Knowing the ways of the world, we remain unmoved by joy or anger, whether we encounter misfortune or fortune. For anger naturally arises toward one who acts wrongly, and favor toward one who acts rightly—such is the established order of worldly conduct, O Lord. In the world, as long as one lives, there is always the sense of “This is to be done, this is not to be done,” just as the qualities of heat and burning are perceived as long as fire exists. Yet, O teacher of the world, for one who constantly thinks, “This is to be accepted, this is to be rejected,” the very existence of the world is to be abandoned. It was only when we, troubled by thoughts of our child whom we had not seen, came to you, O blessed one, that our agitation arose. Now, O Lord, by your guidance, I have seen my son on the riverbank with Samaṅgā; thus, he has been found. I reflect that among beings in the world, there are not two bodies; indeed, the mind alone is the body by which this world is conceived. You have spoken rightly, O Brahman, that the mind alone is our body; it shapes the body through imagination, just as a potter fashions clay into a pot. The mind creates what was not formed, and instantly destroys what was made; through imagination, it acts out of delusion, like a child playing with a clay doll. In confusion, in dreams, and in false knowledge, radiant powers appear within the mind, taking the form of illusory cities of the Gandharvas. Relying on this gross perception, O great sage, it is said that a person has two bodies: the mind and the physical body. This threefold world is merely a creation of the mind’s imagination; it arises as a vast appearance, neither truly existent nor nonexistent, O sage. Because of the tendency to see distinctions as mind and body, and due to the force of that habit, diversity arises from ignorance, just as the illusion of two moons appears. The strong habit of perceiving difference causes the mind to see everywhere a multitude of objects—pots, cloth, forests, and so on—as separate. Thoughts such as “I am weak, extremely miserable, deluded,” and others 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 do not fall because of it,” then the mind, freed from that, becomes peaceful and attains the eternal Brahman. Consider the vast expanse of the ocean’s shore, with its countless waves, where many beautiful, gentle ripples arise in succession. In water—calm, clear, pure, sweet, cool, indestructible, expansive, and splendid—a wave with three edges, contemplating its own form, imagines, “I am three-edged,” and thus creates its own conception. When it is broken and loses its shape, it thinks, “I am shattered,” and by such contemplation, it becomes as it imagines, descending to the earth. When it rises forcefully upward, it thinks, “I am risen,” and through various notions, it conceives itself accordingly. With the reflection of the sun, it contemplates, “I am radiant,” and when struck by dust, it thinks, “I am impure.” When adorned with a network of jewel rays, it shines brilliantly; when pierced by frost, it experiences, “I am cold.” With the reflection of wildfire on the riverbank, its form blazes; it fears, thinking, “Alas, I am burned,” and trembles like a caught fish. Reflected on the shore, among mountains, birds, and trees, it shines, thinking, “I am great, endowed with effort and energy.” When its body is pure, shining, arisen, destroyed, and restless, it thinks, “I am scattered in pieces,” and cries out like a wounded woman. Yet, the waves are not different from the ocean; they are of the same essence as water, and there is not a single form among them that truly exists apart from it. Nor do qualities such as shortness or length truly belong to them; the waves do not exist as separate entities in the ocean, nor are they entirely absent there. They are merely shaped and dissolved by their own inherent nature and the play of thought—destroyed and not destroyed, arising again, born and unborn, once more broken. Through mutual interaction, they appear as many, yet in truth, they are of one form, composed of the same water, free from any disease or imperfection. In the same way, in this vast, pure, stainless expanse—this single form of Brahman, which is pure consciousness and boundless—all the various powers, though appearing as distinct, are not truly separate; they abide in that all-powerful, beginningless and endless reality, moving in diverse and wondrous ways. Indeed, the diversity of powers is merely the appearance of diversity within its own being; Brahman, expanded within Brahman, is like the circle of waves in water. Because of the appearance of many forms, which create countless differences, fixed destiny, with its own definite shape, presides over all objects. Inertness assumes inertness; consciousness arises as pure awareness; the power in the form of latent impressions abides in its own true nature. O sinless one, it is indeed Brahman by which this vast manifestation unfolds, appearing full through its various forms and movements, like the ocean with its waves. It does not assume diversity by itself, nor does it sport in various forms; the Self alone exists in the Self, by the Self, just as water remains in the ocean. Just as the diverse waves are not separate from water, so too all these manifestations are not separate from the Lord of all. Just as stalk, flower, creeper, leaf, fruit, and bud exist within a single seed, so too all powers reside in Brahman. And just as in a person there is manifold agency and various powers, so too in the all-knowing Self there is always all power.