O Raghava, know this: when ignorance has waned and dissolved within you, you will come to understand—fully and without confusion—its source, its nature, and the way it vanished. In truth, this ignorance never truly existed; it only seemed real when left unexamined. Who can grasp the shape or origin of an illusion that is, in fact, unreal? This ignorance arises and grows strong, taking on form only to cause suffering. But when you resolutely destroy it, true understanding will dawn. Even those who are deemed brave and wise across the three worlds are not truly so if they are rendered helpless by ignorance. Therefore, in this world, which is like a hospital filled with the disease of ignorance, strive earnestly for its cure—so that you are not again subjected to the pain of repeated birth. Uproot ignorance completely, for it is the sole companion of all misfortunes, the blossom of the tree of unknowing, and the mother of countless calamities. Forcefully cast aside this distorted vision, which brings fear, poison, unbearable suffering, and disaster, and which fills the heart with the dense darkness of delusion. In doing so, you will reach the far shore of the ocean of existence. Now, Raghava, listen to the remedy for this disease of ignorance—a malady vast and difficult to cure, yet destroyed simply by seeing through the false and agitated mind. Hear, Rama, about that sattvic nature, which I shall describe so that the power of the mind may be clearly understood. That which truly exists is immortal, Brahman, all-pervading, free from affliction—a pure reflection of consciousness, called the Infinite, without beginning and untouched by confusion. From a certain region, the vibration of this consciousness arises, just as the moon’s influence stirs the swelling of the ocean. Just as the waters of the sea, when agitated, seem to solidify, so too does all power gather in one place, becoming the power of vibration. As the wind moves in the sky by its own strength, here, the Self, by its own inherent energy, becomes active within itself. Like a lamp rising by the force of its own flame, so too does the Self shine forth in its true form. Within the ocean, water sometimes shines, sometimes moves; likewise, within the body of all powers, vibration appears and plays in its own way. As a sea of molten gold sparkles with circles of light, so too the ocean of consciousness within the self flashes with pure pulsations. Just as the movement of a pearl is seen in the sky by the eye, the radiant form of Brahman's own power arises from consciousness. This power, when gently stirred, shines purely in the great ocean of consciousness, like a wave arising from the ocean itself. It remains not separate from the Self, yet appears as if distinct—like the brilliance of light within the depths of illumination, having attained density. For a moment, this goddess of power, flashing as all energy, gathers her own strength just as the moon gathers its coolness. This consciousness-power, called illumination, arises from the supreme Self, drawing together the powers of space, time, and action as its companions. Without knowing its own nature, though it pervades the infinite, it imagines itself as limited, though its true being remains undivided. Whenever this supreme beloved assumes a form, immediately the perceptions of name, number, and other distinctions follow her. In this state, consciousness remains distinct from the embodied self, yet, being infinite, it swiftly enters into it—like a wave returning to the great ocean. Just as bracelets and armlets are not truly different from gold, so the forms imagined by consciousness are only partial aspects of the Self. Just as one lamp lights many others with its own flame, so the forms conceived by consciousness are only variations, shaped by differences of place, time, and measure. Then, consciousness, stirred by the power of movements in place and time, follows thought and enters the state of calculation. O mighty-armed one, the form of consciousness, imagined by conceptualization and situated in place, time, and action, is known as the 'knower of the field.' The 'field' is called the body, which is known without division, both inside and out; thus, the one who knows it is called the 'knower of the field.' This knower, fabricating desires, again assumes the state of ego; and when ego is determined, it is called intellect associated with time. Intellect, shaped by intention, becomes the ground of thought; but the mind, dense with varied imaginations, gradually takes on the nature of the senses. The wise know the body as composed of hands, feet, and senses; this body is born into the world, it dies, and yet it also lives. In this way, the individual soul is truly intention, wrapped in the cord of latent impressions; afflicted by the net of sorrow, it gradually attains the state of mind. Just as, through ripening, fruit attains another state in due course, so too the soul, due to impurity, changes state—not by action, but by condition. The soul becomes egoity; the ego becomes intellect; intellect, enveloped by a net of intentions, reaches the state of mind. Indeed, the mind is made of intention, eager to grasp forms; it is defined by its opposites and is affected by what comes from others. Desires and other powers, like cows following a bull or rivers flowing to the sea, pursue the intoxicated mind, leading it toward fault. Thus, this mind, composed of powers and dense egoity, is bound by its own will, like a silkworm caught in the threads it has spun. By ceaselessly following its own imaginations, it binds itself to the body with fetters. Then, tormented by distress, it laments, “Alas, I am bound!” Thinking itself bound, it gradually abandons the essence of true knowledge and within gives rise to ignorance—the demon haunting the jungle of the world.