Listen, O Rama, to the wisdom of the sages. Just as a sprout never emerges when there are no cooperating causes—no seed, no water, no sunlight—so too, no one has ever seen the daughter of a barren woman. In the absence of necessary conditions, nothing is born. And if anyone claims that something arises without any cause at all, know that what truly remains is only the root cause itself—the Self—abiding in its own nature, untouched and unchanging. At the dawn of creation, before any forms appeared, Brahman alone existed, abiding in itself as the very form of creation. Though it is formless, it is the ground of all forms. In such pure being, where is there room for a sequence of cause and effect? If we imagine that earth, water, and the other elements, or anything else, come from somewhere and act as supporting causes, then their prior existence only complicates the matter, introducing a flaw in the reasoning. Therefore, to say that this world arises peacefully from the Supreme—whether with or without any auxiliary causes—is the statement of a child, not of the wise. Truly, O Rama, the world never was, is not, nor will be; only the pure, infinite space of consciousness shines, like a reflection seen within oneself. When the world is totally absent, then, O Rama, all that remains is Brahman—nothing else. And that which is said to cease due to the prior destruction or absence of something else does not truly cease in the mind; it lingers there, unpacified, as a memory or impression. Therefore, the only reasonable way for the world to come to an end is through its total absence from perception; apart from this, there is no other way to reason for the cessation of suffering. This awareness, this space of consciousness, which stands as the origin of the world, is this very ‘I’—and also these forms, these lights, these thoughts, and all else. This is the sun and all its kind; this is the earth and all its forms; this is the year and the ages, the epochs and the moments; these are death and birth. This is the tumult at the end of an epoch; this is the great dissolution at the close of an age; this is the beginning of creation, and this is the endless sequence of being and non-being. Here are hundreds of thousands of epochs, countless universes, hosts of Brahmas and Indras, the powers of Vishnu and others—all these arise. Some have matured, some arise again; these are the networks of abodes, the divisions of space, time, and art. Yet, through all this, the great consciousness—supreme space, unbounded and infinite—remains as before, peaceful, abiding in its own nature. All these manifestations are like rays from thousands of atoms, belonging to the great consciousness. They exist inherently within it, neither coming nor going. Whatever wonder arises within consciousness itself appears as the manifestation of creation—shining forth as form, yet lacking any real substance. These do not truly arise or perish, do not come or go, like the patterns within a great rock—immovable and unchanging. All these creations arise spontaneously within the pure Self, just as portions of space appear within the sky—formless within the formless. Like the liquidity of water, the vibrations of eternal movement, or the eddies in the ocean, so too are qualities—or perhaps those who possess qualities—arising within consciousness. This alone exists: a mass of pure consciousness, established thus—beginning and ending with rising and setting, infinite, peaceful, and all-pervading. To claim that in the absence of auxiliary causes the world is void, or that a self-born creator arises, is merely the babbling of a madman. But one whose mind is free from all stains of worldly activity, who has cast off every bed of doubt, who has long dispelled the deep sleep of delusion, and whose world is adorned with the awakening from the fear of becoming—such a one is truly awakened. O descendent of Raghu, at the beginning of creation and dissolution, it is memory itself that becomes the first progenitor, the original creator. From that will, which is of the nature of memory, this world arises; thus, this city of imagination shines forth, established by that former creator. Yet, even though it appears so, O Rama, the existence of that former creator does not truly persist—just as a great tree does not remain suspended in the sky. O Brahman, does any prior memory exist at the beginning of creation? How could previous memory survive, when it is destroyed by the great delusion of dissolution? Before the great dissolution, the wise ones—Brahma and the others of old—indeed attained liberation; they reached the state of Brahman. Who is there then to recall previous memories? Since the one who remembers is liberated, memory has become rootless. Thus, in the absence of the rememberer, how, by whom, and in what way could that memory arise? Surely, in the great cycle, all become partakers in liberation alone. The memory that arises, whether of experienced or unexperienced things, in the space of consciousness itself—this is what is called the glory of the world. For when the seen is absent, only the radiance of consciousness remains. It shines as the pure radiance of awareness, illuminating without beginning or end; this is what is established as ‘this world’ and as ‘the self-born.’ That innate radiance of Brahman, perfected from beginningless time, is the subtle body, the cosmic form, the very shape of the universe. In the atom, this universe shines forth, along with the three worlds, endowed with space, time, action, substance, and the sequence of day and night. In the same way, within each atom, its interior appears similarly; it shines forth with a radiant form, just as a mountain range is enveloped by its own presence. There too, the same form is seen, thus extending into each atom; what is seen appears as a mass, O dear one, but this is not truly real. Thus, there is no end to the vision of the real or the unreal anywhere; but, O sinless one, this has arisen with respect to the awakened and the unawakened. For the awakened, this is only Brahman—peaceful and unchanging; but for the unawakened, it appears as a dualistic, shining world filled with realms. Just as this radiant world appears, expanding from the cosmic egg, so too countless millions of others shine forth, one within another, in each atom. As within a pillar is a doll, and within her limbs are further dolls, and within those limbs yet more dolls—so too are the worlds within worlds, endlessly reflected within the infinite expanse of consciousness.