driftingraven122 said:Enlightened Teddy Bear 😁
There aren't any voids regarding existence, non-existence, or nothingness—I guess. It’s just that, momentarily, the diversity gets lost along with the entity observing the "infinite contents." And that's really the only ultimate way to grasp those "infinite contents"—it isn't an either-or situation, maybe.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead describes this exact process as "liberation."
Suppose such an "liberation" is experienced by an "entity"—regardless of whether that entity exists in a material, astral, or any other form. Wouldn't this liberation simply be yet another experience in a long series of experiences for that entity? If both diversity and the perceiver itself are lost, only to return to a previous state, then "liberation" immediately becomes nothing more than a memory. Furthermore, if the entity undergoes a sort of fragmentation during this state of "liberation"—which is a clumsy way to put it, but I hope it makes sense—then since there is no longer a self, there is no subject capable of actually experiencing that liberation. Ultimately, "liberation" is either a mere recollection of the true nature of things or total annihilation. The very idea of "being liberated," or "residing in a state of liberation," is quite absurd.
Edward Flores4 said:I wasn't actually talking about his specific commentary on the Tibetan Book of the Dead—that’s not what I meant—but rather more about his overall perspective on Eastern philosophies, mythologies, and those old folk tales we grew up with.
It’s pretty much the same story for everyone—it’s layered, deeply complex, and constant. You know, Eastern perspectives don't really place the same kind of weight on the things we Americans tend to obsess over—stuff like the subconscious, the collective unconscious, and all that deep psychological territory. To them, all of that is just Maya, just as much as our physical existence or our individual ego-consciousness.
Maya carries so much weight, but if you really strip it all back, what it means first and foremost is... Measurement—it’s funny how we think we have everything figured out just because we can put a number to it. We go through life obsessed with scales, rulers, and spreadsheets, convinced that if we can just quantify something, we’ve actually mastered it. But honestly? Most of the time, we're just measuring the shadow of the thing rather than the thing itself. Think about it like trying to gauge the quality of a meal at a local diner. You can look at the calorie count, check the price, or even weigh the steak—but none of those numbers will ever tell you if the food actually hits the soul, right? Or take something more abstract, like progress in a career or the depth of a friendship. You can track hours worked or texts sent, but those metrics feel so hollow when you're actually living it. I’ve been thinking lately about how much energy we waste trying to turn the intangible into data. We want certainty, so we reach for a ruler. But some of the most important parts of being human—intuition, connection, purpose—they don't fit on a standard scale. They require a different kind of calibration altogether. It's less about the math and more about the feeling.... or rather, when you try to "measure" him. When we dive into Eastern philosophy—the kind that suggests everything around us is just Maya—what we’re really talking about is how our minds are wired to slice up reality. We take this one massive, continuous flow of existence and start carving it into little, separate pieces—like a tree, a person, a stream, or even a shoe.
Let’s look at this through a simple lens—something we all deal with every single day. We can all easily tell someone our age, even though, if you really stop to think about it, that number is just an entirely arbitrary way of measuring a human being. I mean, when does life actually *start*? It's not like there's one universal clock ticking away from a single moment. There are at least a few different ways you could legitimately argue for where the count begins:
I’ve always felt that life doesn't just sort of "kick in" later on—it actually begins at the very moment of conception. It’s that initial spark, that singular point where everything starts, which I think is such a profound way to look at our existence.
I’ve always felt that life truly kicks off at that singular, defining moment—when an egg cell is finally fertilized. It's that tiny, precise instant where everything changes.
Life doesn't truly kick off until that embryo starts developing its own circulatory system—that's when things really get moving.
Life doesn't truly kick off until that embryo starts developing its own central nervous system—that's when everything changes.
Life doesn't truly kick off until a mother brings a child into this world—it’s that profound moment where everything shifts. It’s like when you finally flip the switch on a massive, complex machine and suddenly there’s actual power running through the system; before that, it was just potential, waiting to be realized. Everything changes once that connection is made.
Maybe it all actually traces back to that split second when Dad first laid eyes on Mom—or maybe it was her seeing him first (honestly, I'm just trying to be funny here, but there might be some truth to it).
It’s funny how we all just collectively decided that birth is the official starting line for "measuring" a life—even though there are plenty of other ways you could look at it. Honestly, death works the same way; we can define it through so many different lenses. Is it when breathing stops? When circulation ceases? Or maybe when someone stops responding to external stimuli or when brain activity flatlines? Because of all these variables, Eastern philosophies tend to view this whole concept of measurement as an "illusion." Now, I don't mean they're saying the physical reality we're observing isn't real—it definitely is. It’s more that the act of slicing our existence into these arbitrary little segments is what's illusory. We create these specific markers just so we have a way to wrap our heads around things and actually communicate them to one another. But at the end of the day... well, we're just dealing with words. think i I'm not quite sure what you're getting at here—it feels like we're starting from a blank slate. If there was a specific thought or a bit of a story you were trying to share, go ahead and lay it out for me. I’m all ears, and I’d love to dive into whatever it is you're thinking about once we get some more context on the table. It’s honestly no coincidence that you see those similarities popping up across so many different languages—it’s almost like there's an underlying pattern we're all tapping into.
