O Rama, reflect for a moment: where is that lordly power which once shattered the armies of gods and demons, and where is this humble state of being a mere fish, battered and decayed by heat and filth? Where is that courage which once routed the hosts of heaven, and where now this condition of being a minor servant or petty chief? Where is the noble steadfastness of consciousness, free from all sense of ego, and where is this false imagination of “I am,” arising solely from delusive tendencies? Just as a dense creeper spreads its branches everywhere from a single sprout, so too does the vast entanglement of worldly existence arise and extend solely from the seed of ego. Therefore, O Rama, strive diligently to remove the ego within. Erase the very notion of “I am someone,” and happiness will be yours. The cool, nectarean orb of the moon of ultimate reality is ever present, yet it is concealed by the cloud of ego and thus remains unseen. The three demons—greed, anger, and delusion—are consumed by the goblin of ego. Though these are not real in themselves, by the power of illusion they seem to exist. Consider, Rama, on the marshy banks of the great lotus lake in Kashmir, fish now delight in the tender shoots of water plants. Yet, reflect: the unreal has no true existence, just as the real can never be negated. How, then, can that which is unreal ever become real and established in truth? Indeed, mighty-armed one, the unreal never truly comes into being. At times it may appear as something vast or subtle, but it never truly exists. Tell me, what is this unreal that appears real, and what is real that appears unreal? With this very example, I will lead you to understanding. Only that which truly exists remains as existent, O Brahman; we are, in truth, of that nature. Yet things like ropes and similar objects, though ultimately nonexistent, are said by you to remain as existent. Just as ropes and the like appear established here as creations of illusion—unreal yet seeming real, like water in a mirage—so too do we, along with gods, demons, and all others, appear to exist and act. But it is all merely an appearance. Your sense of self is only an imagined thing, and so is mine; though experienced, it is ultimately unreal, like dying in a dream. Just as a friend who dies in a dream is experienced as lost, yet is not real, so too is this world. Such notions belong only to the deluded; they do not shine forth in the light of truth. Through earnest practice, such delusion is dispelled, for direct experience cannot be denied. A conviction that has taken root within, without effort or repetition, never perishes for anyone, at any time. If one says, “This world is unreal; Brahman alone is real,” the deluded mock him, just as madmen laugh at another madman. How could there be unity between the knower and the ignorant, just as there can be none between the blind and the seeing, or between shadow and sunlight? Even with effort, neither the knower nor the ignorant can deny what has been directly experienced, just as a corpse cannot be made to walk. It is fitting for the knower to declare, “All this world is Brahman,” for having transcended ignorance, he has directly experienced that truth. O Rama, such a statement shines only in the realm of the awakened; for one who is awakened, there is truly nothing that can be called “I am this.” The wise one, having directly experienced that “This is indeed the supreme, peaceful Brahman,”—how could he possibly deny his own experience? Apart from the Supreme, there is nothing in myself; just as there is no quality of goldsmith or ornament in gold itself, so there is no “Vasishtha-ness” in me. Apart from the elements, the deluded has nothing in himself; just as in gold, the ideas of wave and the like are not ultimately real, so for the ignorant, there is no true reality. The deluded one is formed of false egoity, while the wise is composed of the one true Self; in neither is there ever any denial of their own nature. How could denial arise in someone whose being is of a particular nature? For a person to say, “I am a pot,” is nothing but madness. Therefore, neither are we real, nor are these ropes and the like anywhere; these and we are unreal—there is truly no origin for us. What alone exists is pure awareness of truth, the space of consciousness, stainless, all-pervading, peaceful, and ever-rising without diminution. All is that truth, and yet it is void of emptiness, abiding as if nothing at all. In that space, O dear one, perceptions shine forth as one’s own radiances. Just as the visions of one with diseased eyes naturally appear—like hairs or balls—so too do these creations appear there. As one knows oneself, so one experiences in an instant; thus, in the space of consciousness, even the unreal appears real, due to that very perception. Here, nothing is truly real nor unreal; whatever form consciousness perceives, that indeed arises, without doubt. Just as ropes and similar things appear, so too have we arisen; whether true or false, what does it matter, dear one, since even regarding them there is only conceptualization. In this infinite sky of consciousness, all-pervading and without form, consciousness arises and moves as it wills, and thus shines there perfectly. Where awareness itself manifests in the form of ropes and the like, there it is fully present, according to the experience of that particular form. The appearance of one’s own dream is called “the world”; in the sky of consciousness, its form is like the mirage of water seen by a thirsty deer. Where the sky of consciousness is awakened, there the name “visible” is given; where it is asleep, by that same principle, the name “liberation” is given. And it is never entirely asleep nor ever fully awake; know, O Rama, that the sky of consciousness alone is perceived as the world.