THE EXPERIENCE OF DEATH, for most people, will simply mean passing into a state of oblivion at the end of the process of dying. The three stages of the inner dissolution can be as quick, it is sometimes said, as three snaps of a finger. The white and red essences of father and mother meet at the heart, and the black experience called “full attainment” arises. The Ground Luminosity dawns, but we fail to recognize it and we faint into unconsciousness.
As I have said, this is the first failure to recognize, or stage of ignorance, called Ma Rigpa in Tibetan, the opposite of Rigpa. This marks the beginning in us of another cycle of samsara, which was interrupted for an instant at the moment of death. The bardo of dharmata then occurs, and it simply flashes past, unrecognized. This is the second failure of recognition, a second stage of ignorance, Ma Rigpa.
The first thing that we are aware of is “as if the sky and earth were separating again”: We suddenly awaken into the intermediate state that lies between death and a new rebirth. This is called the bardo of becoming, the sipa bardo, and is the third bardo of death.
With our failure to recognize the Ground Luminosity and our failure to recognize the bardo of dharmata, the seeds of all our habitual tendencies are activated and reawakened. The bardo of becoming spans the time between their reawakening and our entering the womb of the next life.
The word sipa in sipa bardo, which is translated as “becoming,” also means “possibility” and “existence.” In the sipa bardo, as the mind is no longer limited and obstructed by the physical body of this world, the “possibilities” are infinite for “becoming” reborn in different realms. And this bardo has the outer “existence” of the mental body and the inner “existence” of the mind.
The outstanding feature of the bardo of becoming is that mind takes on the predominant role, whereas the bardo of dharmata unfolded within the realm of Rigpa. So, in the bardo of dharmata we have a body of light, and in the bardo of becoming we have a mental body.
In the bardo of becoming the mind is endowed with immense clarity and unlimited mobility, yet the direction in which it moves is determined solely by the habitual tendencies of our past karma. So it is called the “karmic” bardo of becoming, because as Kalu Rinpoche says: “It is an entirely automatic or blind result of our previous actions or karma, and nothing that occurs here is a conscious decision on the part of the being; we are simply buffeted around by the force of karma.”1
At this point the mind has arrived at the next stage in its process of gradual unfolding: out of its purest state—the Ground Luminosity—through its light and energy—the appearances of the bardo of dharmata—and so into the yet grosser manifestation of a mental form in the bardo of becoming. What takes place now at this stage is a reverse process of dissolution: the winds reappear, and along with them come the thought states connected with ignorance, desire, and anger. Then, because the memory of our past karmic body is still fresh in our mind, we take on a “mental body.”
Our mental body in the bardo of becoming has a number of special characteristics. It possesses all its senses. It is extremely light, lucid, and mobile, and its awareness is said to be seven times clearer than in life. It is also endowed with a rudimentary kind of clairvoyance, which is not under conscious control, but gives the mental body the ability to read others’ minds.
At first this mental body will have a form similar to the body of the life just lived, yet it is without any defects and in the prime of life. Even if you were handicapped or sick in this life, you will have a perfect mental body in the bardo of becoming.
One of the ancient teachings of Dzogchen tells us that the mental body is about the size of a child of eight to ten years old.
Because of the force of conceptual thinking, also known as “the karmic wind,” the mental body is unable to remain still, even for an instant. It is ceaselessly on the move. It can go wherever it wishes unobstructedly, just by thinking. Because the mental body has no physical basis, it can pass through solid barriers such as walls or mountains.2
The mental body can see through three-dimensional objects. Yet since we lack the father and mother essences of the physical body, we no longer have the light of sun or moon, but only a dim glow illuminating the space immediately in front of us. We can see other bardo beings, but we cannot be seen by living beings, except those who have the kind of clairvoyance developed through deep experience of meditation.3 So we can meet and converse for fleeting moments with many other travelers in the bardo world, those who have died before us.
Because of the presence of the five elements in its makeup, the mental body seems to us to be solid, and we still feel pangs of hunger. The bardo teachings say that the mental body lives off odors and derives nourishment from burnt offerings, but it can only benefit from offerings dedicated specially in its name.
In this state mental activity is very rapid: thoughts come in quick succession, and we can do many things at once. The mind continues to perpetuate set patterns and habits, especially its clinging to experiences, and its belief that they are ultimately real.
