The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

“I have come to realize that the disastrous effects of the denial of death go far beyond the individual: They affect the whole planet. Believing fundamentally that this life is the only one, modern people have developed no long-term vision. So there is nothing to restrain them from plundering the planet for their own immediate ends and from living in a selfish way that could prove fatal for the future. How many more warnings do we need, like this one from the former Brazilian Minister for the Environment, responsible for the Amazon rain forest?”

Rinpoche articulates the broader ecological and societal consequences of disregarding the impermanence of life, suggesting that such denial can lead to short-sighted exploitation of the earth’s resources. He implies that a singular focus on this life without consideration of broader existential cycles fosters an attitude of consumption without responsibility, thus endangering the planet’s future. The reference to the Brazilian Minister for the Environment serves as a reminder of the urgency required in addressing these issues, framing environmental action as an integral aspect of spiritual and ethical maturity.

“The teachings make it clear that if all we know of mind is the aspect of mind that dissolves when we die, we will be left with no idea of what continues, no knowledge of the new dimension of the deeper reality of the nature of mind. So it is vital for us all to familiarize ourselves with the nature of mind while we are still alive. Only then will we be prepared when it reveals itself spontaneously and powerfully at the moment of death; be able to recognize it ‘as naturally,’ the teachings say, ‘as a child running into its mother’s lap’; and by remaining in that state, finally be liberated.”

Rinpoche’s teachings advocate for a deliberate exploration of the mind’s nature as a critical preparatory practice for the moment of death. As consciousness transcends physical existence, so the mind transcends death. The metaphor of a child running into its mother’s lap illustrates the instinctive recognition that can arise from profound familiarity with one’s deeper consciousness. Therefore, one has innate knowledge of the nature of mind.

“This modern samsara feeds off an anxiety and depression that it fosters and trains us all in, and carefully nurtures with a consumer machine that needs to keep us greedy to keep going. Samsara is highly organized, versatile, and sophisticated; it assaults us from every angle with its propaganda, and creates an almost impregnable environment of addiction around us. The more we try to escape, the more we seem to fall into the traps it is so ingenious at setting for us. As the eighteenth-century Tibetan master Jikmé Lingpa said: ‘Mesmerized by the sheer variety of perceptions, beings wander endlessly astray in samsara’s vicious cycle.’”

Rinpoche uses the metaphor of samsara as a “consumer machine” to conveys the cyclical nature of materialism, mirroring the endless cycle of birth and rebirth in Buddhist thought. He critically portrays the cycle of desire and dissatisfaction that, according to him, characterizes contemporary life, likening it to the Buddhist concept of samsara—the cycle of rebirth fueled by ignorance, desire, and aversion. Jikmé Lingpa’s quotation, like many intertextual elements that Rinpoche uses, draws on traditional Buddhist wisdom to articulate the timeless nature of existential entrapment, suggesting that, despite the modern context, the fundamental patterns of human delusion remain unchanged.

“Tibetan Buddhists believe that illnesses like cancer can be a warning, to remind us that we have been neglecting deep aspects of our being, such as our spiritual needs. If we take this warning seriously and change fundamentally the direction of our lives, there is a very real hope for healing not only our body, but our whole being.”

Rinpoche emphasizes the Tibetan Buddhist perspective that physical ailments can signify a deeper spiritual malaise, suggesting that a holistic approach to healing is essential. He utilizes symbolism, with illness representing a signal or message for introspection and transformation. By reinforcing the notion that addressing spiritual needs is as crucial as treating the physical body, Rinpoche imparts the idea that mind, body, and spirit are not separate but interconnected.

“For all its vaunted celebration of the value of human life and individual liberty, our society in fact treats us as obsessed only with power, sex, and money, and needing to be distracted at any moment from any contact with death, or with real life. If we are told of or begin to suspect our deep potential, we cannot believe it; and if we can conceive of spiritual transformation at all, we see it as only possible for the great saints and spiritual masters of the past. The Dalai Lama talks often of the lack of real self-love and self-respect that he sees in many people in the modern world. Underlying our whole outlook is a neurotic conviction of our own limitations. This denies us all hope of awakening, and tragically contradicts the central truth of Buddha’s teaching: that we are all already essentially perfect.”

