Just as the true nature of things cannot be discerned in the flickering or steady glow of lamps, nor in the shifting states of food consumed with intense craving, so too, the reality behind this world remains hidden amidst the moving and unmoving illusions of worldly existence. This tumultuous whirlpool of samsara, though as fragile as bubbles that form and burst in the rain, nonetheless plants a deep and lasting conviction in the minds of those who are inattentive. Splendor and brilliance have faded away, worn down by afflictions; virtues, too, have fallen into decay, and comfort has become distant—like lotuses that shrink and vanish in the cold of winter. Again and again, under the sway of fate, people inflict harm upon their own bodies; just as a tree repeatedly struck by axes cannot find peace, how can comfort exist where suffering is constant? Even the delightful are disturbed when faults arise within them, just as the mere presence of a poisonous tree brings on faintness to a person who comes near. Where, then, are the forms that are free from faults? In which direction is there no burning pain? Who are those people who are not fragile? What are those actions that are not, in the end, mere illusions? Even those known as Brahmas, whose lifespans stretch for the duration of a kalpa, cannot count the numberless kalpas that have passed. In this net of time, full of endless divisions, thoughts of shortness or length are without foundation. Everywhere, mountains are made of stone, the earth is of clay, trees are but wood, and people are formed of flesh, bound by the condition of humanity—here, nothing is new, nothing escapes change. All that is seen, pervaded by consciousness, is a collection bound by water, existing in space; through various distinctions and the fortune of objects, this is what is called the world—there is nothing else. Astonishment arises only in the world of the mind; it is a wonder produced in the hearts of people. Even in dreams, O noble one, this marvelous form does not appear to some, in relation to any object. Today, among those untouched even by a trace of greed, a tale composed of noble deeds does not arise—just as a creeper growing in the sky cannot bear fruit. Desiring to attain the state of the noble, the world, hindered only by its own mind, falls without hesitation—like a beast leaping from a mountain peak, longing for a blue creeper leaf that does not exist. Like the inner branches, shadows, leaves, fruits, and flowers of trees confined within a chasm, so too are the riches of the body today, and so too are people—limited, enclosed, and unable to reach out. People wander sometimes among the gentle and beautiful, sometimes among the fierce, just as black antelopes move through the endless stretches between different forest groves. Each day brings new and terrifying or delightful tasks, unsettling all people, arising from the bitter fruits of past actions; yet, these do not astonish the minds of the deceitful. People are attached to desires, intent on various wicked arts, and even in dreams, a good person is rare in this world today. Because all actions are bound up with suffering, they are truly uncertain and troubled—I do not know how this condition called life is to be led. Whatever is seen here in this world, whether moving or unmoving, O Brahman, all of it is unstable—like a gathering in a dream. What appears today as a dry ocean, sunken and visible, by morning, O sage, becomes a mountain covered with clouds. That mountain, vast with forests and touching the sky, seemingly unshakable, within days can become level with the earth or sink into a pit. The body that today is adorned with silk garlands and fragrant ointments, tomorrow lies far away, exposed to the elements in a deserted place. Where today a city bustles with activity, in that very place, within days, a desolate forest or barren plain arises. The man who today, O King, is powerful and rules over kingdoms, within days becomes a mere heap of ashes. That terrifying wilderness, vast as the sky and covered with banners, itself becomes a city. That formidable forest, thick with creepers and shining today, within days, O sage, turns into a desert land. Water becomes land, and land turns into a watery expanse; indeed, everything in the world—wood, water, and grass—constantly changes places. Youth, childhood, the body, and accumulations of wealth—all these are impermanent; from one state to another they pass, ceaselessly, like waves on the ocean. Life in this world is as restless as the flame of a lamp disturbed by the wind; the splendor of objects in the three worlds flashes like lightning—brilliant, yet fleeting. This multitude of elements undergoes constant transformation, like a heap of seeds that sprout again and again. The mind, stirred by the winds of change, scatters the dust of countless elements, adorned with the drama of calamities and reversals, and the display of fortune and misfortune. This worldly existence, born of delusion, is perceived as a state; like a dancer’s performance, the actress of samsara begins her dance. She creates illusions like a city of gandharvas, arranging reversals; charming in her subtle gestures and delightful in her grand dealings. Again and again she spreads a flickering light like lightning; O Brahman, the enchantment of samsara shines forth like a dance. Those days are gone, those riches, those actions too; everything has entered the realm of memory, and we ourselves depart in a moment. Each day it declines, each day it arises again; even now, for this ruined form, there is no end to this burnt-out samsara. Humans become animals, animals attain humanity; gods too lose their divinity—what in this world, O Lord, remains constant? The sun, weaving day and night again and again with its rays, swiftly passes through time and observes its own limit of destruction. Brahma, Vishnu, Rudra, and all beings pursue only destruction, just as waters rush toward the submarine fire. The sky, earth, wind, space, mountains, rivers, and directions—all are dry fuel for the fire of destruction. Wealth, relatives, servants, friends, and possessions—everything loses its taste for one who fears annihilation. These states of the world delight the wise only as long as they remain in memory, before the demon of destruction arrives.