The mind, subtle and ever-active, streams outward through the body’s many openings—such as the eyes—and, through these portals, it perceives forms within itself, each endowed with countless shapes and modifications. When this outward flow of awareness remains steady and unwavering, this state is recognized as waking. This is the waking sequence, the ordinary experience of the world. But now, let us turn to the sequence that begins with deep sleep. In deep sleep, when the body is no longer stirred by the mind, nor by action or speech, the vital force within becomes calm, resting in purity and tranquility. The inner airs, or prāṇas, come into perfect balance, and the heart is undisturbed—just as a lamp shines steadily in a windless room, radiating only its own light. In this profound stillness, consciousness ceases to move through the limbs and is no longer disturbed by them. It does not reach out through the eyes or other sense gates, nor does it flow outward at all. Instead, the jīva—the individual soul—shines quietly within, like the subtle awareness of oil hidden in a sesame seed, or the sense of cold within snow, or the oiliness within ghee. Remaining as a subtle fragment of time, the jīva abides in its own tranquility and enters deep sleep. There, it is peaceful, breathing gently, and free from all outward consciousness. One who, even while engaging in the world, knows the cessation of mental activity in all states—waking, dreaming, and deep sleep—is remembered as established in the fourth state, that which is beyond. When the vital airs, calm as in deep sleep, are once again stirred, this gives rise to the life-principle; this is consciousness, which then manifests as mind. The entire network of the world, abiding within the inner self, is seen swiftly within, in fragments and gradual turns, just as a mighty tree is contained in a tiny seed. When this life-principle is greatly agitated by the winds of prāṇa, it perceives movement within its own inner space, just as the sky is disturbed by swirling air. When flooded by water, the inner experience is one of watery confusion and delight, as if the jīva were a flower refreshed by gentle rains. When seized by bile or similar humors, the jīva experiences within itself the fiery confusion of heat and burning, so intensely that it seems as if all were happening outside. When filled with blood, it sees externally visions of red places and times, and, following the nature of experience, it immerses itself in these perceptions. Whatever impression the jīva pursues, that it sees within while asleep. When agitated by the winds rushing through the channels, it perceives outwardly through the senses, as though awake. When the sense-channels are not engaged and the mind is undisturbed within, the jīva swiftly experiences consciousness—this is called the dream state. When the sense-channels are fully open and the mind is disturbed by external objects, that state is called waking, according to the truly wise. Now that you know this, O one of great intellect, abide in the truth here and now. In this world of appearances, do not give rise to thoughts of death, sorrow, or the faults of transmigration. Whatever the mind repeatedly contemplates with firm resolve, that it becomes—just as a piece of iron, by contact with fire, takes on the very nature of fire. All notions of existence and non-existence, grasping and letting go, are imagined by the mind. They are neither wholly real nor unreal, but arise from the mind’s own fickleness. Indeed, the mind is the cause, the doer, and the very reason for the world’s existence. By its own nature as the manifold universe, the mind alone spreads impurity. O Rama, mind itself is the person; it must be directed to the good path. For all beings in the world are certainly attained only through mastery of the mind. If the body were truly the person, how could the subtle, intelligent essence enter into various forms and give rise to many bodies? Therefore, mind alone is the person, and the body is only mind’s manifestation. Whatever the mind is composed of, to that it surely attains, without doubt. That which is not false, effortless, free from conditions, and devoid of confusion—diligently contemplate that, and you will attain the truth. The state of mind approaches the body, but not the form; the mind departs, not the body. Let your mind approach the truth, O fortunate one, and abandon all that is untrue. In that which is not limited by direction, time, or anything else—which is eternal and free from affliction—how has this faded awareness, called mind, arisen here? Since there is nothing other than That—no past, no future—how, of what kind, in what way, and where could any stain exist in That? Well said, O Rama! You have now attained a mind fit for liberation, flowing with supreme discernment, like a blossom in the garden of delight. Your mind, intent on examining what is prior and what is subsequent, will reach that exalted state which has been attained by Shiva and others. But, Rama, now is not the time for this question of yours; when the teaching is concluded, then this question will be addressed. At that time, you should ask me, and the answer will be as clear as the amalaki fruit in the palm of your hand. Your question shines forth at the time of conclusion, just as the call of the cuckoo is fitting in the rainy season, and the song of the swan in autumn. The natural blueness in the sky is beautiful at the end of the rains; but during the rains, it arises from the mass of bodiless clouds. Now, this excellent inquiry into the mind has been begun. Listen, O noble one, to how all beings are born by its power. This very nature, which is of the character of mental activity, is called ‘action’, O Rama, as determined by all seekers of liberation. Hear how, through differences in definition, it has come to be regarded in various ways by eloquent speakers, who express themselves through diverse scriptural viewpoints. Whatever state the restless mind adopts, it attains that state, just as the wind, moving among fragrant clouds, takes on their scent. Then, having determined that very thing and imagining it, one colors one’s own sense of self inwardly with that coloring. Taking up that conviction, one experiences its flavor right there; then, in the body and even in the intellect and senses, one becomes identified with it.