Verse 13

⁹Look, Lord, at how low I have been. In you, endless, first, the supreme Self, whose maya is master of every maya, I spread out a maya of my own to look at your power, small as I am: as a flame might try it on a fire. ¹⁰So forgive me, Unfallen. I am born of passion, I do not know, I take myself for a lord apart from you, my eyes blinded by the thick dark of pride in being unborn. Think of me so: this one has me for his master, and is to be pitied. ¹¹Where am I, whose body is seven spans within a shell wrapped in darkness and the great principle and I-making and space and air and fire and water and earth? And where is that greatness of yours, through the pores of whose skin, which are the roads of the winds, uncounted world-eggs pass like specks of dust?

¹²Does a child in the womb kicking out its feet count as an offence against its mother, you who are beyond the reach of the senses? Is there anything at all, marked out as being or not being, that lies outside your belly and not within it? ¹³That the unborn one came out from the lotus stalk at the navel in Narayana's belly, on the flood water at the ending of the three worlds: that saying is not false. But, Lord, have I not come out of you?