Listen, dear one, to the wondrous nature of this world, which appears before us like a city conjured by pure thought. Though it seems so tangible, so real to our experience, it is, in truth, made of nothing at all—its very substance is but the semblance of a story’s meaning, existing nowhere, yet seeming to exist everywhere. Though utterly devoid of any true core, it gives the illusion of depth and substance. It is like a mighty mountain glimpsed in a dream: it dazzles the eye with its forms, stretching across the sky, yet it is nothing but emptiness. Like an autumn cloud seen from afar, its fading is subtle, barely noticed; like a hue that appears in the open sky, it seems to be there, yet has no real substance at all. It takes on the form of a dream-woman’s embrace—appearing meaningful, stirring the heart, yet truly lacking all meaning. It is like a garden of the mind in full bloom, radiant with delight, yet without any true essence beneath its beauty. It stands before us like light without brilliance, like a painted sun or a painted fire: present to our perception, yet without the reality of heat or radiance. It is experienced as a kingdom of fancy—unreal, without true existence. Imagine a painted lotus pond, vivid with many colors, yet lacking the fragrance of real lotuses. So too, this world is displayed in emptiness, adorned in form alone, with no true nature beneath. In reality, it is spread out with withered, feeble shoots—the elements themselves inert and lacking essence, shining only with the hollow brightness of a plantain tree’s trunk. It is like a circle of darkness that appears before an opened eye: utterly unreal in form, yet it seems to be directly perceived. Like a bubble on water, it is hollow within, offering no enjoyment, yet vibrantly present in outward form. Its essence is like a taste—the taste of reality itself—arising and passing without interruption. Like mist spreading out, it cannot be grasped; inert and empty, it is the abode of voidness, as minute as an atom to some. We say that something composed of elements exists, but the void is not made of elements at all. When it is apprehended, it is of unreal nature, like a sharp blade that suddenly appears and disappears. At the end of a great age, what remains is like a sprout hidden within a seed, and later, it arises again from that same source. What is this mysterious process? Are those who understand this ignorant, or do they possess true knowledge? O revered one, please speak clearly, that all our doubts may be dispelled. This world, at the end of a great cycle, is said to be like a sprout in a seed. Yet, to declare that supreme ignorance is present here is the utterance of extreme childishness. What is that which remains untouched even in contact, and how can such a thing be unreal? Such contradictory thinking is the cause of folly, both for those who speak and those who listen. The notion that the world exists like a sprout within a seed at the time of the seed—this is mere deluded talk. Listen to how this is so: A seed is a visible thing, accessible to our mind and senses. When it is joined with earth and other cooperating causes, a sprout truly arises. But that which is beyond mind and the six senses, and beyond even that—how could such a seed, self-existent, become the origin of the world? How could there be any seed-nature in the Supreme Self, which is subtler than space, beyond all, and never perceived by any sense? That which is subtle existence, appearing as nonexistence, is truly nonexistence for those who do not see it. How could there be seed-nature there, and without a seed, how could any sprout arise? In that supreme state, pure and empty, even beyond the elements of space, how could things like the world, Mount Meru, the oceans, and the sky exist? How could anything at all exist in that which is nothing? If something does exist there, why is it not seen as present? How could anything arise from nothing, or from where, or how? Can a mountain be born from the empty space within a pot—where, from what, and when? On the contrary, how could anything exist, just as light and shadow do not coexist? How could darkness exist in the sun, or fire in ice? How can Mount Meru exist within an atom, or anything exist in the unformed? The union of what is and what is not is as impossible as the union of shadow and sunlight. It is reasonable to say that a sprout exists in a seed with form, like that of a banyan tree; but it is not reasonable to say that this vast world exists in something formless. Whatever, in another place or in another person, is not perceived by the mind or any sense power—such things do not exist at all for the awareness of that particular mind; this is the teaching. Whoever says that an effect returns to become its cause is confused; by what means does that effect arise, along with its own multitude of cooperating causes? Set aside, then, the imagined distinction of cause and effect, conceived by those of dull intellect. Know that whatever truly exists—this beginningless and endless world—alone stands as reality. If the original sprout of the world exists somewhere, then it exists at that time; tell me, by what cooperating causes does it arise? When there is an absence of such causes, the emergence of a sprout is never seen—just as no one has ever seen the daughter of a barren woman. And as for what is said to arise in the absence of cooperating causes—that is only the root cause itself, the Self, remaining in its own nature. At the beginning of creation, Brahman alone abides in itself as the form of creation; being formless as it is, where is the sequence of cause and effect? If earth and the other elements, or anything else, come from somewhere and act as auxiliary causes, that prior existence itself is a flaw in the argument. Therefore, to say that the world arises peacefully from the Supreme, with or without auxiliary causes, is the statement of a child, not of the wise. Therefore, O Rama, the world never was, is not, nor ever will be; only the pure space of consciousness shines, like a reflection in oneself. When there is the total absence of this world, then, O Rama, all this is truly Brahman and nothing else. That which ceases through the prior destruction or absence of something else does not truly cease in the mind, for it remains unpacified there. Therefore, only the total absence of the perceived world is reasonable in every way; apart from this, there is no other reasoning for the cessation of misfortune. This awareness of the space of consciousness, which stands as the origin of the world, is this very 'I', and also these forms, lights, thoughts, and all that appears.