Amid the ceaseless quarrels and commotions of men and women, the wise one moves as a traveler who journeys far from conflict, beholding the world’s prosperity and enjoyment as if passing through a land blessed by fortune. To such a sage, the bustling actions of worldly life appear much like a village procession viewed by a passing traveler—witnessed without suspicion or involvement, simply observed as they unfold. Just as the eye naturally glances in all directions without effort or attachment, so does the mind of the wise descend upon daily tasks—unbound, free from clinging or aversion. The senses, though active, never seize upon the objects they encounter, nor does the wise give them away; for being whole and complete, such a one remains steadfast and unmoved. Restless thoughts about what has not been attained and indifference toward what has already come do not disturb the wise, just as fluttering feathers cannot shake a mountain. With all doubts quelled, curiosity dissolved, and the web of desires diminished, the wise shine with the radiance of a sovereign, serene and self-possessed. Within themselves, the self does not perish; rather, it expands from its own essence, boundless on every side—like the vast ocean of milk. One established in the Self is full, unending, and complete. The peaceful one, seeing the pitiable craving for enjoyment in others, laughs gently—much as a sane man might smile at the antics of those gripped by madness, or as one laughs when another desires his own beloved wife. So too does the wise one regard the senses’ longing for pleasure with affectionate amusement. When the mind, fleeing toward the objects of sense, abandons the ease of equanimity, it must be brought back to tranquility through discrimination—just as an elephant is restrained with a goad. If the tendency of the mind is allowed to indulge in pleasures, it should be checked at the very beginning, much like cutting off a poisonous sprout before it grows. To honor someone after injury is to prolong suffering; for rice scorched by the summer sun, even a little water becomes as precious as nectar. But for one who is not afflicted, honor or high regard passes unnoticed—like a small flood in the rainy season that makes no impression when rivers are already full. Yet, even one who is full may, when benefited, desire more—just as the single ocean, though filled by all the world’s waters, continues to receive whatever comes. When the mind has been restrained, even the smallest pleasure or adornment that arises seems significant, simply because it is new and unexperienced. A king who has been bound and then released is satisfied even with a small village, while another, never conquered or subdued, does not value even a great kingdom highly. Just as you might crush your hand with your own hand, grind your teeth with your teeth, or subdue your limbs with your limbs, so too must you conquer the enemies that are your own senses. For those eager to conquer others, the senses—being the first and closest enemies within the heart—must certainly be subdued before all else. On this earth, men of noble mind who have not conquered their own minds are neither counted among the truly fortunate nor esteemed in the stories of men. I bow to that subduer of enemies in whom the serpent of the mind—its poison fierce imagination, coiled in the cave of the heart—has been rendered tranquil. Those who destroy their own body, their own support, are ungrateful and become great repositories of evil deeds; their own senses, as enemies, are indeed hard to conquer. Having gained a body as their base, the senses, greedy as vultures, restlessly roam after objects of pleasure, like fierce birds of prey seeking what should and should not be done. Yet, those who have been caught by the net of discrimination are like a lump of stone that does not harm the net itself—the deceivers within are rendered harmless. Those who delight in pleasures that seem charming at first fall into suffering when those pleasures become tasteless in the end. He who is wealthy in discrimination, even while dwelling in the wretched city of the body, is not overpowered by these inner enemies—the senses—even if he is otherwise helpless. Kings who dwell in mighty clay cities are not as happy as those who, having mastered their minds, are lords of the city of their own bodies. For one whose servant-senses are subdued and whose mind-enemy is well restrained, wise insights flourish like blossoms in spring. For one whose pride of mind is exhausted and whose sense-enemies are subdued, desires for enjoyment fade away like lotuses in winter. Desires roam in the heart like ghosts at night, until the mind is conquered through steadfast practice of oneness with the truth. I consider the mind of the discerning person to be a servant because it obeys, a minister because it accomplishes noble deeds, and a lord because it has subdued the senses. Through nurturing, gentle care is fostered; through protection, the father becomes pure. In the same way, I consider the mind of the wise to be the best friend, endowed with supreme trust. When the mind, guided by the vision of scripture, purified and awakened by personal insight, relinquishes itself, it grants the highest accomplishment. Well polished, thoroughly cleansed, firmly established, awakened by self-knowledge, adorned with noble qualities—the jewel of the mind shines delightfully in the heart. This minister of the mind, through auspicious actions, provides the axes to cut down the tree of birth and also brings forth their subsequent results. Therefore, O Rama, cleanse the jewel of the mind—stained by much mud and blemish—with the water of discernment, and become radiant. Even when discernment is spread across the dreadful realms of existence, do not, like the ordinary, fall helplessly into those full of calamities. Do not disregard this great mist of delusion that arises in the world, crowded with countless misfortunes born of illusion. Relying on supreme discernment and perceiving the truth with intellect, having conquered the enemies of the senses, cross over the ocean of existence. Let the analogy of the rope, snake, and stick not arise in you, O Raghava, regarding this body, which is itself unreal, and in the pleasures and pains that are likewise unreal. O wise one, abandon completely the false conviction, "I am this," with true discernment. Relying on that which is beyond, reach that state—drink, eat, and remain unbound, free from mental agitation.