In the vast marketplace of the heart, she—the living self—adorns herself with whatever she acquires, while her city, the body, flows ceaselessly through its nine gates. Her mouth, wide open, reveals glimpses of teeth and bone, and within, her restless tongue moves about, tasting and chewing the food she takes in. The wells of her ears lie hidden beneath the tangled thicket of her hair, and the broad expanse of her back stretches like a wilderness, marked by the curving chains of her hips at the edges. Within her, the lower gate is obstructed by filth, an endless mire concealed in darkness, while in the lush garden of her mind, the courtesan of self-reflection roams and wanders. Yet, this city of the body is a delightful place: the senses, like mischievous monkeys, are kept in check by the fisherman of intelligence, and the mouth blooms with charming smiles, like flowers in a garden. For the wise, their own bodily city is supremely beautiful and auspicious, existing only for happiness and never for sorrow, serving the highest good. But for the ignorant, the same city becomes the keeper of countless sorrows; for the wise, it is the storehouse of endless joys. O subduer of foes, when this body is lost, nothing is lost for the wise; when it remains, all remains—thus, for the wise, it is a source of happiness. When the wise one ascends this chariot of the body, moving freely in the world, experiencing and ultimately transcending all enjoyments, it is rightly called the chariot of the wise. Through this body alone—by means of sound, form, taste, touch, fragrance, kin, and wealth—the wise obtain every gain. O Rama, when this very body bears the web of actions, both pleasure and pain, it becomes capable of bearing all things everywhere. Within this city of the body, the wise, free from delusion, rules his kingdom without agitation, like Indra reigning in his own celestial city. He does not cast the intoxicated horse of the mind into the pit of darkness, nor does he give his daughter, discernment, to the forms of greed and duality. He sees no weakness in the territory of ignorance; instead, he cuts off the very roots of the dreadful enemy that is worldly existence. He does not sink into the whirlpool of craving, nor into the fortress of agitation by desire, nor does he wander in the forest of alternating pleasure and pain. Instead, he bathes constantly, both outwardly and inwardly, in a moment, at the sacred confluences of rivers, following the course of his mind’s intentions step by step. Unseen by all the senses, turning away from the spectacle of the outer city, he always dwells happily within the inner chamber called meditation. This city brings happiness to one whose heart is ever joyful; it is divine, bestowing both enjoyment and liberation, like Indra’s Amaravati. In this city, whatever is established remains established, and nothing perishes unless it is unsteady—how could such a city not bring joy to its king? When the body is destroyed for the wise, nothing at all is lost, just as when a clay pot breaks, the space within is not diminished. Just as the wind touches an existing pot but not one that does not exist, so too does the embodied self relate to the city of the body. Here, this blessed Self, though all-pervading, remains unattached; having experienced individuality born of its own imagination, it comes to behold its own true nature. Though acting, it is yet not acting, ever inclined toward all actions, sometimes upholding the natural activities of the body for their results. Sometimes, playfully, it ascends the restless aerial chariot of its pure mind, moving delightfully and unimpeded, to roam about at will. Established there, he delights constantly with the beautiful Lady of the World, whose limbs are ever cool, with Rama, with friendship abiding ever in the heart. For him, two beloveds stand at his sides in the unity of truth, like the twin Viśākhā stars beside the moon, both gladdening his mind. Seated in this way, the knower beholds all these worlds—torn by the saw of suffering—like one seated above observing anthills, or like the sun looking down from the sky. Long fulfilled in every desire, adorned with all prosperity, he shines like the full moon, whose orb is never again diminished. Even when indulging in the multitude of pleasures, he does not grow weary; rather, like the deadly Kālakūṭa poison shining at Shiva’s neck, they only enhance his radiance. Pleasure, when experienced with understanding, brings satisfaction; just as a thief, when recognized and reassured, becomes friendly and not an enemy. Amid the quarrels of crowds of men and women, the wise one, far from conflict, beholds the prosperity of enjoyment as if on a fortunate journey. Just as travelers watch a village procession arrive without suspicion, so do the wise observe the actions filled with worldly dealings. Just as the eye naturally glances upon objects in all directions without effort, so does the mind of the wise descend upon tasks without attachment. The senses never seize the objects attained, nor does he give them away; the wise, being complete, remains steadfast. Restless thoughts about what is not attained and indifference to what is attained do not disturb the wise mind, just as fluttering feathers cannot shake a mountain. With all doubts calmed, all curiosity vanished, and the web of desires diminished, the wise one shines like a sovereign. The self does not die within itself; it expands from its own essence, complete and boundless on every side, like the ocean of milk, is the one established in the Self. The peaceful one laughs at those pitiable creatures who crave enjoyment, whose senses are weak and dejected, just as a sane man laughs at those who are mad. Just as one laughs when another desires his own wife, so too does the wise one laugh when the senses desire enjoyment. When the mind, fleeing toward sense objects, abandons the ease of equanimity, it should be brought back to tranquility by discrimination, just as an elephant is restrained by a goad.