Listen, dear one, to the subtle mystery of the mind and its play. The sense of “I” within the body is as hidden and out of place as a cat in a granary, a snake in a bellows, or a pearl lodged in a bamboo stalk. Thoughts flare up and fade away within this body, just as a lamp suddenly blazes and then dims, or as waves rise and fall upon the ocean’s surface. Sometimes, even what does not yet exist—the city yet unbuilt—appears vividly before the mind’s eye, simply because one imagines it as already present. But let that imagining cease, and the vision vanishes in an instant. For one’s true welfare, it is proper to bring about the end of such imagination, not to let it persist. Imagination alone gives rise to this world of suffering, much like a child invents a demon that torments only itself, never bringing happiness. This vast world of sorrow is projected by the reality of the Self, yet when unreality prevails, it disappears in a moment, as darkness vanishes before blindness. Through its own restless activity, the mind laments, like a monkey whose testicles are caught on a peg, struggling in pain to free itself. And yet, a single drop of imagined happiness remains, cherished with pride, like an elephant savoring a rare drop of honey that has fallen from the sky. The mind turns to dispassion for a moment, then to attachment the next; it is ever-changing, like a foolish child whose imagination arises and subsides in endless play. But wise ones, with care, have made their minds pure and free from all objects, and thus attained the supreme state. My son, follow their path. This mind is said to have three bodies: superior, inferior, and middling—known as darkness, purity, and activity. These alone are the cause of the world’s existence. Imagination rooted in darkness acts instinctively, leading to misery and rebirth as worms and insects. Imagination based in purity seeks righteousness and knowledge, attaining near-liberation and sovereignty. Imagination grounded in activity is ever engaged in worldly affairs, bound to the cycle of birth and death, attached to children and spouse. But, O wise one, by abandoning these three forms and examining the Self, imagination reaches the supreme state. Renounce all perceptions, restrain the mind by the mind itself, and bring about the cessation of imagination regarding both external and internal objects. No matter what austerities you perform—even for a thousand years, or if you were to crush your own body to powder, or plunge into the ocean, the submarine fire, a deep chasm, or a bed of swords—none of these can bring you liberation. Even if Shiva, Vishnu, Brahma, the lord of speech, or the lord of the world himself were your teacher, there is no other way but the cessation of imagination. Whether you dwell in the netherworld, on earth, or in heaven, still, there is no other means but this. In the beginningless, changeless, supremely pure happiness of the Self, make the highest effort with your own strength for the cessation of imagination. All phenomena are strung upon the thread of imagination; when that thread is broken, who can say where those waves of phenomena go? All that is unreal, real, or both real and unreal arises only from imagination—never otherwise. Since both the real and the unreal are born of imagination, what truth can truly be said to exist here? Whatever is imagined, so does it become in an instant. Therefore, O knower of truth, never imagine anything at all. Be free of mental constructs; act as situations arise. For when mental constructs dissolve, consciousness turns toward its own pure nature, beyond all objects. By rising in the form of unreality, that which is itself unreal spreads out as this world—sorrowful, futile, and similar to oneself. O sinless one, why would anyone seek out that which brings great sorrow? The wise seek only that which is free from sorrow, not its opposite. Having attained the highest reality, forcefully cast aside the net of conceptualization, and realize that nondual state whose happiness is all-pervading, with the mind at rest as in deep sleep. At this point, the disciple asks, “Father, what is this mental construct like? How does it arise, O Lord? How does it grow, and how does it come to an end?” The answer is given: That inclination of consciousness toward objects, within the infinite reality of the Self—whose nature is pure existence—is called the sprout of mental construct. When it attains even a slight degree of existence, it becomes dense; the mind fills the space and becomes inert, like a heavy cloud. When consciousness contemplates an object as if it were separate from itself, this becomes a mental construct, just as a seed becomes a sprout. Imagination itself is the act of imagining; it arises spontaneously, quickly grows by its own force, and leads only to suffering, never to happiness. You are nothing but a mere thought, just as the ocean is nothing but water. Apart from imagination, there is truly no transmigration for you. By a chance conjunction, you have come into being—truly in vain; like the wavering of a mirage, you grow in unreality. Just as one might mistake a yellow fruit for gold upon seeing it swallowed, so too an unreal thought appears within you on its own. You are born from unreality and grow in unreality; when true knowledge arises, being unreal, you dissolve. “This is me, these are my experiences, filled with pleasure and pain”—thinking thus in vain, you are tormented within. Truly, you were never born, nor do you exist—how could there be birth from what is not? In vain, you are deluded, subject to imagination by your own nature. Therefore, do not imagine imagination; do not fixate on any state. By this very understanding, you become what is to be, for the sake of what is to be.