Through the use of paradox, Rinpoche contrasts society’s proclaimed values of life and liberty with the reality of a culture immersed in superficiality. The main focus is on people’s internal conflict between societal actions and deeper spiritual capacities. Rinpoche also points to an undercurrent of self-doubt that undermines the fundamental Buddhist tenet of inherent perfection. Appealing to Dalai Lama’s teachings, he aims to expose the contradiction between the potential for enlightenment within all individuals and the widespread belief in personal inadequacy.

“Sit, then, as if you were a mountain, with all the unshakable, steadfast majesty of a mountain. A mountain is completely natural and at ease with itself, however strong the winds that batter it, however thick the dark clouds that swirl around its peak. Sitting like a mountain, let your mind rise and fly and soar. The most essential point of this posture is to keep the back straight, like ‘an arrow’ or ‘a pile of golden coins.’ The ‘inner energy,’ or prana, will then flow easily through the subtle channels of the body, and your mind will find its true state of rest. Don’t force anything. The lower part of the spine has a natural curve; it should be relaxed but upright. Your head should be balanced comfortably on your neck. It is your shoulders and the upper part of your torso that carry the strength and grace of the posture, and they should be held in strong poise, but without any tension.”

Rinpoche uses simile to equate the act of sitting for meditation with the steadfast qualities of a mountain, such as a serene stability and rootedness in practice despite external disturbances. Metaphors like “an arrow” and “a pile of golden coins” evoke a sense of liberation and valued structure, portraying the dual nature of meditation as both grounding and elevating. Rinpoche employs descriptive imagery to guide the meditation learner into a physical posture that reflects and supports a mental state of calm and clarity.

“Sometimes I tease people and ask: ‘What makes you so adamant that there’s no life after death? What proof do you have? What if you found there was a life after this one, having died denying its existence? What would you do then? Aren’t you limiting yourself with your conviction that it doesn’t exist? Doesn’t it make more sense to give the possibility of a life after death the benefit of the doubt, or at least be open to it, even if there is not what you would call “concrete evidence”? What would constitute concrete evidence for life after death?’”

This quote challenges the skepticism that some people invoke regarding the existence of an afterlife. Rinpoche uses a rhetorical strategy, posing a series of questions that shows the limitation of such a skepticism. It is, however, a fallacy (appeal to ignorance) to believe that if something is not proven false, it is true.

“One of the central characteristics of the bardos is that they are periods of deep uncertainty. Take this life as a prime example. As the world around us becomes more turbulent, so our lives become more fragmented. Out of touch and disconnected from ourselves, we are anxious, restless, and often paranoid. A tiny crisis pricks the balloon of the strategies we hide behind. A single moment of panic shows us how precarious and unstable everything is. To live in the modern world is to live in what is clearly a bardo realm; you don’t have to die to experience one.”

This passage draws a parallel between the conceptual framework of bardos, traditionally understood as transitional states post-mortem, and the existential realities of contemporary life, marked by pervasive uncertainty and instability. It critiques the modern human condition, marked by disconnection and anxiety, and suggests that the existential turmoil experienced in daily life mirrors the disorienting transitions of the bardos. Rinpoche uses the metaphor of the balloon to symbolize the fragility of the human construct of security.

“In the place of our contemporary nihilistic form of doubt, then, I would ask you to put what I call a ‘noble doubt,’ the kind of doubt that is an integral part of the path toward enlightenment. The vast truth of the mystical teachings handed down to us is not something that our endangered world can afford to dismiss. Instead of doubting them, why don’t we doubt ourselves: our ignorance, our assumption that we understand everything already, our grasping and evasion, our passion for so-called explanations of reality that have about them nothing of the awe-inspiring and all-encompassing wisdom of what the masters, the messengers of Reality, have told us?”