So, here’s the thing— The way Maya views things doesn't actually push aside physical reality, consciousness, or the subconscious—it’s not about denying any of that. It’s more like... instead of saying those things don't exist, she's looking at how they all fit together in this much larger, interconnected framework. It isn't a rejection of what we can touch or feel, nor is it a dismissal of our inner minds; it's just a different way of organizing how everything hangs together....or whatever else comes to mind. It’s funny how we tend to break down massive, life-altering events into these little, seemingly disconnected pieces—almost like we're trying to make sense of a whirlwind by looking at individual raindrops instead of the whole storm. We compartmentalize everything, slicing up these huge experiences into manageable chunks just so we don't feel overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it all.It’s funny how we fall into this trap where we think we’re seeing cause and effect—this illusion of causality—which just feeds into that whole widespread prejudice that "what happened yesterday dictates what happens tomorrow." But if you really sit with it, the truth is much simpler: there isn't a chain of separate events at all. There is only one single event, and honestly? It hasn't even finished happening yet. It's always just that one, continuous moment.
It seems like most people following Eastern philosophies don't actually grasp the core tenets of what they’re studying. Instead, they get totally boggeduk by the metaphors and fall into this trap of believing that physical reality is just some grand illusion they need to "escape" from... which, honestly, doesn't tell me much other than the fact that most people—whether they’re in the West or the East—would rather die than actually sit down and think critically. Think about it: Americans tend to obsess over heaven, hell, and resurrection, while those following Eastern traditions fixate on Maya, reincarnation, and liberation. At the end of the day, it’s the exact same meal, just served in a different kind of packaging.
Jung really drives home this idea—based on what you find in the Tibetan Book of the Dead—that everything flips on its head at the moment of death. It’s like the whole process just reverses direction. Instead of the usual way we experience things, the mind hits this sudden encounter with "pure consciousness" or even a kind of "non-consciousness." If you don't manage to let go right then and there, you start that slow, heavy slide back down into the Maya.
I honestly can't wrap my head around how anyone gets the nerve to write about what people experience at the exact moment they pass away—all while signing their name like they’re some kind of living authority on the subject. It just feels fundamentally off, you know? 🤷
Phrases like "slowly sinking back into Maya" just don't make any sense to me—honestly, they’re a bit nonsensical. I mean, the only way you actually "exit" Maya is if you pass away or if you somehow manage to completely wipe your memory of language itself. Sure, we all face a little metaphorical death every single day, but let's be real: nobody has ever truly managed to forget their native tongue without essentially lobotomizing a significant chunk of their own brain.
Beyond that, I’m struggling to wrap my head around how this whole idea of "knowledge regarding the experiences of the dead" actually managed to weave its way into the sacred scriptures in the first place.
So, that person who actually went clinically dead... you know, the one who came back from the brink... they haven't really "died" in the permanent sense, have they? It’s like they’re still hanging in that middle ground—somewhere between here and gone.
It’s pretty much common knowledge at this point that the brain starts pumping out tryptamines when it senses an imminent shutdown. If you take a look at the accounts from people who have undergone DMT trips and compare them to those who have had near-death experiences—it’s wild how similar they are. Honestly, they’re almost identical to what people describe during high-dose LSD sessions, too. It's like the brain has its own built-in fallback mechanism for when things get critical.
To frame this as some kind of "near-death experience" is just being incredibly naive—honestly, it’s almost reckless. Relying on something like the Tibetan Book of the Dead to justify it feels like a textbook move from organized religion; they love using those kinds of "manuals" to spark hope for an afterlife, mostly because it keeps people compliant and raises their tolerance for whatever mess they're dealing with here on Earth. Think about it—if people stopped hoping for "something else" waiting for them on the other side, a huge chunk of the population might actually decide that the life they're living right now isn't worth putting up with. If that happened, religious institutions and even the government would find themselves in a much tighter spot than they are today.
If you really dive into the Tibetan Book of the Dead, you start to realize it isn't just some mystical guide—it’s actually an incredibly thorough breakdown of the human psyche. It maps everything out, moving from those deepest, most primal layers of our subconscious all the way up to the surface stuff we deal with every day. 🙂
Could you maybe expand on that just a little bit? I’d love it if you could walk me through the different layers—even just a high-level overview—and touch on what makes each one unique.