During the first weeks of the bardo, we have the impression that we are a man or woman, just as in our previous life. We do not realize that we are dead. We return home to meet our family and loved ones. We try to talk to them, to touch them on the shoulder. But they do not reply or even show they are aware we are there. As hard as we try, nothing can make them notice us. We watch, powerless, as they weep or sit stunned and heartbroken over our death. Fruitlessly we try to make use of our belongings. Our place is no longer laid at table, and arrangements are being made to dispose of our possessions. We feel angry, hurt, and frustrated, “like a fish,” says the Tibetan Book of the Dead, “writhing in hot sand.”
If we are very attached to our body, we may even try, in vain, to reenter or hover around it. In extreme cases the mental body can linger near its possessions or body for weeks or even years. And still it may not dawn on us we are dead. It is only when we see that we cast no shadow, make no reflection in the mirror, no footprints on the ground, that finally we realize. And the sheer shock of recognizing we have died can be enough to make us faint away.
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.
Our restless, solitary wandering through the bardo world is as frantic as a nightmare, and just as in a dream, we believe we have a physical body and that we really exist. Yet all the experiences of this bardo arise only from our mind, created by our karma and habits returning.
The winds of the elements return, and as Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche says, “One hears loud sounds caused by the four elements of earth, water, fire, and wind. There is the sound of an avalanche continuously falling behind one, the sound of a great rushing river, the sound of a huge blazing mass of fire like a volcano, and the sound of a great storm.”4 Trying to escape them in the terrifying darkness, it is said that three different abysses, white, red, and black, “deep and dreadful,” open up in front of us. These, the Tibetan Book of the Dead tells us, are our own anger, desire, and ignorance. We are assailed by freezing downpours, hailstorms of pus and blood; haunted by the sound of disembodied, menacing cries; hounded by flesh-eating demons and carnivorous beasts.
We are swept along relentlessly by the wind of karma, unable to hold onto any ground. The Tibetan Book of the Dead says: “At this time, the great tornado of karma, terrifying, unbearable, whirling fiercely, will drive you from behind.” Consumed by fear, blown to and fro like dandelion seeds in the wind, we roam, helpless, through the gloom of the bardo. Tormented by hunger and thirst, we seek refuge here and there. Our mind’s perceptions change every moment, projecting us, “like out of a catapult,” says the Tibetan Book of the Dead, into alternate states of sorrow or joy. Into our minds comes the longing for a physical body, and yet we fail to find one, which plunges us into further suffering.
The whole landscape and environment is molded by our karma, just as the bardo world can be peopled by the nightmarish images of our own delusions. If our habitual conduct in life was positive, our perception and experience in the bardo will be mixed with bliss and happiness; and if our lives were harmful or hurtful to others, our experiences in the bardo will be ones of pain, grief, and fear. So, it was said in Tibet, fishermen, butchers, and hunters are attacked by monstrous versions of their former victims.
Some who have studied the near-death experience in detail, and especially the “life-review” that is one of its common features, have asked themselves: How could we possibly imagine the horror of the bardo experiences of a drug baron, a dictator, or a Nazi torturer? The “life-review” seems to suggest that, after death, we can experience all the suffering for which we were both directly and indirectly responsible.
The whole of the bardo of becoming has an average duration of forty-nine days and a minimum length of one week. But it varies, just as now some people live to be a hundred years old, and others die in their youth. Some can even get stuck in the bardo, to become spirits or ghosts. Dudjom Rinpoche used to explain that during the first twenty-one days of the bardo, you still have a strong impression of your previous life, and this is therefore the most important period for the living to be able to help a dead person. After that, your future life slowly takes shape and becomes the dominant influence.
We have to wait in the bardo until we can make a karmic connection with our future parents. I sometimes think of the bardo as something like a transit lounge, in which you can wait for up to forty-nine days before transferring to the next life. But there are two special cases who don’t have to wait in the intermediate state, because the intensity of the power of their karma sweeps them immediately on to their next rebirth. The first are those who have lived extremely beneficial and positive lives, and so trained their minds in spiritual practice that the force of their realization carries them directly into a good rebirth. The second case are those whose lives have been negative and harmful; they travel swiftly down to their next birth, wherever that might be.
