Listen, O Rama, as the sage gently unfolds the nature of the mind and the path to true seeing. He begins by revealing that whatever the mind firmly contemplates—no matter what, no matter how—it perceives exactly that, in that very form, for as long as the contemplation endures. Thus, the mind shapes its own experience, fashioning reality from its own determinations. Yet, he reminds you, nothing is truly real nor truly unreal; whatever is determined by anyone in any way, that is how it appears to them. The mind’s power is so extraordinary that, imagining an elephant in the sky, it pursues that elephant in a sky-forest, as if it itself were established in the sky. Such is the mind’s capacity for conjuring worlds. Therefore, O Raghava, you yourself are but imagination, composed of all forms. Let go of this, and rest well, established in your own true self. A jewel, by its inert nature, cannot prevent reflections upon its surface; but you, O Rama, are not like that. Whatever is reflected in the jewel of your mind, recognize it as unreal, and do not let yourself be colored by it. Alternatively, consider that alone as real, undivided from the supreme self, and 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 flawless crystal remains unaffected by the colors that enter it. Let desires for the worlds enter your mind openly and be seen for what they are, just as various vivid colors become apparent in a flawless crystal. 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 awake in the supreme reality, who is alive and not asleep, the path of worldly existence is like a dense, deluding sleep. When utter and complete distaste arises, even pleasures that seem delightful lose their flavor; longing and desire fade away. 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 the clouds depart, the agitation within 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. By the power of knowledge, one's own nature becomes clear and tranquil, just as water becomes clear when mixed with the fruit of the kataka nut. 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. Equanimity, born of supreme beauty and raised high and far, arises everywhere like a gentle breeze over the ocean. Darkness, confusion, and dullness within fade, and the desire for worldly existence disappears like the night at dawn. When the sun of consciousness is seen, the lotus of wisdom blossoms with pure radiance, adorned with virtuous shoots, like the morning sky. Wisdom, captivating the heart and able to delight the world, manifests as the wealth of virtue, like the rays of the full moon. What more needs to be said? The great mind, knowing what is to be known, neither rises nor sets, like the space within the sky. For one whose nature is understood through inquiry and whose self has arisen, even Brahma, Vishnu, Indra, and Shiva become objects of compassion. Even when thoughts manifest outwardly, they do not reach one whose mind is free from ego, just as mirage-water does not reach the deer. These worlds, like waves, come and go all around; but for the knower, birth and death, arising from the self, are gathered up and do not disturb him. Manifestation and dissolution—this alone is the course of saṃsāra, nothing else; seeing both clearly, he delights and is not troubled. Just as space within a pot is neither born nor dies when the pot is adorned or broken, so too, the self in the body is unaffected. When discernment arises, the cold of delusion, born of the weight of false error, is dispelled; in the clouded mind, desire fades like a mirage in the desert. As long as one has not inquired, "Who am I? What is this?", the tumult of saṃsāra remains like darkness. The body, arising from the weight of false error, is a source of misfortune; he truly sees who does not regard it as the self. He truly sees who, his delusion gone, perceives bodily pleasure and pain, arising from place and time, as not belonging to himself. He who sees the self and all else with the vision that never divides, perceiving everything as the light of consciousness alone—he truly sees. He who sees everywhere, in the limitless sky, in directions, time, actions, and all, that "I alone am"—he truly sees. He who perceives the subtle "I" as pervading, imagined in countless ways, even in a fraction of a hair's tip—he truly sees. He who inwardly perceives the infinite self, all-powerful, present within every state, as the nondual consciousness—he truly sees. He who, afflicted by ailments, fears, distress, and subject to old age, death, and birth, sees "I am the body"—he does not see wisely. He who perceives my greatness as pervading across, above, and below, and knows there is no second to me—he truly sees. He who sees that all this is strung in me, as gems on a thread, and that I alone am the inner consciousness—he truly sees. He who perceives that neither I nor anything else exists here, that only Brahman is, and nothing else, and thus sees the middle between existence and nonexistence—he truly sees. Thus, O Rama, the sage reveals the journey from imagination to true vision, from attachment to liberation, from darkness to the radiant light of wisdom.