In the vast tapestry of existence, beings manifest in countless ways. Some live extraordinarily long lives, while others flicker for but a moment; some, caught in their own empty notions, find themselves with insignificant bodies born of insignificance. Amidst the tumultuous dream of worldly existence, some stand firm and steady, rooted in their perception, while others, troubled by their own imaginations, doubt whether the world itself is stable and real. There are those whose meager and petty thoughts leave them subdued by misery’s faults. They think, “I am thin, extremely unhappy, and deluded,” and thus become firmly established in their suffering. Others have attained the state of immovable beings; some have risen to divinity, some achieved humanity, and some descended to the condition of demons. Some remain in the world for countless aeons, while others—pure in heart—proceed to the Supreme Person. Arising from the ocean of Brahman, they are like waves of consciousness, ever-shifting, known as those intent on contemplation. Yet, through false imagination, O Brahman, stained by their own mental constructs, many hold the conviction “We are not Brahman” and thus descend downward. Even those who contemplate the existence of something apart from Brahman, though immersed in its vast ocean, become lost and deluded amidst the terrifying realms of worldly existence. O sage, these pure Brahman-consciousnesses, untainted in many ways, are the very seed of actions; indeed, action itself is this. By this inner process of imagination alone, the seed-fist of actions forms the dense thicket of karma and becomes firm. In this vast world, rows of embodied beings stand, move about, weep, and laugh. From Brahma down to a blade of grass, like the wind with its movements, they exult, restrain, wither, and rejoice. Some are exceedingly pure, like Hari, Hara, and others; some are in slight delusion, like serpents, humans, and celestial beings. Some are deeply deluded, like trees and grasses; others, bewildered by ignorance, have attained the state of worms and insects. Some are carried away like blades of grass, far from the great ocean of Brahman, not yet reaching the proper state, like serpents and men. Some, merely glimpsing the shore, are overcome with weariness; born and unborn alike are buried by the aged claws of Death. Others, reaching the interval of the great ocean of Brahman’s essence, have gone to that shore, free from sorrow, along with Hari, Brahma, Hara, and others. Some, possessed of slight delusion, remain in that very ocean of Brahman, relying on it, untouched by the flood of unseen passions and diseases. Some are waves of births to be enjoyed, others are countless waves of births already experienced; barren are the beings established in the radiance of darkness. Some go upward from below, and likewise from below to the great realm; some ascend higher and higher, while others descend further and further. This activity, full of many joys and sorrows, arises from remembrance of the supreme state; upon realization of the supreme state, it perishes, just as the pain of poison vanishes when the bird’s name is recalled. In the midst of all this, those who have conquered the delusion of mind and see the world’s heights and depths wander here as liberated beings—yakshas, gandharvas, and kinnaras. Others, dull as logs or walls, have entered a state of immobility; their delusion is not exhausted—what more can be said of them? For beings awakening to self-realization, the scriptures that circulate here have been composed by those whose minds are suitably inclined. But for those whose intentions have truly awakened and whose wrongdoings are exhausted, their intellect becomes pure and engaged in the inquiry into the scriptures. The delusion of the mind dissolves through the thorough investigation of true scripture, just as the darkness of night vanishes when the sun moves through the sky. A mind that is not being dissolved exists only for delusion, not for realization; it covers like mist and wanders like a ghost. O sage, for all beings here, it is the mind alone that is the vessel of pleasure and pain—not the body made of flesh. This aggregate of flesh and bones that is seen, belonging to the material world, is but a projection of the mind; the body is not ultimately real. O sage, whatever your son did with his mind and body, that he has quickly received; in this, we are not at fault. Whatever actions anyone in the world performs, driven by their own tendencies, that alone they obtain; there is no agency of another in this. Who in this world has the power to accomplish that which is not already accompanied within by the inclination of one's own mind? All enjoyments of heaven and hell, and all desires for heaven and hell, are but the outflow of one's own mind; their result is the dullness and suffering of inertia. Why speak further with elaborate words? Arise, O venerable one, let us go to where your son is situated. Having experienced everything with the mental body, Śukra in a moment is now, by the union of the moon's rays, established in the heat of the sun. That vital wind, united with mind, bearing the fruit of the moon's rays, having become like rain, stands as virility in man. Having thus spoken, the venerable Kāla, as if smiling at the courses of the world, took Bhṛgu by the hand, just as the sun takes the moonbeam. Saying softly, “Indeed, how wondrous are the arrangements of destiny,” the venerable Bhṛgu rose up like the sun from the eastern mountain. Those two, arisen together like twin treasures of light, shone in the splendid forest amid the cluster of dark tamāla trees, like the full moon and sun ascending together in the clear sky, ready to roam as cloud and water-laden moon and sun. After the sage had spoken thus, the day moved toward evening, and the sun set. The assembly, having offered their salutations, departed to bathe, accompanied by the gentle rays of the setting sun. As they descended from the mountain, they saw celestial beings of great brilliance, sleeping in groves adorned with clusters of fresh golden creepers.