Some accounts of the bardo describe a judgment scene, a kind of life-review similar to the post-mortem judgment found in many of the world’s cultures. Your good conscience, a white guardian angel, acts as your defense counsel, recounting the beneficial things you have done, while your bad conscience, a black demon, submits the case for the prosecution. Good and bad are totalled up as white and black pebbles. The “Lord of Death,” who presides, then consults the mirror of karma and makes his judgment.5
I feel that in this judgment scene there are some interesting parallels with the life-review of the near-death experience. Ultimately all judgment takes place within our own mind. We are the judge and the judged. “It is interesting to note,” said Raymond Moody, “that the judgment in the cases I studied came not from the being of light, who seemed to love and accept these people anyway, but rather from within the individual being judged.”6
A woman who went through a near-death experience told Kenneth Ring: “You are shown your life—and you do the judging . . . You are judging yourself. You have been forgiven all your sins, but are you able to forgive yourself for not doing the things you should have done, and some little cheating things that maybe you’ve done in life? Can you forgive yourself? This is the judgment.”7
The judgment scene also shows that what really counts, in the final analysis, is the motivation behind our every action, and that there is no escaping the effects of our past actions, words, and thoughts and the imprints and habits they have stamped us with. It means that we are entirely responsible, not only for this life, but for our future lives as well.
As our mind is so light, mobile, and vulnerable in the bardo, whatever thoughts arise, good or bad, have tremendous power and influence. Without a physical body to ground us, thoughts actually become reality. Imagine the sharp grief and anger we might feel on seeing a funeral service performed carelessly on our behalf, or greedy relatives squabbling over our possessions, or friends we loved deeply, and thought had loved us, talking about us in a sneering or hurtful or simply condescending way. Such a situation could be very dangerous, because our reaction, in its violence, could drive us directly toward an unfortunate rebirth.
The overwhelming power of thought, then, is the key issue in the bardo of becoming. This crucial moment finds us completely exposed to whatever habits and tendencies we have allowed to grow and dominate our lives. If you don’t check those habits and tendencies now in life, and prevent them from seizing hold of your mind, then in the bardo of becoming you will be their helpless victim, buffeted to and fro by their power. The slightest irritation, for example, in the bardo of becoming can have a devastating effect, and that is why traditionally the person reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead had to be someone with whom you had a good connection; if not, the very sound of his or her voice could infuriate you, with the most disastrous consequences.
The teachings give us many descriptions of the rawness of the mind in the bardo of becoming; the most striking of these says that our mind in this bardo is like a flaming red-hot iron bar that can be bent in whichever way you want until it cools, when whatever form it finds itself in rapidly solidifies. In just the same way, it is said, a single positive thought in this bardo can lead directly to enlightenment, and a single negative reaction can plunge you into the most prolonged and extreme suffering. The Tibetan Book of the Dead could not warn us more strongly:
Now is the time which is the borderline between going up and going down; now is the time when by slipping into laziness even for a moment you will endure constant suffering; now is the time when by concentrating for an instant you will enjoy constant happiness. Focus your mind single-mindedly; strive to prolong the results of good karma!
The Tibetan Book of the Dead tries to awaken any connection with spiritual practice the dead person may have had, and it encourages us: to give up attachment to people and possessions, to abandon yearning for a body, not to give in to desire or anger, to cultivate kindness rather than hostility, and not even to contemplate negative actions. It reminds the dead person there is no need to fear: On the one hand, it tells them that the terrifying bardo figures are nothing more than their own deluded projections and by nature empty; and on the other hand, that they themselves have only “a mental body of habitual tendencies,” and are therefore empty too. “So emptiness cannot harm emptiness.”
The shifting and precarious nature of the bardo of becoming can also be the source of many opportunities for liberation, and the susceptibility of mind in this bardo can be turned to our advantage. All we have to do is remember one instruction; all it needs is for one positive thought to spring into our mind. If we can recall any teaching that has inspired us to the nature of mind, if we have even one good inclination toward practice, or a deep connection with a spiritual practice, then that alone can free us.
