O Rama, listen closely to the path of liberation as it unfolds in the words of the wise. Even while outwardly performing actions, the truly discerning ones abandon all attachment within, remaining unmoved, their inner agitations stilled, established solely in the pure tendency of consciousness. Then, going further, they relinquish even this subtle inner state, leaving behind all that is accompanied by mind and intellect, and abide firmly in samadhi, the deep absorption of the Self. Whatever else remains to be abandoned, they let go of that too. With resolute clarity, they uproot all imagination of consciousness and mind, dispelling the darkness of manifestation, the seeds of tendencies, and even the very movement of breath. Having thus abandoned everything from its very root, they become like clear, open space—tranquil, vast, and serene. O wise one, do not delay; become that. Such a great-minded one, who has let go of all from the heart and remains utterly unperturbed, is truly liberated, the supreme lord. Whether engaged in meditation, activity, or abstaining from both, one whose heart is free from all objects is liberated and possesses the highest intention. For such a person, there is no more purpose in action or inaction, nor in meditation or recitation; their mind is free from all impressions. Though the scriptures have been examined and discussed over long ages, it is only by abandoning impressions through silence that the supreme state is realized. All that is seen and all that may be seen has been observed, wandering through the ten directions, yet only a rare few perceive things as they truly are. Wherever one goes, whatever is seen—apart from desires or aversions—there is nothing else to strive for. All human undertakings and actions are only for the sake of the body; nothing is truly for the Self. In the netherworld, in Brahma’s realm, in heaven or on earth, only a few saints with true vision are found. Exceedingly rare is the knower whose certainty about what is to be accepted or rejected has faded, seeing the arising world as unreal. Let one rule the world, enter fire or water—except for attaining the Self, no being finds true rest. The truly great are those who conquer their own sense-enemies, destroy the fever of birth, and are heroes of their own minds; such wise ones are to be revered. Everywhere are only the five elements; there is no sixth. On earth, in the netherworld, or in the sky, where can the wise mind find delight? For the knower who crosses the world by reasoning, the world appears as small as a cow’s hoofprint; but for one who has abandoned reasoning, it is a vast ocean of delusion. The universe, clear as a cluster of kadamba fruits, is the sphere of the expansive mind. When all this is attained, what is left to give or enjoy? O Rama, all the great acts of war performed by the unwise are but for the sake of begging, ultimately leading to the dissolution of duality’s marks. By mere time, by a single epoch, in the fragile belly of time, destruction comes like a great thunderbolt to a tender sprout. The Self, even in its smallest portion, is unsurpassed by anything—not even a blade of grass. When the three worlds are realized within that Self, what more could one who knows the Self possibly gain? Though the earth is filled with mountains and oceans, how could its body ever fill the boundless vastness? In this world, with its mountains and nether realms, there is nothing that can serve any purpose for the knower of the Self. For one who has become one with all, expanded like space, abiding in the Self, established in consciousness, the three worlds are but hollow spaces, like a vast forest dusted with the mist of bodily illusion, delightful only in their tranquil movement. All the great mountains are but foam on the pure ocean of infinite Brahman; the world’s splendors are but mirages in the blazing sun of consciousness. The waves of the great ocean of Self-reality are the kings of creation, and the showers from the cloud of the supreme state are the visions found in scripture. The lights of the moon, sun, and fire, like pots and sticks, and the radiances of the lamp of consciousness, as well as the hosts of elements, are all to be illumined by the knower. Long hidden, the wandering selves in the forest of worldly existence—humans, gods, and demons—are like deer, consumed by the pleasures of desire. The bodies of the world are barred by bones, heads covered and bound by sinews; the jewels of living beings are encased in flesh within these forms. Like innocent young deer in the forest, led about by others, women—dolls of skin—exist for the amusement of childish minds. Yet a mind as vast and noble as this does not waver, even slightly, amidst floods of pleasures, just as a mountain does not move in the wind from a mere mouth. In that lofty state, O Rama, the knower stands firm; for him, even the realms of moon and sun seem as low as the netherworld does to us. Those well-versed in both the seen and unseen worlds perceive beings tossed in the ocean of existence as we see reptiles. None of these worldly states delight the knower of truth, just as the filth of a bad village does not please a city-dweller or his beloved. Even when nearby, none of these worldly states delight the knower, just as clouds do not stir the vast heart of the sky. None of these phenomena delight the knower of truth, just as dancing female monkeys do not please Shiva, who seeks the dance of Gauri. Nor do they please him, just as a jewel’s reflection in a pot does not satisfy one who has seen the original jewel. Having seen the world as insubstantial, like a reflection formed by a wave on water, the knower of reality does not delight in worldly enjoyments, just as a royal swan has no pleasure in blades of grass. On this very subject, O Raghava, listen now to the purifying verses once sung in ancient times by the son of Brihaspati.