In plain words
He enjoys the tree's shade at his ease, and having found comfort by it, he sets out on his journey again with great joy. But the tree does not think at all that the cool shade is its own, or that this traveller found comfort and happiness by taking refuge in this cool shade. It does not even reflect in the least, “So many people are enjoying comfort because of me.” In the same way, with the feeling “they are his own, they are mine” towards the property and possessions that belong to his body, towards his wife and children, towards his mother and father, man becomes bound and falls into a certain bondage: this keeps happening. First of all we must inquire who it is that says, “This is my house, she is my wife, she is my mother, he is the son, he is the father, this is my body.” But we must also inquire whether it is the body that says all this, or he himself, who is in the body, that says it. When the body itself says all these are mine, what meaning is there, I ask, in saying, “This body is mine”? So: the body is not he, and this body is inert; he, being consciousness, dwells in this body and keeps imagining that all who belong to his own delusion about the body are “my people” and “mine”. So making a fitting effort to know who this one is: that is itself what is called Sāṅkhya. That is, when we inquire well, it also becomes clear to us that the meaning of Sāṅkhya is precisely this: to inquire well into the elements and the qualities of the elements and so to know who one is. But when we inquire into this “I, I”, it can turn into Sāṅkhya. But when we inquire into the birthplace from which this word ‘I’ or this principle ‘I’ arises, the place it is born from, that very place also has a name: Tāraka. But the state in which he dwells in that place of Tāraka and forgets his own vṛttis: that very condition is also called “Amanaska”. The state in which he stands firm in that place of Tāraka, forgets all his vṛttis and is immersed in a kind of Ānanda of the Ātma is called by the name Amanaska.