Let's Talk About The Unspeakable
The journey between lives as described by the Tibetan Book of the Dead
It’s impossible to delve deeply into mysticism without discussing death and what follows.
Just about every tradition touches upon death, and what comes next. Rebirth may not be generally agreed upon by all branches of mysticism, but I would be remiss if I didn’t discuss it here in the way I believe it to be.
In the last post, we talked about the true nature of our being. As part of that, I mentioned the terms transmigration and reincarnation while discussing endlessly cycling through lives in Samsara. Some people shy away from death; others move towards spirituality as a way of touching the concept safely. I promise to be delicate in this one, but I’m not gonna hold back for the comfort of the squeamish. We’ll all arrive there sooner or later, so let’s walk with some confidence. In this post, we’re jumping into the topic of death from the perspective of Tibetan Buddhism.
Why Tibetan Buddhism?
Because this is their jam.
Tibetans, both Buddhist and Bön, have thorough, comprehensive traditions surrounding death. It’s a trip they know they’ll be taking, and they spend a great deal of time preparing for it. For the Tibetan Buddhists (Vajrayana Buddhists), death is the perfect opportunity to achieve liberation if the person knows what they’re doing. There are other reasons, but we’ll get to those–and other areas of Buddhist philosophy–at another point.
The Vajrayana perspective may be slightly more backed up than others, if you are to believe anecdotal evidence from many of Tibet’s spiritual masters, the formerly near-dead, and the formerly high-as-a-kite-on-psychedelics.
Throughout the years, many people with near-death experiences (NDEs) have reported similar phenomena: leaving their body; feeling immense peace; heading towards some brilliant light, possibly guided by loved ones or angels of some sort. It’s nice to know that there’s some consistency to the anecdotal evidence we have—and it just so happens to align with the post-death experience described in the text Westerners know as the Tibetan Book of the Dead.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead is a comprehensive guidebook for death and what comes after for those of the Vajrayana tradition—a guidebook that, if followed, can potentially lead the dying to liberation, and help the living in assisting the dying in their transition.
The key element of the book is what are called bardos, transitional stages the consciousness passes through, both in life and in death. The bardos are so crucial, in fact, that they’re in the Tibetan name of the book: Bardo Tödröl Chenmo, which translates to The Great Liberation through Hearing in the Bardo. It’s a confusing name, but don’t worry; the title’s got nothing on the contents.
These bardos are also experienced in a limited capacity while under heavy doses of psychedelics, hence Tim Leary and Ram Dass’s book The Psychedelic Experience: A Manual Based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead. There are six bardos: three living bardos (experienced during our time on Earth), and three dying bardos (experienced after death up until our next rebirth):
• Kyenay (Life)
• Milam (Dream)
• Samten (Meditation)
• Chikhai (Moment of Death)
• Chönyid (Luminosity of True Nature)
• Sidpa (Becoming)
I’m not saying I have any more experience with dying than any of you, nor am I saying the claims written here have the most concrete evidence, but I am partial to these concepts and felt it important to share.
A few clarifications before we dive into the bardos…
Before we get into the “main event” of today’s post, I want to touch upon a few important details.
Buddhists don’t believe in souls, especially not like the Bön or Hindu traditions that influenced this particular tradition. While the Bön have la (vital spirit) and the Hindus have atman (self), Buddhists don’t believe in any unchanging permanent self.
Buddhists hold the concept of (non-self), which states you are an impermanent collection of occurrences that identifies as a somebody and takes itself seriously. These five aggregates are: physical form, sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness. The five aggregates are impermanent and thus are not to be identified with too strongly, if at all.
Think of a computer. There’s no inherent “computerness”, but a collection of parts that when held together create a thinking entity that will cease once it can no longer functionally channel electricity. The consciousness is the electricity, the rest of you is the computer.
Another clarification I want to make is semantic. Transmigration and reincarnation are not the same thing. Transmigration is the transference of consciousness to a new form; reincarnation is the transference of a soul. Buddhists believe that what moves on is a continued stream of consciousness with karmic imprints; therefore, transmigration is a more appropriate term.
Sticking with the computer analogy, transmigration is the channeling of the electricity, reincarnation would be transferring a CPU. Due to the tradition we are discussing today, I am using the former term, but I believe this also applies to those who believe the latter.
Because everyone here has varying beliefs, I am going to use the term “pilgrim” to describe us as we go through this never-ending journey. This is to capture the essence of what happens to us without being philosophically exclusionary to the syncretics who may take this information to heart while also not losing consistency within the Vajrayana teachings.
