O Brahman, tell me once more, for the deepening of my understanding: how does this universe, which appears so established and diverse, truly abide within that consciousness which transcends all worlds? Listen, O Rāghava. Just as waves, though destined to rise, remain subtle and unmanifest within the water—unseen because of their fineness—so too do all creations rest unmanifest within the very essence of consciousness. Just as space is all-pervading and subtle, unseen though it is everywhere, so also the indivisible portion of consciousness pervades all, yet cannot be directly perceived. Consider how the reflection of a woman may appear within a jewel, neither truly existing nor not existing there; in the same way, this creation within the Self is neither real nor unreal. As the sky is unaffected by the clouds, birds, or anything that passes through it, so too the supreme consciousness is untouched by the creations or supports that arise within itself. Fire is reflected only in the ocean’s surface, not in me; likewise, consciousness is evident only within the subtle body, not in the gross physical form. Free from all intentions and designations, this consciousness is known only through expressions such as “indestructible essence.” Finer than the smallest fraction of space, it appears to the wise as formless, yet it alone witnesses the entirety of the pure and impure world, seeing all as one. Just as waves and other forms arise in the vast ocean, yet nothing exists apart from the ocean itself, so too, apart from pure consciousness, these diverse manifestations do not truly appear. Consciousness apprehends both the conscious subject and the object of consciousness, and thus the world abides in the Self. Through notions of knowing and not knowing, the idea of difference arises, and one imagines that something exists. For the ignorant, she—this consciousness—appears as the fierce and manifold world, yet in reality she is unreal. For the wise, she is the very nature of light, truly one with all, the essence of everything. Always, in accordance with experience, she illumines the sun and all else; she is the taste in all beings, the imagination in those who imagine existence. She neither sets nor rises, neither stands nor remains; she neither goes nor comes, nor is she here or not here—such is consciousness. This pure-formed consciousness, established in itself, O Rāghava, unfolds in manifold ways under the name “world.” Just as light shines through masses of light, and water through bodies of water, so too does consciousness vibrate through the manifold commotions of creation. By its own nature, called consciousness—self-arising and all-pervading—it manifests as both light and non-light, as indivisible and as bearing divisions. By the power of self-reflection, abandoning the endless state, it gradually attains the state of ignorance, with the notion “I am this.” As diversity increases, following the path of transmigration, it reaches a state where the grasping and releasing of being and non-being finally come to rest. The subtle body, with its countless vibrations, both acts and does not act; just as many sprouts, dwelling in the hollows of the earth, rise up. Space, whose nature is emptiness, accepts all forms without resistance; wind, whose only property is movement, and water, whose nature is taste, are similar in this way. The solid earth, the manifest fire, and the stable worlds all persist by the allowance and restraint of time, which itself is measured and abides through calculation. A flower slowly reaches the end of the vine, gathering its pollen; the delight of moisture in the hollow of clay becomes grass upon the earth. The subtle traces that remain at the root reach the fruit, though faint and mere drops of sap; these lines take form in the rows of tender leaves. Atoms, supported by the structure of Indra’s bow and arrows, sustain the formation of all things; union (yoga) constantly arises, ever new in its arrangements. Hosts of flowers and buds attend upon the spring, while the powers of wildfire bring forth the order of summer. The blue hosts of clouds strive for the season of rains, and all the fruits pursue the time of autumn. In winter, the ten directions are covered with snow; cool winds carry water to the stones during the cold season. Time never abandons its own order, woven with the ages; creations proceed with the play of wave upon wave. Destiny attains its own stability, acting with firmness and skill; the steadfast earth, possessing the nature of support, remains until the time of dissolution. Here and in the worlds beyond, the fourteen kinds of beings exist; they engage in various activities and amusements, displaying diverse forms. Again and again, they dissolve; again and again, they are born—like bubbles in a stream, falling one after another. They come, they go, they remain, they roar, they pursue their own interests, running through the masses of births; like madmen, with imposed notions and efforts, these helpless people are driven by fate. Thus, the cycles of existence, with forms both stable and unstable, revolve everywhere; all return and depart from the very nature of Brahman. All this is born from itself, each thing becoming the cause of another; each also perishes through another, yet dissolves into its own nature. Just as the movement within deep water appears to be still by itself, so too this unreal and real is perceived as pure consciousness alone. Just as rivers are seen in the sky during the heat of summer, though the sky itself is without form, so too are the visions of creation observed in the essence of mind. Just as, under the influence of intoxication, one's own self appears as another, so too, from the mind, the essence of consciousness seems to exist as if it were something else. This is neither real nor unreal; it is consciousness alone, remaining as it is, neither more nor less—just as gold is present in ornaments like bangles and so on. That by which you know sound, taste, form, and scent, O Rāghava—that is the Self, the supreme Brahman, pervading and established in all. Beyond all multiplicity and unity, for the pure Self that is all-pervading, any notion of a second is only imagination; otherwise, nowhere does it exist.