In plain words
Humanness is something that changes from moment to moment. In this humanness that changes moment by moment, because a mind full of agitation, moment after moment, joins it, feelings of difference and thoughts of multiplicity arise in man, and this fosters the Ahaṅkāra that makes him forget even his humanness. Man has a taste for change itself, of one kind or another. A small example of this: however fine a singer may be, if he sings the same song in the same rāga many times over, the listeners cannot help growing weary. In music, which the eye cannot see, many kinds of rāgas, too, are joined together. Each rāga takes on a form of its own, too. So man longs all the time for the principles made of rāga, tāla and bhāva. Though the world is one, because it is joined with the three guṇas, a kind of sound, form, taste, smell and the rest in it give us many kinds of results. In the same way, though the jīva is one, because it is joined with many kinds of saṃskāras, its conduct takes to different paths without its even knowing. To believe that only what is seen is real, and that all that is not seen is Asatya, is foolishness. The unseen substance is itself the support of the principle that is seen. A small example: though we enjoy the fruits and flowers, the unseen roots of this tree that is seen are what support it. We go on adorning the building we see with beauty in many ways, but it is well known that the walls and the top, shaped with all this beauty, rest on foundations that are not seen. For the human form, with its many limbs, the principle of the mind, which has no limbs at all, is the root cause either of the highest divinity or of baseness. When a person stands on a boulder and sets about pushing aside the very boulder he stands on, you can only call it madness. No strong man whatever can push the boulder he himself stands on. Very well: suppose he gains that kind of strength and tries to push the very boulder he stands on; then he too is bound to fall.