Rinpoche advocates for a transformative shift from a nihilistic skepticism, which negates value and meaning, to a constructive form of doubt that acknowledges the limitations of human understanding and opens the individual to mystical teachings. It posits that embracing “noble doubt” can be a foundation for growth rather than a barrier to belief. Rinpoche ultimately advocates for humility instead of dismissive skepticism.

“What most of us need, almost more than anything, is the courage and humility really to ask for help, from the depths of our hearts: to ask for the compassion of the enlightened beings, to ask for purification and healing, to ask for the power to understand the meaning of our suffering and trans-form it; at a relative level to ask for the growth in our lives of clarity, of peace, of discernment, and to ask for the realization of the absolute nature of mind that comes from merging with the deathless wisdom mind of the master.”

Rinpoche’s encouragement here for asking for help relates to the relationship between master and disciple. He understands the humility of asking for help as a recognition of the need for guidance, which is the beginning of a trustful master-disciple relationship. In Tibetan Buddhism, the master-disciple relationship is central to learning the path to enlightenment.

“What then is the View? It is nothing less than seeing the actual state of things as they are; it is knowing that the true nature of mind is the true nature of everything; and it is realizing that the true nature of our mind is the absolute truth. Dudjom Rinpoche says: ‘The View is the comprehension of the naked awareness, within which everything is contained: sensory perception and phenomenal existence, samsara and nirvana. This awareness has two aspects: emptiness as the absolute, and appearances or perception as the relative.’”

This quote explains the concept of “the view” in Tibetan Buddhism through an intertextual element, introduced by the words of fellow Tibetan Buddhist Dudjom Rinpoche. According to Dudjom Rinpoche, the view is both mundane and transcendent—within the dual aspects of “emptiness” and “appearances.” The quote emphasizes the idea that perceiving the true nature of the mind as synonymous with the absolute truth is essential for spiritual enlightenment. This suggests that this awareness is both the method and the goal of the spiritual path, blurring the lines between the journey and its culmination.

“Usually when you feel fear, you feel isolated and alone, and without company. But when somebody keeps company with you and talks of his or her own fears, then you realize fear is universal and the edge, the personal pain, is taken off it. Your fears are brought back to the human and universal context. Then you are able to understand, be more compassionate, and deal with your own fears in a much more positive and inspiring way.”

This quote refers to the fear of death and the importance of assisting the dying with an equanimous, balanced state of mind. Rinpoche also contextualizes death, fear, and all other intense human experiences as communal experiences, which help maintain bonds and develop compassion for others, rather than isolating experiences.

“Death can be very inspiring. In my experiences with dying people, I have found that I have surprised myself by the way in which my prayer and invocation transformed the atmosphere, and I myself have had my faith deepened by seeing how effective this invocation and prayer and this presence of the buddhas are. I have found that being by the bedside of a dying person has made my own practice far more powerful.”

This quote highlights a reciprocal enrichment in assisting death, where the sacred rituals not only support the dying person but also significantly reinforce the practitioner’s own faith and spiritual rigor. Rinpoche suggests that through firsthand experience, the presence at a dying person’s bedside inspire spiritual growth in the assistant.

“It is extremely hard not to cry when we are at the bedside of a loved one who is dying. I advise everyone to do their best to work out attachment and grief with the dying person before death comes: Cry together, express your love, and say goodbye, but try to finish with this process before the actual moment of death arrives. If possible, it is best if friends and relatives do not show excessive grief at the moment of death, because the consciousness of the dying person is at that moment exceptionally vulnerable. The Tibetan Book of the Dead says that your crying and tears around a person’s bedside are experienced like thunder and hail. But don’t worry if you have found yourself weeping at a deathbed; it can’t be helped, and there is no reason to upset yourself and to feel guilty.”

This quote advocates for the resolution of attachment and grief through open expression and closure before death to preserve the sanctity of the dying individual’s final moments. Rinpoche advises the reader empathetically, acknowledging that following his advice may be difficult. The reference to The Tibetan Book of the Dead gives Rinpoche more leverage, and the use of simile, likening tears to thunder and hail, makes the message more impactful.