In the bardo of becoming, the buddha realms do not appear spontaneously as they do in the bardo of dharmata. Just by remembering them, however, you can transfer yourself there directly by the power of your mind, and proceed toward enlightenment. It is said that if you can invoke a buddha, he will immediately appear before you. But remember, even though the possibilities are limitless, we must have at least some, if not total, control over our mind in this bardo; and this is extremely difficult, because the mind here is so vulnerable, fragmented, and restless.
So in this bardo, whenever you can suddenly retrieve your awareness, even for a moment, immediately recall your connection with spiritual practice, remember your master or buddha, and invoke them with all your strength. If in life you have developed the natural reflex of praying whenever things become difficult or critical, or slip beyond your control, then instantly you will be able to invoke or call to mind an enlightened being, such as Buddha or Padmasambhava, Tara or Avalokiteshvara, Christ or the Virgin Mary. If you are able to invoke them fervently with one-pointed devotion, and with all your heart, then through the power of their blessing, your mind will be liberated into the space of their wisdom mind. Prayer in this life may seem sometimes to bring little result, but its effects in the bardo are unprecedentedly powerful.
Yet the description I have given you of the bardo shows the sheer difficulty of focusing the mind at this juncture, if we have had no previous training. Think how almost impossible it is to remember something like a prayer in a dream or nightmare, how impotent and powerless we feel in them; in the bardo of becoming it is just as hard, if not harder, to collect our thoughts at all. This is why the watchword of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, repeated over and over again, is: “Do not be distracted.” As it points out:
This is the dividing line where buddhas and sentient beings are separated . . .
“In an instant they are separated, in an instant complete enlightenment.”
As, in the bardo of becoming, the time for rebirth gets closer, you crave more and more the support of a material body, and you search for any one that might be available in which to be reborn. Different signs begin to appear, warning you of the realm in which you are likely to take rebirth. Lights of various colors shine from the six realms of existence, and you will feel drawn toward one or another, depending on the negative emotion that is predominant in your mind. Once you have been drawn into one of these lights, it is very difficult to turn back.
Then images and visions will arise, linked to the different realms. As you become more familiar with the teachings, you will become more alert to what they really mean. The signs vary slightly according to different teachings. Some say that if you are to be reborn as a god, you will have a vision of entering a heavenly palace with many stories. If you are to be reborn as a demigod, you will feel you are amidst spinning circular weapons of fire, or going onto a battlefield. If you are to be reborn as an animal, you find yourself in a cave, a hole in the ground, or a nest made of straw. If you have a vision of a tree stump, a deep forest, or a woven cloth, you are to be reborn as a hungry ghost. And if you are to be reborn in hell, you will feel you are being led, powerless, into a black pit, down a black road, into a somber land with black or red houses, or toward a city of iron.
There are many other signs, such as the way in which your gaze or movement is aligned, which indicate the realm for which you are heading. If you are to be reborn in a god or human realm, your gaze will be directed upward; if in an animal realm, you will look straight ahead, as do birds; and if in a hungry ghost or hell realm, you will be facing downward, as though you were diving.
If any of these signs appear, you should be on guard not to fall into any of these unfortunate rebirths.
At the same time, you will have an intense desire and longing for certain realms, and you are drawn toward them all too instinctively. The teachings warn us that at this point there is a great danger that out of your avid eagerness to be reborn, you will rush to any place at all that seems to offer some security. If your desire is frustrated, the anger that arises will of itself bring the bardo abruptly to an end, as you are swept into your next rebirth by the current of that negative emotion. And so, as you can see, your future rebirth is directly determined by desire, anger, and ignorance.
Imagine that you run toward a place of refuge, simply to escape the onslaught of the bardo experiences. Then, terrified to leave, you might become attached and take on a new birth, no matter where, just in order to have one. You might even, the Tibetan Book of the Dead explains, become confused and mistake a good birthplace for a bad one, or a bad one for a good one. Or hear the voices of your loved ones calling you, or seductive singing, and follow these, only to find yourself being lured down into the lower realms.
You must take great care not to enter blindly into one of these undesirable realms. Yet what is wonderful is that the instant you become aware of what is happening to you, you can actually begin to influence and change your destiny.
Swept along by the wind of karma, you will then arrive at a place where your future parents are making love. Seeing them, you become emotionally drawn in; and because of past karmic connections, you begin spontaneously to feel strong attachment or aversion. Attraction and desire for the mother and aversion or jealousy for the father will result in your being born as a male child, and the reverse a female.8 But if you succumb to such strong passions, not only will you be reborn, but that very emotion may draw you into birth in a lower realm.
