The Self is one. Unmoving, it moves faster than the mind, The senses lag, but the Self runs ahead. Unmoving, it outruns pursuit. Out of Self comes the breath that is the life of all things, Unmoving, it moves; is far away, yet near; within all, outside all. Of a certainty the man who can see all creatures in himself, himself in all creatures, knows no sorrow. How can a wise man, knowing the unity of life, seeing all creatures in himself be deluded or sorrowful?