“What happens, to put it extremely simply, is that consciousness, at its subtlest level, continues without the body and goes through the series of states called ‘bardos.’ The teachings tell us that it is precisely because we no longer have a body in the bardos that there is no ultimate reason to fear any experience, however terrifying, that may happen to us after death. How can any harm, after all, ever come to a ‘nobody’? The problem, however, is that in the bardos, most people go on grasping at a false sense of self, with its ghostly grasping at physical solidity; and this continuation of that illusion, which has been at the root of all suffering in life, exposes them in death to more suffering, especially in the ‘bardo of becoming.’”

This quote addresses the paradox that, despite the absence of a physical form—which theoretically eliminates the possibility of harm—the persistence of self-identity and attachment generates suffering within the bardos, especially experienced in the “bardo of becoming.” Rinpoche references the Buddhist concept of attachment and the illusion of self as the root causes of suffering, both in life and in death.

“The human body is compared by the masters to a city, the channels to its roads, the winds to a horse, and the mind to a rider. There are 72,000 subtle channels in the body, but three principal ones: the central channel, running parallel to the spine, and the right and left channels, which run either side of it. The right and left channels coil around the central one at a number of points to form a series of ‘knots.’ Along the central channel are situated a number of ‘channel wheels,’ the chakras or energy-centers, from which channels branch off like the ribs of an umbrella.”

Rinpoche uses metaphor to demystify the complex concept of the body’s subtle energy system. Through the detailed enumeration of the body channels and the use of various imagery, like knots and wheels, the text paints a vivid picture of the body’s energy centers, illustrating their role and structure through the use of visual signs.

“Even though the Ground Luminosity presents itself naturally to us all, most of us are totally unprepared for its sheer immensity, the vast and subtle depth of its naked simplicity. The majority of us will simply have no means of recognizing it, because we have not made ourselves familiar with ways of recognizing it in life. What happens, then, is that we tend to react instinctively with all our past fears, habits, and conditioning, all our old reflexes. Though the negative emotions may have died for the luminosity to appear, the habits of lifetimes still remain, hidden in the background of our ordinary mind. Though all our confusion dies in death, instead of surrendering and opening to the luminosity, in our fear and ignorance we withdraw and instinctively hold onto our grasping.”

This quote articulates the paradox of encountering the Ground Luminosity, pointing to the discrepancy between its innate presence and people’s habitual unpreparedness to perceive it. Rinpoche uses antithesis, juxtaposing the “naked simplicity” of the luminosity against the complex “depth” of people’s untrained minds and conditioned responses. Thus, he contrasts the spiritual reality with human perception.

“I find it extremely suggestive that modern physics has shown that when matter is investigated, it is revealed as an ocean of energy and light. ‘Matter, as it were, is condensed or frozen light…all matter is a condensation of light into patterns moving back and forth at average speeds which are less than the speed of light,’ remarks David Bohm. Modern physics also understands light in a many-sided way: ‘It’s energy and it’s also information—content, form and structure. It’s the potential for everything!’”

This quote bridges the realms of spiritual understanding and scientific discovery. Rinpoche proudly uses scientific references from the Western world to back up his arguments. By using the direct quotation from physicist David Bohm, Rinpoche appeals to the authority of a respected figure in the field of quantum physics to lend credibility to the comparison of matter to “condensed or frozen light,” exemplifying the convergence of scientific and spiritual insights.

“In the bardo of becoming we relive all the experiences of our past life, reviewing minute details long lost to memory, and revisiting places, the masters say, ‘where we did no more than spit on the ground.’ Every seven days we are compelled to go through the experience of death once again, with all its suffering. If our death was peaceful, that peaceful state of mind is repeated; if it was tormented, however, that torment is repeated too. And remember that this is with a consciousness seven times more intense than that of life, and that in the fleeting period of the bardo of becoming, all the negative karma of previous lives is returning, in a fiercely concentrated and deranging way.”