Is there anything now that we can do to avoid being reborn or to direct our next rebirth? The bardo teachings give two specific kinds of instructions: methods for preventing a rebirth, or failing that, for choosing a good birth. First are the guidelines for closing the entrance to another birth:
The best method is to abandon the emotions such as desire, anger, or jealousy, and recognize that none of these bardo experiences have any ultimate reality. If you can realize this and then rest the mind in its true, empty nature, this in itself will prevent rebirth. The Tibetan Book of the Dead here warns us:
Alas! the father and mother, the great storm, the whirlwind, the thunder, the terrifying projections and all these apparent phenomena are illusory in their real nature. However they appear, they are not real. All substances are false and untrue. They are like a mirage, they are not permanent, they are not changeless. What is the use of desire? What is the use of fear? It is regarding the nonexistent as existent . . .
The Tibetan Book of the Dead goes on to advise us:
“All substances are my own mind, and this mind is emptiness, unarisen and unobstructed.” Thinking this, keep your mind natural and undiluted, self-contained in its own nature like water poured into water, just as it is, loose, open and relaxed. By letting it rest naturally and loosely, you can be sure that the womb-entrance to all the different kinds of birth will certainly be closed.9
The next best method to prevent rebirth is to see your potential parents as the buddha, or your master, or yidam deity. And at the very least, you should try to generate a feeling of renunciation against being drawn into feelings of desire, and to think of the pure realms of the buddhas. This will prevent rebirth and may cause you to be reborn in one of the buddha realms.
If you are unable to stabilize the mind enough to do even this kind of practice, then there remain the methods for choosing a rebirth, which are linked to the landmarks and signs of the different realms. If you must take rebirth, or you intentionally wish to be reborn in order to pursue your spiritual path and be of benefit to others, you should not enter any but the human realm. It is only there that conditions are favorable for spiritual progress. If you are going to be born in a fortunate situation in the human realm, the teachings tell us, you will feel you are arriving at a sumptuous and beautiful house, or in a city, or among a crowd of people, or you will have a vision of couples making love.
Otherwise, generally we have no choice. We are drawn toward our birthplace “as inexorably as a bird lured into a cage, dry grass catching fire, or an animal sinking into a marsh.” The Tibetan Book of the Dead says: “O son/daughter of an enlightened family, even though you do not want to go, you have no power of your own; you are helpless and compelled to go.”
Yet, as the teachings are always so inspiringly reminding us, there is always hope; now is the time for prayer. By wishing and concentrating intensely, even at this moment, you can still be reborn in one of the buddha realms, or else you can generate a deep aspiration to be reborn in a human family where you may be able to meet the spiritual path and continue toward liberation. If you have a strong karma that impels you toward a particular realm, you may have no choice; however, your past aspiration and prayers can help you to reshape your destiny, so you may be reborn into a life that will lead one day to liberation.
Even as you enter the womb, you can go on praying for this to happen. Even now, you can visualize yourself as any enlightened being, traditionally the masters say as Vajrasattva,10 bless the womb you are entering as a sacred environment, “a palace of the gods,” and continue to practice.
Now when the bardo of becoming dawns upon me,
I will concentrate my mind one-pointedly,
And strive to prolong the results of good karma,
Close the entrance to rebirth, and try to keep from being reborn.
This is the time when perseverance and pure perception are needed;
Abandon negative emotions, and meditate on the master.
Ultimately it is the mind’s urge to inhabit a particular realm that impels us toward reincarnation, and its tendency to solidify and to grasp that finds its ultimate expression in physical rebirth. This is the next stage in the process of manifestation that we have seen taking place throughout the bardos.
If you succeed in directing the mind toward a human birth, you have come full circle. You are poised to be born again into the natural bardo of this life. When you see your father and mother in intercourse, your mind is ineluctably drawn in, and enters the womb. This signals the end of the bardo of becoming, as your mind rapidly re-experiences yet again the signs of the phases of dissolution and the dawning of the Ground Luminosity. Then the black experience of full attainment arises again, and at the same moment the connection to the new womb is made.
So life begins, as it ends, with the Ground Luminosity.