘Brahman,’ and ‘Self’ to That whose form is all-pervading. The pure experience, free from joy and resentment in the contact of senses and objects, is the very Self—consciousness, imperishable. This consciousness-Self is subtler and clearer than space; within it, the world appears as a separate reflection, but is only its own enjoyment. When the intellect is separated from this consciousness, greed, delusion, and similar afflictions arise; but when there is no separation, all intellects rest in That alone. For one who is bodiless, whose nature is undivided consciousness, how could confusion arise—shame, fear, or sorrow? Why, O Raghava, are you overcome by such imaginations 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 those who do not see rightly—how much less for one who is truly wise. That which, even on the path of the sun, does not come or go in opposition, O Rama, know that to be the person, not the body. Whether the body exists or not, this person in the three worlds, whether knowing or unknowing, remains; when the body is lost, he does not perish. All the various sufferings you observe belong to the body, not to the consciousness-self, which cannot be grasped. Standing beyond the path of the mind, like emptiness, how can consciousness be affected by pain or pleasure? Consciousness, being the self, departs from this distinct cage of the body, carrying the impressions it has practiced, just as a bee leaves the lotus for the sky. If the essence of the self is unreal in this body-cage, then when it is lost, what truly is lost, Rama, for which you grieve? Hold to the truth, and do not let delusion arise; for the pure self, there are no desires at all. When consciousness is witness, equal, clear, and free from distinctions, the worlds appear within it by themselves, like rays in a flawless jewel. The connection without desire is like images in a mirror; so too is the nature-born relation between consciousness and the world. Just as duality and unity are established in the reflections of a shield and a corpse, so too are difference and non-difference established between self and world here. Just as action arises on earth merely by the presence of the sun, so too this world is produced solely by the existence of consciousness. When grasping the body ceases, Rama, this world-state is dissolved; and space arises in your mind as well. Just as a lamp’s radiance arises naturally from its mere existence, so too does the activity of the world arise from the inherent nature of consciousness. First, the mind emerges from the essence of the supreme Self; through it, this world is spread out, a web of its own imaginations. As emptiness shines through emptiness, or as pure space gives rise to the blue hue, so do charming creepers flourish. When the mind dissolves through the cessation of thoughts, the mist of worldly delusion fades away. Then, pure consciousness shines forth, like the clear autumn sky, resting within—one, unborn, original, infinite. The mind, which is of the nature of action, first arises from thought, taking on the nature of the lotus-born. It then produces this endless, diverse world, just as a naive child fashions phantom bodies. What is made of non-being appears as if real at first, then again dissolves and disappears. The mind itself, spread out as consciousness, manifests as a luminous form, like rings of water in the vast ocean. It arises in the sky, without a doer and without limbs—a wondrous vision; without a seer, yet with experience, sleepless, yet showing dreams. It appears as if established in a marvelous form, creating future cities; resembling the heat of a monkey’s fire, it abides like a whirlpool of water. Though possessing form, it is devoid of emptiness, like the sun’s brilliance in the sky; visible in space like a cluster of gems, yet without any support. Thus, O Rama, the nature of consciousness and the world is revealed—unborn, infinite, and ever shining, untouched by the illusions of body and mind.