As the yogin advances in practice, extraordinary manifestations unfold. Through deep mastery, the body attains wondrous abilities: it can become minute or vast, light or heavy, and achieves perfection and invulnerability to the qualities of the elements themselves. The body radiates beauty, exudes grace, shines with strength, and attains a diamond-like firmness, untouched by ordinary limitations. By performing samyama—focused meditation—on the very process of perception, its essential nature, the sense of individuality, their conjunction, and their purpose, the yogin gains mastery over all the senses. From this mastery arise astonishing capacities: the mind moves with lightning speed, the yogin becomes independent of the senses, and even primordial matter comes under control. For one who perceives the true distinction between sattva—the purest quality of nature—and puruṣa, the eternal self, there dawns lordship over all states of existence and the light of omniscience. Yet, even these exalted powers are to be transcended. Through deep dispassion toward such attainments, and with the destruction of the seeds of impurity, the yogin attains true isolation—kaivalya, the state of absolute freedom. Even when invited or praised by beings from higher realms, the yogin remains unattached, avoiding pride and the subtle dangers that may arise from such encounters. By practicing samyama on the moment and its sequence, a knowledge born of discernment arises—a wisdom that sees the subtle flow of time. This wisdom discerns even between things that appear similar, distinguishing them by species, characteristics, and location. True discernment brings a liberating knowledge: it is all-encompassing, direct, beyond all objects, and not bound by sequence. When the purity of sattva and puruṣa becomes equal, kaivalya—the isolation of the self—shines forth. These perfections, or siddhis, may arise in various ways: by birth, through the use of special herbs, by mantra, through austerity, or by the deep absorption of samādhi. Transformation into another kind of being occurs through the overflowing of nature’s own power. The cause is not the initiator of these transformations; rather, as with a farmer who simply removes obstacles to let water flow, the removal of hindrances allows nature’s potential to manifest. Created minds arise solely from the sense of individuality. Among the many minds, each with its own activity, one mind serves as the instigator. Yet, the mind born of meditation is unique—it is free from latent impressions, pure and clear. For yogins, karma is neither white nor black; for others, it is threefold, shaped by their actions. From these karmas, only those impressions which correspond to the results will manifest. Because memory and latent impressions are of one form, a succession of experiences continues, even for those separated by birth, place, or time. The beginninglessness of these impressions is rooted in the eternity of desire. They are held together by cause, result, support, and object; when these are absent, the impressions cease. The past and future exist in their own forms, shaped by the differing paths of properties. Whether manifest or subtle, all these are of the nature of the three guṇas—qualities of nature. The unity of transformation establishes the reality of the object. Yet, because minds differ, two observers may experience separate paths even when perceiving the same object. Objects are not dependent on a single mind; if they were not validated by consciousness, what would they be? Because objects depend on the coloring of the mind, they may be known or unknown. The modifications of the mind are always known to the master of that mind, for the puruṣa—the true self—does not change. The mind cannot illuminate itself, for it is an object of perception. At any one moment, both the mind and its modifications cannot be simultaneously apprehended. If one mind were to perceive another mind, there would be an endless proliferation of intellects and confusion of memories. Because consciousness does not move between minds, when it takes on a particular form, it is aware only of its own intellect. The mind, colored by both the seer and the seen, is capable of all experiences. Though variegated by countless latent impressions, the mind acts for another, as it is constructed as an aggregate. For one who sees with true discernment, the tendency to imagine a separate self ceases. Then, the mind inclines toward discrimination and is drawn ever closer to liberation. Yet, in the gaps, other impressions may arise from latent tendencies. Their removal is accomplished as with the afflictions, through steady practice and detachment. For one who is utterly non-attached, even to the highest discriminative knowledge, there arises the samādhi called the “cloud of dharma”—the rain of virtue that brings final liberation.