Listen, O Rama, as the sage unfolds the nature of the world and the workings of the mind. What is called māyā, ignorance, and imagination—this is the very root of fear. The wise know that what we call action is nothing but the mind’s identification with these illusions. The merging of the seer and the seen, which the mind believes to be real, is but a delusion, a false confusion, much like a child at play, shaping forms from earth without understanding. Absorption in the seen is mistaken for the nature of the self. This is the intoxicating liquor of worldly existence, which the wise call ignorance. Those afflicted by this ignorance cannot attain auspiciousness, just as those blinded cannot perceive the radiant light of the sun. All this arises by itself from imagination, like a tree appearing in the sky—unreal and unsubstantial. With the absence of imagination, it ceases by itself. O wise one, when imagination is weakened by simply not conceptualizing, through clarity and discriminating awareness, it dissolves. When detachment from all objects is achieved, and steadfastness is attained, when true perception is clear and the unreal has come to an end, then pure consciousness, free from distinctions, is realized. This is the Self, where there is neither existence nor non-existence, neither pleasure nor pain. In that state, only pure being is experienced within—not through imagination, nor by the perceptions of mind or senses. It is untouched even by endless tendencies, which are nothing other than oneself, just as space remains untouched by clouds. Just as the illusion of a snake arises in a rope when it is unclear, so bondage is imagined in the space-like consciousness, though it is truly unbound. The imagined object is itself imagined by another imagination; it assumes otherness, just as space appears different in day and night. Whatever is not false, effortless, free from conditions, and devoid of confusion—by imagining it as such, it becomes a source of happiness. Just as one fears a lion in an empty hut, so too, in an empty body, there is fear of bondage. Yet, upon looking inside the hut, no lion is found; so too, when examined, the bondage of worldly existence is not found. The notion, “this world, and I am this,” arises as delusion, like the illusory shadow seen by children in the twilight. Because of imagination, for a living being, the existence and non-existence of things, auspicious and inauspicious, come and go in an instant, repeatedly becoming unreal and real. A mother, when regarded as a wife and embraced, performs the duties of a wife and becomes a giver of conjugal delight. A beloved, when regarded as a mother and embraced, completely erases the passionate feelings of love. Thus, the wise observe that the multitude of objects yields results according to one’s attitude, and do not declare a single fixed nature for things in this world. Whatever the mind firmly contemplates, in whatever manner, that very thing, with that form, it perceives for as long as that contemplation endures. There is nothing that is truly real, nor anything truly unreal; whatever is determined in whatever way by anyone, that is how it appears to that person. The mind, having imagined an elephant in the sky, pursues an elephant in a sky-forest, as if it were itself established in the sky. Therefore, O Raghava, you yourself are merely imagination, composed of all forms. Abandon this, and rest well, established in your own true self. A jewel, by its inert nature, cannot prevent reflections; but you, O Rama, are not like that. Whatever is reflected in the jewel of your mind, recognize that as unreal, and do not let yourself be colored by it. Or, considering that alone as real, undivided from the supreme self, contemplate yourself by yourself as beginningless and endless. The thoughts reflected in your mind may color those whose minds are attached elsewhere, but let them not color you, just as a crystal remains unaffected. Just as various vivid colors enter a flawless crystal and become apparent, so too, let the desires for the worlds enter your mind openly and be seen for what they are. For one who abandons the seen and seeks what is to be attained, who perceives the seer and does not see the seen, the seen is to be discarded. For one who is awake in the supreme reality, who is alive and not asleep, the path of worldly existence is like a dense, deluding sleep. Because of utter and complete distaste, even in pleasures that seem delightful, one becomes flavorless, without longing, and devoid of desire. When the mind is worn out and free from attachment, the self merges with the Absolute, just as accumulated snow melts away under the sun. When the waves of craving subside, like rivers drying up after heavy clouds depart, the agitation within also comes to rest. When the net of worldly desires is broken, like a bird-cage shattered by a rat, and the knots loosened by the force of dispassion, liberation arises. Just as water becomes clear when mixed with the fruit of the kataka nut, so too, by the power of knowledge, one’s own nature becomes clear and tranquil. The mind, free from passion, attachment, duality, and dependence, departs from delusion as a bird leaves its cage. With doubts and baseness calmed, curiosity and confusion gone, the mind shines within, fully complete, like the full moon. Born of supreme beauty, raised high and far, equanimity arises everywhere like a gentle breeze over the ocean. Where darkness, confusion, and dullness have worn the heart, the desire for worldly existence fades away, like the night at dawn.