In the endless chain of birth and rebirth, the bonds forged by the senses are strong and tenacious. Yet, among all beings, those who strive to free themselves from these attachments are truly noble, for they seek liberation from this cycle. My own mind, however, has been battered by the proud and fickle people of the world, just as a delicate lotus is bruised beneath the heavy tread of an elephant. O great sage, I feel that if my mind is not healed with sound understanding today, then when will there ever be another opportunity for such treatment? For what is truly poisonous is not what we call poison, but rather the discord and entanglement with sense-objects. While ordinary poison destroys only a single body, the poison of sense-objects wreaks havoc across countless lifetimes. But the wise are not bound by pleasures or pains, nor by friends, relatives, life, or death. O best among those who know the past and the future, O Brahman, I beg you: instruct me swiftly, so that I may become like that sage who is free from sorrow, fear, and toil. For the forest of ignorance is tangled with the net of ingrained tendencies, crowded with the thorns of suffering, dense with pitfalls and calamities, and terrifying in its very form. Yet, O sage, I am able to endure the fierce torment—like being sawed by sharp blades—of the poison and distress that arise from worldly dealings. This delusion that pervades people, with their declarations of “this is not, this is,” shakes my fickle mind just as a gust of wind scatters a heap of dust. The collection of lives, strung together by the threads of craving, forms a pearl whose luster is but the reflection of consciousness, ever manifest as the leader of the mind. With resolve, I will tear apart the merciless net of worldly existence—the disgust that coils like the necklace of the serpent of time—just as a lion breaks free from a snare. O best of those who know reality, with some lamp of knowledge, swiftly dispel the mist that lingers in the forest of my heart, the darkness clouding my mind. O great soul, those whose minds are highest are not afflicted by misfortunes here; just as the sharpness of flesh is not diminished by the moon’s gentle rays, so too do adversities not bring them to ruin. Life is as fragile as a cluster of lotuses shaken by the wind; pleasures are as fleeting as lightning playing among the clouds; youth, fondness, and the waves of desire are all unsteady. Realizing this, I have firmly fixed my mind, like a seal pressed deep into the side of a mountain, seeking lasting peace. Yet, seeing the world sunk in the pit of suffering, crowded with calamities, my mind is immersed in the mire of anxious thoughts. Confused, my mind wanders; agitation arises, and my limbs tremble like leaves on an old tree. My understanding, deprived of the company of supreme contentment, is disturbed; it fears empty places, like a child-king lacking strength. The movements of my inner faculty are tossed about by doubts, like deer mocked by empty wells. Fallen from the ground of discernment, established only in hardship and not on the good path, my senses—sight and others—are like the unfortunate who have fallen into a blind well. Worry neither settles nor proceeds as I wish; it depends on the lord of life, just as a beloved woman depends on an unwelcome house. Having worn out and abandoned so many things, yet still bearing their burden, my resolve has grown unsteady, like a creeper at the end of the Mārgaśīrṣa month. All sense of value has been cast aside, instability has taken hold. Having seized and then let go of myself, even my own state is unsettled. My mind is mocked by its own inner support, which is both shifting and unmoving, like the root of a tree broken by poverty. Restless, my mind delights in sense-objects, wandering through worlds, refusing to abandon confusion, like a god reveling in his own aerial chariot. What is that state of abiding which is not trivial, effortless, without any basis, free from confusion, and in which no doubt exists? All the noble ones—like Janaka and others—were engaged in all kinds of worldly activities; how did they attain the highest state? Even when closely attached to many things and showing great respect, how does a person here not become tainted by the mire of worldly existence? Relying on what vision do these great ones, living liberated and pure of stain, move about in this world? Objects of enjoyment entice only for the sake of fear; how can those whose nature is unstable and whose wealth is fleeting ever attain auspiciousness? When the mind is trampled by the elephant of delusion and stained within by blemishes, how can the lake of intellect ever reach supreme clarity? Even while living in the world and engaging in its affairs, how does a person not become bound, just as water does not adhere to a lotus leaf? Creating the entire world as if it were the self, or as insignificant as grass, how does one attain excellence without stirring the mind to agitation? By following the conduct of which great person who has crossed the ocean of existence does one avoid wrongdoing in this world? What is that which is proper and brings true welfare? What is the right fruit? And how should one live in the world without impropriety? Tell me, O Lord of the world, by what means may I understand the unstable nature of actions and the past and future states of this creation? May the stains be cleansed from the moon of my heart’s sky and my mind, O Brahman; let this cleansing happen without hindrance. What here is worth accepting, and what, on the other hand, should be discarded? How can the restless mind find repose, like a mountain unmoved? By what purifying mantra may the fever of worldly existence—which brings countless troubles without effort—be pacified? How may I attain the coolness within, like the full moon reaching the undiminished night in the cluster of blossoms of the tree of bliss? Having attained such inner fullness, so that I do not grieve again, let the wise who know the truth instruct me in this way.