O great sage, listen with a tranquil heart. Relying on the perceptions of the senses, people speak of a person having two bodies: the subtle body of the mind and the gross physical body. Yet, know this—the entire threefold world is nothing but a creation of the mind’s own imagination. It arises as a vast appearance, neither truly existent nor nonexistent, shimmering like a mirage before us. Because of our ingrained habit of seeing distinctions—of mind and body, of self and other—this diversity springs forth from ignorance, just as a person under an illusion may see two moons in the sky where there is only one. The force of this habit is strong; thus, the mind projects a multitude of objects everywhere—pots, cloth, forests, and countless other things—as if each were separate and real. Within this web of imagination, thoughts arise: “I am weak, I am miserable, I am deluded.” When the mind dwells on these notions of its own making, it enters into the endless cycle of worldly existence. But when one recognizes, “This conceptualization is artificial; it is not truly mine; I am not bound by it,” then the mind, released from these false ideas, becomes peaceful and attains the eternal, unchanging Brahman. To illustrate this, consider the ocean’s vast shore, where countless waves arise—beautiful, gentle ripples following one after another. The water itself is calm, clear, pure, sweet, cool, indestructible, expansive, and splendid. Among these waves, imagine one particular wave, with three distinct edges. As it contemplates its own form, it thinks, “I am three-edged,” and thus forms a notion about itself. When this wave loses its shape and breaks apart, it thinks, “I am shattered,” and by entertaining this thought, it descends and merges into the earth. When it rises up forcefully, it imagines, “I am risen,” and so it identifies with whatever state it finds itself in, shaped by its own ideas. Bathed in the sun’s reflection, it thinks, “I am radiant.” If a cloud of dust strikes it, it thinks, “I am impure.” When adorned with the play of jewel-like rays, it shines brilliantly; when pierced by frost, it feels, “I am cold.” If the reflection of wildfire glimmers on its surface, it fears, “Alas, I am burned,” and trembles like a fish caught in a net. Reflected on the shore among mountains, birds, and trees, it sees itself as great, full of energy and effort. When its body is pure, shining, arisen, destroyed, or restless, it thinks, “I am scattered in pieces,” and laments like one wounded. Yet, all these waves are not truly different from the ocean itself. They are nothing but water, and not a single form among them exists apart from that essence. Qualities such as shortness or length do not truly belong to the waves; they are not separate entities in the ocean, nor are they entirely absent. They are shaped and dissolved by their own inherent nature and the play of thought—destroyed and not destroyed, arising again, born and unborn, repeatedly breaking and reforming. Through their mutual interactions, they appear as many, but in truth, they are one, composed of the same water, free from any imperfection. In exactly the same way, in this vast, pure, stainless expanse—this single reality of Brahman, which is pure consciousness and boundless—all the various powers, though appearing distinct, are not truly separate. They abide within that all-powerful, beginningless and endless reality, moving in diverse and wondrous ways. Indeed, the diversity of powers is nothing but the appearance of diversity within Brahman’s own being. Brahman, expanded within Brahman, is like the endless circle of waves within water. Because of the appearance of many forms, which seem to create countless differences, destiny—fixed and definite—presides over all objects. Inertness assumes the form of inertness; consciousness arises as pure awareness; the latent power of impressions abides in its own true nature. O sinless one, it is Brahman alone by which this vast manifestation unfolds, appearing full and varied through its different forms and movements, just as the ocean appears full with its waves. Brahman does not assume diversity by itself, nor does it delight in countless 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. Consider how stalk, flower, creeper, leaf, fruit, and bud all exist within a single seed; in the same way, all powers reside within Brahman. Just as a person possesses manifold abilities and powers, so too does the all-knowing Self possess all powers always. Just as manifold colors appear in the harsh sunlight, so too do manifold powers—of existence and non-existence—appear in the Lord of gods. This manifold form arises from the unchanging Shiva, just as the play of lightning flashes forth from a single color within a rain-bearing cloud. From the non-dull arises dullness, caused by the mere notion of dullness—just as a thread issues from a spider, or as deep sleep arises in a person. The mindless Shiva, by his own will, extends the power of consciousness for his own bondage, just as a silkworm spins its own cocoon. By his own will, O Brahman, the Self, having conceived his own form, attains liberation from the cycle of birth and death, just as an elephant breaks free from its bonds. Whatever the Self constantly contemplates, having conceived it himself, he is quickly filled with that very power, even if he is great. The power that has been contemplated leads the Self to selfhood in an instant, just as a great mist covers even the infinite sky. Whatever power arises, the unborn one quickly becomes identified with it; and whatever state it attains, it becomes of that very nature, just as a tree takes the form of its own state. For the Lord, there is no liberation as liberation, nor bondage as bondage for the Self. In this world, I do not know whence the notions of bondage and liberation have arisen. For him, there is neither bondage nor liberation, yet he appears as if identified with them. Alas, the world is always seized by unreality, for it is made of illusion.