In the vastness of existence, there are moments when, from the very elements themselves—water, air, or even the greatly expanded fire—a person arises naturally. This being, born of the element, sometimes gives rise to a foot from his mouth, or a limb from his shoulder or back, or perhaps from his eye or hand. At times, from his navel, a lotus emerges; within this lotus, Brahma moves, and so he is known as the lotus-born. Yet, all of this is but illusion—a dream-like delusion, a wheel fashioned falsely, fickle and charming as the kingdom of the mind, as lovely as the play of water. What truly exists in this awareness, and how can it arise here? Otherwise, it is only a child’s fantasy being pursued. Sometimes, in the clear sky, through the coloring of the mind-principle, a golden cosmic egg—the womb of Brahma—spontaneously arises. At other times, this person emits his potency into water, and from that, a lotus is born, which becomes the cosmic egg or the great principle. From this, Brahma is born; sometimes he is the sun, sometimes Varuna is Brahma, sometimes the wind is born from the lotus. Thus, O Rama, in these creations, lacking internal unity and full of variety, the diverse origins of Brahma have taken many forms. For illustration, the origin of this one Prajapati has been described; the births of others, O sinless one, are similar. This expansion of the mind is called 'worldly existence' by the wise; the process of creation has been explained for your awakening. Thus, the births beginning with the sattvic have come about; this account of the process of creation has been given for your understanding. Again and again, creation arises, dissolution follows, sorrow and joy alternate; ignorance returns, knowledge dawns, bondage and liberation repeat their cycles. Time and again, the creators of creation, sustained by absorbed affection, like lamps that have made light, are extinguished and arise anew. In the arising and dissolution of bodies, lamps, and even gods, when time relinquishes its dominance, there remains no distinction in their destruction. The Krita, Treta, Dvapara, and Kali ages return again and again, as the world revolves in the cycle of the wheel. The beginnings of Manvantaras and the succession of Kalpas repeat; phases of activity come and go, just as morning follows morning, day by day. Worlds and non-worlds, time and non-time, measured and unmeasured intervals—all repeat, yet again and again, they are nothing. In the unstruck, heated mass, like particles of fire in a lump of iron, these states exist perpetually in the space of consciousness, by their own nature. Sometimes unmanifest, sometimes manifest, all this exists in the supreme reality, like a tree in its seasonal phase. The vibration of consciousness alone is the essence of all, always of this form; from it arises creation, like duality from the eye. All continuous visions of creation converge in consciousness; whether they abide in it or seem not to, like rays from the moon. This so-called samsara never truly exists at any time, for within the all-powerful reality, there is the capacity for non-samsara. Nor, O noble one, is this world ever without such a nature, for in the all-powerful reality, there is the capacity for samsara. If one regards the entire span up to a great aeon as devoid of samsara, then it is reasonable to say that samsara does not exist now. With the vision of knowledge, all this is indeed Brahman alone, O wise one; thus, the absence of samsara is established for us. But with the vision of ignorance, due to unbroken samsaric existence, this samsara-maya is eternal; this too is established. Because it is repeatedly conceived, this world is never without such a nature; thus, what is said about the world, O descendant of Raghu, is not false. Seeing the directions where things continually fall and perish, why should it not be established that this entire world is perishable? Yet, seeing the directions where the sun and moon always rise, and the stable mountains, it is equally fitting to say that this entire world is imperishable. There is nothing that does not exist within that one all-pervading Self; the web of imagined distinctions does not arise in the nameless. Again and again, all this recurs—birth and death, happiness and sorrow, actions performed by the senses. Hopes arise again, the sky returns, again the oceans and mountains; creation appears once more, like the constant radiance of the sun. Again the demons, again the gods, again the progression through worlds; once more heaven, liberation, earthly abodes, Indra, and the moon. Again the god Nārāyaṇa, again the sons of Manu and others; again hopes, the moving, beautiful moon, sun, Varuṇa, and wind. The earth and sky, like a blossoming, abundant lotus with Mount Meru as its stalk and the stars as its filaments, arise again with swelling fullness. The sun, with its rays like lion's claws, strides through the sky-forest again to shatter the dense darkness, like a lion among elephants. Again the moon, with its lovely, trembling mango-blossom-like beams, brings nectar-like delight, adorning the faces of the quarters as if they were brides. Once more, from the heavenly tree, driven by the wind of merit's exhaustion, the fruits earned by good deeds fall here, their limbs shaken. Again, with the wings of action and its results, called the beginning of worldly existence, the bird of time, making a slight flutter, departs. Thus, the cycles of creation and dissolution, joy and sorrow, knowledge and ignorance, repeat endlessly, all woven within the vast tapestry of consciousness.