The sage’s heart was troubled over his son, whose mind had wandered from the path. Sensing this, the Lord of the universe spoke gently to him: “If you wish to see your son, O sage, then swiftly open the eye of knowledge and behold him.” Heeding these words, the sage steadied his gaze and, with the inner vision of wisdom, reflected deeply on his son’s welfare. In a single, luminous moment, the entire story of his son unfolded before him, revealed perfectly in the mirror of his awakened intellect. Then, Bhṛgu, who had been by the bank of the Samaṅgā river, returned to his own body, reappearing on the slopes of Mount Mandara at the destined hour. Standing there, the passionless sage cast a gentle, wonder-filled glance at Time itself, and with a smile, addressed the beloved Lord, who was also untouched by passion: “O Lord, Master of what has been and what will be, we are but innocent children, untainted. Only the truly wise, like you, possess a mind that sees clearly through past, present, and future. “This world, with its endless forms and changes, appears real, yet is not; it confuses even the steadfast. Only you, O God, know the true nature of this mental play, the illusion that arises within you, like a magician’s trick. It is said that death does not exist for my son; yet, seeing him dead, I was bewildered. I thought, ‘Time has taken my son before his span was done.’ But, O Lord, by the force of destiny, your curse has manifested in me. “Yet, knowing how the world works, we do not fall under the sway of joy or anger, whether we meet with misfortune or good fortune. Anger arises towards those who act wrongly, and favor towards those who act rightly—such is the way of the world, O Lord. So long as one lives, one thinks, ‘This is to be done, this is not to be done,’ just as long as fire exists, so long are its heat and burning perceived. “But for one who thinks, ‘This is to be accepted, this is to be rejected,’ the very world they experience is to be abandoned, O teacher of the world. It was only when we, agitated by thoughts of our unseen child, came to you, O blessed one, that we spoke thus. “Now, by your reminder, I have seen my son on the riverbank with Samaṅgā; thus, he has been seen by me. I realize that among beings, there are not two bodies; the mind alone is the body, by which this world is conceived. You have spoken truly, O Brahman: the mind alone is our body; it imagines and shapes the body, just as a potter fashions a pot. “The mind creates what was not formed, and instantly destroys what was made; through imagination and delusion, it acts like a child playing with a clay doll. In confusion, in dreams, and in false knowledge, radiant powers appear in the mind, taking the shape of illusory cities of the Gandharvas. “Based on gross perception, O great sage, it is said that a person has two bodies: the mind and the physical form. This threefold world is but a creation of the mind’s imagination; it arises as a vast appearance, neither truly existent nor nonexistent. “Because of the habit of seeing distinctions between mind and body, this diversity arises from ignorance, just as the illusion of two moons appears in the sky. The strong habit of perceiving difference makes the mind see a multitude of objects—pots, cloth, forests, and so on—as separate. Thoughts such as ‘I am weak, miserable, deluded’ arise; when the mind contemplates these self-created notions, it enters into worldly existence. “But when one realizes, ‘This conceptualization is artificial; it is not truly mine; I am not bound by it,’ then the mind, freed from that, becomes peaceful and attains the eternal Brahman. “Consider the ocean’s shore, with its countless waves and gentle ripples arising in succession. In the water—calm, clear, pure, sweet, cool, indestructible, expansive, and splendid—a wave with three edges, pondering its own form, imagines ‘I am three-edged,’ and thus creates its own sense of self. “When it breaks and loses shape, it thinks ‘I am shattered,’ and by such thought, it becomes as it imagines, descending to the earth. When it rises high, it thinks ‘I am risen,’ and through various notions, it shapes itself accordingly. With the sun’s reflection, it believes ‘I am radiant’; when struck by dust, it thinks ‘I am impure.’ Adorned with jewel-like rays, it shines brilliantly; pierced by frost, it feels ‘I am cold.’ When wildfire reflects upon it, the wave fears, ‘Alas, I am burned,’ and trembles like a caught fish. “Reflected among mountains, birds, and trees on the shore, it thinks ‘I am great, full of energy.’ When its form is pure, shining, arisen, destroyed, or restless, it thinks ‘I am scattered in pieces,’ and laments like a wounded woman. “Yet, the waves are not different from the ocean; they are of the same essence as water, and none truly exist apart from it. Qualities like shortness or length do not truly belong to them; the waves are not separate entities in the ocean, nor are they entirely absent. They are shaped and dissolved by their own nature and the play of thought—destroyed and not destroyed, arising and ceasing, born and unborn, breaking and reforming. “Through mutual interaction, they appear as many, yet in truth, they are one, composed of the same water, free from any imperfection.” Thus, the sage, guided by the Lord’s wisdom, saw the unity underlying all diversity and the play of mind that gives rise to the world’s many forms.