Rinpoche uses the imagery of revisiting seemingly inconsequential moments to emphasize the thoroughness and precision of the life review process in the bardo. Rinpoche’s discussion here underlines the magnified sensitivity and potential for suffering or serenity in this state, insisting on the profound impact of one’s mental state at death on their journey through the bardo.

“Some Western people who recently visited Tibet told me about the following incident they had witnessed. One day a Tibetan walking by the side of the road was knocked over and killed instantly by a Chinese truck. A monk, who happened to be passing, quickly went over and sat next to the dead man lying on the ground. They saw the monk lean over him and recite some practice or other close to his ear; suddenly, to their astonishment, the dead man revived. The monk then performed a practice they recognized as the transference of consciousness, and guided him back calmly into death. What had happened? Clearly the monk had recognized that the violent shock of the man’s death had left him terribly disturbed, and so the monk had acted swiftly: first to free the dead man’s mind from its distress, and then, by means of the phowa, to transfer it to a Buddha realm or toward a good rebirth. To the Westerners who were watching, this monk seemed to be just an ordinary person, but this remarkable story shows that he was in fact a practitioner of considerable power.”

This anecdote conveys the depth of Tibetan spiritual practices, particularly phowa (transference of consciousness), revealing their potential to profoundly affect the transition between life and death. Rinpoche also juxtaposes the gaze of the Westerners, who perceive the monk as “just an ordinary person,” with the extraordinary nature of the monk’s actions and thus amplifies the spiritual potency of the monk and of the Tibetan tradition in general.

“I would like to make one essential caution: Don’t let these accounts of the near-death experience, which are so inspiring, lull you into believing that all you have to do in order to dwell in such states of peace and bliss is to die. It is not, and could not be, that simple. Sometimes when people are going through suffering and pain, they feel they cannot bear it anymore; and hearing the near-death stories might, it is conceivable, tempt them to put an end to it all by taking their lives. This might seem like a simple solution, but it overlooks the fact that whatever we go through is part of life. It’s impossible to run away. If you run away, you will only come to face your suffering in an even deeper way later on.”

Rinpoche uses this cautionary statement to address the misconception that death can be an escape to peace and bliss, as suggested by near-death experience narratives. By warning against the allure of seeing death as an escape, Rinpoche emphasizes the importance of confronting and integrating life’s experiences rather than seeking to evade them through death, which only postpones the hard work one needs to do towards the ultimate goal: enlightenment.

“I think of a great work of art as like a moon shining in the night sky; it illuminates the world, yet its light is not its own but borrowed from the hidden sun of the absolute. Art has helped many toward glimpsing the nature of spirituality. Is one of the reasons for the limitations of much of modern art, however, the loss of this knowledge of art’s unseen sacred origin and its sacred purpose: to give people a vision of their true nature and their place in the universe, and to restore to them, endlessly afresh, the value and meaning of life and its infinite possibilities?”

The analogy between art and moonlight highlights art’s potential for spiritual guidance, as it is capable of shining the light for the practitioner to see the spiritual road. However, Rinpoche criticizes modern art for being disconnected from its sacred roots, implying that art should necessarily maintain a transcendental aspect.

“Simplifying an exceptionally subtle and refined vision, you could say that for David Bohm meaning has a special and wide-ranging importance. He says: ‘This implies, in contrast to the usual view, that meaning is an inherent and essential part of our overall reality, and is not merely a purely abstract and ethereal quality having its existence only in the mind. Or to put it differently, in human life, quite generally, meaning is being…’ In the very act of interpreting the universe, we are creating the universe: ‘In a way, we could say that we are the totality of our meanings?’”

Rinpoche discusses David Bohm’s perspective on the fundamental role of meaning within the fabric of reality, suggesting that meaning transcends mere abstraction to become a vital component of existence itself. Bohm challenges the separation between the objective world and subjective interpretations, positing that humans’ engagement with and understanding of the world actively shapes the reality we inhabit. This view is in tune with the Tibetan Buddhist understanding of continuity between all things, such as life and death.