Alright, now on with the show…
The Bardos of the Living: You Are Here
Kyenay Bardo, the bardo of birth and life, is where we are now. From the moment of conception to your final exhale, this is where you will reside. This is where pilgrims enjoy having bodies to do all of our waking activities, such as dealing with our lives, preparing for our deaths, and subscribing to our favorite Substacks about mysticism. Within this bardo are two sub-bardos:
Milam Bardo, the bardo of dream, is where we go at night. You almost certainly recognize how this place feels, an adjacent sub-reality of sorts where things feel very almost real. This is a place where many Tibetan yogis train for death through the practice of “dream yoga,” which is the practice of learning to become lucid during a dream and recognizing its illusory nature. Master that, and you may be able to better navigate the bardos of death.
Then there’s Samten Bardo, the bardo of meditation. Not everyone is familiar with the mental state one achieves when involved in meditative practice, but it’s a spacious place where one can separate oneself from attachment, aversion, and self-deceit. It’s an internally vast plain of awareness where things seem less personal and more phenomenological. This is a wonderful practice for death as it’s a trip you should pack for lightly, psychologically speaking.
Onto the Dying Part…
Chikhai Bardo is the bardo of the moment of death, and what correlates with reported NDEs. The body ceases, and the consciousness is separated from it, taking the pilgrimage to the next stop in the cycle. We may see people fretting over our dead bodies, but at this point pilgrims usually feel a disconnect from the worldy form and remain more collected. Here we immediately witness a brilliant light, almost like a celestial jump-scare, but intensely peaceful. This light is our true nature, our purest essence. You could call it God, Buddha Nature, the Clear Light of Reality, or Home, but just know that it’s the key to liberation.
If you recognize it, anyway.
If you don’t, as a result of your karma, attachments, or confusion, you will continue onwards into where things become a little strange.
The Chönyid Bardo, also known as the bardo of the luminous reality, is not just a journey; it’s a trip. In this dreamlike bardo, your reality is an extended psychedelic romp with projections of your mind coming to meet you everywhere you go. These projections are described as peaceful and wrathful deities in the Tibetan tradition, but just think of them as archetypes. Different pilgrims will experience unique visions depending on their tradition’s concepts, such as angels and demons appearing for the Abrahamists out there.
This is where dream yoga really comes in handy, although it’s useful the whole way through. If in the Chönyid Bardo you can realize that giant flaming dude with the sword or beings like him are projections of your mind rather than anything external, you can prevent yourself from being caught in the illusion further and even achieve liberation. And the beings can even help you if you can realize they are a part of you. If you get lost in the fear or bewilderment, you’ll move on to the final bardo of the cycle.
Sidpa Bardo is the bardo of becoming, and the intensity here cranks up considerably. This is where a combination of our karma and mental state dictates our next life. All pilgrims who have made it here, which is to say all of them at least thousands of times before, now find themselves experiencing visions that are far more personal. The visions here are created by our attachments, desires, and unresolved karma.
Among the things pilgrims are shown are different realms and families, lives they could be reborn into if they allow themselves to get pulled in. For those who remain present and mindful, more control is available over where you go, and even if you go.
And then of course, the attachments and aversions.
From the tantalizing to the terrifying, it will be there. Each pilgrim will experience personalized visions, as we all psychologically cling to different things. It could be visions of ravenous demonic wolves, horny cheerleaders, or anything in between, but the key is to remember they’re all visions. Karma and mental tendencies function to form our perception of reality in the Sidpa Bardo, and then our reaction to them creates our next life.
Once you’ve fully karmically formed for your next life, including which set of parents you will have, transmigration into a fertilized embryo occurs, bringing you back to the Kyenay Bardo at the moment of conception. You have arrived at your continued journey.
So what does this mean for our lives?
The main entry-level advice for navigating the bardos of death works just as well for the bardos of life: be present.
It sounds cliché, but it’s true. Right now, as we live and breathe, is the best—and only—time for us to practice being fully calm and present in the moment. The more we practice it now, the better we’ll be at it when we’re there.
And wouldn’t it also be better to be fully involved in our lives, anyway? We’re so caught up in dying later that we neglect that we’re living now. I know people who are so afraid of their future deaths that they not only neglect the lives they should be living, but they lower their quality of life to manage the terror of the inevitable.
The answer to managing both life and death is to be fully in every moment, pushing away none of what we experience and holding on to nothing, embracing each moment as it is. Feel all of your feelings, allow all of your thoughts to surface, and fully engage with your senses.
This also applies to how we should approach those we know who are nearing death. Help them unpack before their journey; make sure they leave behind what they can, including their very lives. Whatever they hold onto will eventually cause them pain when they have to let it go involuntarily. Hold space for them to let go.
This isn’t my advice, folks. Don’t blame me for getting all mushy and sentimental—this is the advice of the ancients. It’s also a core tenet of the modern Conscious Dying movement. Stephen Levine, co-founder of the Living/Dying Project, described it as being “fully born”—something most of us don’t allow ourselves to do until it’s too late.
So that’s the takeaway, friends. We’re all going to go at some time, and ultimately, we’re not going anywhere anyway. So just be here now, enjoy the ride, and be there later to do the same.