The change that takes place in the devotee's mind and soul on attaining inner spiritual realization is depicted by Kabir through paradoxes. Mind, the rabbit which roamed in the wild forests of the world and its attachments, now rests in the ocean of bliss; soul, the fish living in the sea of the world, now stays on the high peaks of the inner spiritual regions. Mind, which was debased by its own low tendencies, has drunk the wine of inner joy, but it is the soul that enjoys the intoxication of that spiritual experience. The fruit of true knowledge — spiritual knowledge — grows without a tree, that is, realization does not come out of the 'trees' of scriptures and learning; independent of all else, it is complete in itself.

The senses were the weaver, sitting at the loom of mind and weaving the cloth of physical pleasures. Now the mind dominates the senses and directs them to weave the cloth of virtuous living. The mind was tied to the 'earth' or physical world with the gross pegs of attachments and outward bonds; now the sublime pegs of spiritual inclinations hold the 'earth' — mind's inward inclination has completely overcome its earlier outward attachments and downward tendencies. Cravings and hopes (mansa and asa) have given way to love and surrender, which are the warp and weft that control the mind, and now mind itself urges the disciple to weave the cloth of spiritual practice with devotion and concentration.

Concluding the poem, Kabir says that all this has been achieved with the Master's grace; and mind, which swollen with ego was as huge as an elephant, has now become humble and small and easily goes and comes back through the needle's eye — the eye center — on its journey to the inner spiritual regions.

The wave of knowledge surges, O friend,
Producing strains of sweet melody;
I merged in the botmdless Shabd
And thus wiped out the stain
Of desires and cravings.

The vagrant rabbit of the wild woods
Has made the ocean its abode;
The lively fish of the seas
Has made the mountain peaks its home.
The base one has devoured liquor,
But the noble one has become intoxicated.
Without an orchard, without a tree
Grows a fruit of rare delicacy.

The loom's paddle sits on the weaver
And weaves the cloth;
The ground is fastened
To the loom's pegs;
The warp and weft hold the frame,
And the yarn itself urges:
'Weave me, weave me well, O friend.'

Says Kabir: Hearken, O sages,
On the path of supreme knowledge,
By my Master's grace
The elephant comes and goes
Through the needle's eye.

K.G., p. 72:10
A vadhu gyān lahari dhuni māndi re