As long as the body endures, the experience of pain and pleasure arises naturally—pain is felt as pain, pleasure as pleasure. Yet the wise, whose minds remain unattached, seem outwardly as if they are unawakened, unmoved by these passing sensations. In moments of happiness, they appear joyful; in times of suffering, they seem afflicted. But truly, these great souls are inwardly serene and untouched, their hearts cool and undisturbed by the play of circumstance. Just as the reflections in a pillar may be disturbed while the pillar itself stands unmoved, so too, for the knower, only the senses and organs of action are agitated; the mind remains steady and clear. Understanding this, such a one moves through the world—active or still—like the sun, whose image shines in the water below without ever being tainted or changed by it. It is not renunciation of action alone that brings freedom. Even one who abandons all worldly deeds remains bound if the mind is not awakened; yet one who still acts in the world, but whose mind is awakened, is truly free. For liberation or bondage depends not on the outer actions, but on the state of the mind and senses. If these are free, the person is liberated, even if their actions are bound; if these are bound, the person is in bondage, even if their actions are free. In this world, it is the mind and senses that are the root of pleasure and pain, bondage and liberation, just as light is the cause of illumination. Therefore, outwardly conform to the customs of the world, but inwardly remain free from all attachment and conduct; stand as one unattached, with all desires pacified. Abide in your own self, having abandoned all desires, and perform the actions that must be done. This is the true state of equanimity. Do not fall into the deep pit of possessiveness, which lies on the path of worldly existence, a great whirlpool of affliction and disease. O seeker of the highest good, know that you are not in the objects, nor are the objects in you. Your nature is pure, awakened, and established in the self—be steadfast in this knowledge. If, O noble one, you attain that spotless state where the darkness of possessiveness is dispelled, all desires have vanished, and the mind shines radiant, then I bow to you as one truly wise and noble. O Bhārgava, just as a king enters his city, so too, having left behind this body scorched by the sun, let us enter this new body, O noble one. At the proper time, having performed austerities with the former body, you must once again assume the greatness befitting the lords of the demons. At the end of a great aeon, O Bhārgava, this body is to be abandoned, never to be taken up again, like a withered flower. Having attained liberation while living, remain, O wise one, performing the role of the great preceptor of the gods, with your former body. May good fortune be with you both; let us go in whatever direction we desire. For one whose mind is free, what is there that is not as they wish? Having spoken thus, as they released the flower, the venerable one vanished, like the sun disappearing from the sky along with its rays. When that sage had departed, having spoken what was destined, Bhārgava reflected on the unalterable and fixed course of fate. He then entered that youthful and delicate body, dried up by the workings of time, but destined to bear future flowers and fruit, just as Mādhava enters a tender creeper. The brāhmaṇa body, pale in face and limbs, trembled and quickly fell to the ground, like a vine whose root has been cut. When the great sage had entered the body of his son, he performed a rite of restoration with mantras and water from his water-pot. Then all the slender one's channels filled, shining forth like riverbeds brimming with water in the rainy season. She was like a lotus blossoming in the rains, or a new vine in spring; when she was full, her vital energies blossomed forth. Then, the semen arose, carried by the moving breath, as if a cloud, filled by the union of sap and wind, were swelling to fullness. He, pure in form, respectfully greeted his father, like a newly awakened cloud saluting the mountain with its first thunder. Then the father embraced her former body, his heart softened with affection, like a rain-cloud long embracing the mountain slope. Bhrigu beheld, with deep affection, the former body of his daughter; even the wise are seized by the thought, “This one is born from me.” In that moment, the feeling, “This is my son,” arose in Bhrigu’s heart; for as long as form endures, the sense of “mine” persists. Thus, the two became father and son, each enhancing the other’s radiance, like the sun and a lotus pond rejoicing at the end of night. They were like a pair of wheels, reunited after long separation, or like the peacock and the cloud, bound together by the deep connection of the monsoon. After remaining there for a while, with that story fit for those who yearn steadfastly, the wise one rose up. Together, they reduced the twice-born body to ashes, for who in this world does not follow proper conduct? Thus, in that pure forest, Bhrigu and Bhargava stood, radiant with austerity, like the moon and sun shining together in the sky. Having known what is to be known, liberated while living, teachers of the world, they moved about, their austerity steady and effortless amidst the ever-changing waves of place, time, and circumstance. In time, Śukra attained the status of preceptor of the asuras, and Bhrigu remained in his own flawless state. Śukra was first born in this way from that supreme state, and then, through his own lapse of memory, entered into various other conditions. At first, the pure mind of Bhārgava arose from the state of Brahman, untouched by the stain of any other birth. When all desires are pacified and the mind is pure, that state is called sattva—the spotless consciousness. Whatever the mind, whose essence is pure sattva, contemplates, that indeed quickly comes to be, just as a whirlpool forms in the ocean’s waters.