The Drum, the Smoke and the Sea

Then Yājñavalkya gave her likenesses for what he had told her, that when the Self is known, all this is known. When a drum is beaten, he said, you cannot catch hold of the sounds as they go out from it; but if you take hold of the drum, or of the one who beats it, you have the sound as well. When a conch is blown, you cannot catch hold of the sounds as they go out; but take hold of the conch, or of the one who blows it, and you have the sound. When a vīṇā is played, you cannot catch hold of the sounds as they go out; but take hold of the vīṇā, or of the one who plays it, and you have the sound.

As smoke of many kinds rises from a fire laid with damp wood, so, Maitreyī, from this great being were breathed out the Ṛgveda, the Yajurveda, the Sāmaveda, the hymns of the Atharvans and Aṅgirases, the old stories and lore, the sciences, the Upaniṣads, the verses, the sayings, the explanations and the commentaries; what is offered in sacrifice and what is poured, what is eaten and what is drunk, this world and the next and all beings. All these are only its breath.

As the sea is the one place where all waters meet, so the skin is the one meeting place of all touch, the nostrils of all smells, the tongue of all tastes, the eye of all forms, the ear of all sounds, the mind of all purposes, the heart of all knowledge, the hands of all work, the organ of generation of all delight, the organ of release of all that is let go, the feet of all journeys, and speech of all the Vedas.

As a lump of salt has no inside and no outside, but is all of it one mass of taste, so this Self has no inside and no outside, but is all of it one mass of knowing. It rises up out of these elements and vanishes again into them. After death there is no more awareness. This is what I tell you, my dear. So said Yājñavalkya.