I can't believe I actually found this—it’s like stumbling upon a lost piece of history right in the middle of a busy afternoon. It really makes you stop and think about how much we miss when we're just rushing through life, isn't it? It reminds me a bit of that old feeling you get when you finally pick up a copy of the Tibetan Book of the Dead after hearing people talk about it for years—that sense that there's something deeper waiting to be uncovered if you just slow down enough to look. Anyway, I was thinking about what Edward Flores4 mentioned earlier—you know, how easily we get caught up in the noise—and it clicked. It's almost like trying to listen to a subtle melody while standing next to a jet engine at LAX. You have to find that internal quiet first. It's not always easy, especially when everything feels so loud and fast-paced, but it's worth the effort. Just a little thought I had while sitting here with my coffee.| But you really have to keep in mind that this book—it’s basically laying out exactly what happens... It just happened—totally out of the blue. It’s all about what happens after we cross that line—that transition from life to whatever comes next. |
I’m having a hard time following the logic here. I mean, what kind of mental gymnastics does it take to actually believe that someone could pass away, successfully migrate to some sort of "next level," and then somehow manage to beam back detailed instructions from that other dimension?
Even if we decide to give them the benefit of the doubt—just for a second—and let's say, for the sake of argument, that this actually *is* possible... we’re still staring down the barrel of a massive, insurmountable problem:
What exactly is that thing people talk about—that transition where you supposedly survive death only to ascend to the next "level," versus the idea that you just slowly sink back down into Maya?
I’ve been thinking about this lately—the idea that consciousness is really just a reflection of the world around us, filtered through the lens of our own bodies. Think about it: the actual substance of what we experience is almost entirely composed of information about our environment, rather than anything internal to the organism itself. It’s all external data being processed. So, when the body finally gives out, that reflection of the outside world simply stops. Everything contained within that stream of consciousness effectively "survives" in a sense, but there isn't a single thing in that entire collection of data that you could truly call *yours*.
So, even if there actually were some kind of direct hotline between the living and the dead... I just don't see what could possibly make it through that transition. I mean, what part of us survives death in a way that we could actually recognize as an individual—as a specific identity, a distinct entity, or any kind of autonomous self? It’s hard to wrap my head around how anything stays intact once the lights go out.
I honestly think Jung was just trying to drive home the point that attempting a conscious "reverse process" can be incredibly risky. There’s this idea that if you dive straight into those deepest, darkest layers of your own psyche—hoping you'll somehow strike gold and find the ultimate "source"—you might actually lose your footing. It’s like trying to scuba dive into an abyss without enough oxygen; you might get caught in some intense mental states that you simply aren't equipped to handle, potentially leading someone straight toward psychosis or schizophrenia. It's a heavy warning about the dangers of going too deep, too fast.
Not only can it be dangerous, but honestly, it’s just completely pointless. When we all eventually pass away... there really isn't much sense in trying to suppress "Maya" in an attempt to mimic the state of consciousness that precedes physical death. There isn't anything spiritual, enlightened, or even meaningful about that approach.
If you look at it as a one-time experience—provided it's interpreted correctly—it can "reward" you by relieving that deep-seated fear of your own mortality. In doing so, it settles most of those nagging issues caused by the mind's internal narrative drama—you know, how the brain arbitrarily "measures" everything happening, chops it into little fragments, and then starts stressing out over non-existent connections between those random pieces of a supposed "whole." You could call it satori if you want, though satori isn't just the experience itself; it’s the experience *correctly understood*. And let's be real, interpretation isn't entirely dependent on the experience, though it's incredibly rare to find someone open-minded enough to grasp it through pure reason—so usually, the experience itself becomes the deciding factor.
For people who have had such an experience but totally misread what happened, Buddhists actually have a specific term for them—something like "mula" (and I don't mean a horse or a donkey).
Quincy:| Eastern traditions don't dig through the mind and its contents like that; instead, they cast the mind aside as Maya and focus immediately on the highest thing—pure spirit, pure consciousness, emptiness, nothingness, and so on. Which, ultimately, is exactly what the Tibetan Book of the Dead advises: turning your attention toward non-existence, meditation, or prayer to some higher Deity—regardless of what is happening in the moment, what you see, hear, or feel. |
That practice is utterly senseless, and it runs perfectly parallel to Christian thought. Christians often preach the "insignificance of this life," frequently calling it a "temptation" or a "test" where passing successfully ensures "eternal life in the heavenly kingdom."
It’s basically throwing away the life you actually have for the sake of a potential payoff in the afterlife. Is there anything more futile than that?
This way of interpreting Eastern philosophies is actually just an Eastern version of popular religion; aside from the mythology, metaphors, and various flourishes, it doesn't really differ from Christianity.
Quincy:| And then we arrive at what I mentioned in my opening post: either existence with all its infinite contents, or the total annihilation of everything. Why would the latter be considered the ultimate spiritual goal? |
There are several answers to that, and a few come to mind right now. 🙂
1) Because people love gravitating toward whatever looks cool. And let's face it—"cool" is mostly just a label for things we don't understand. Things we *do* understand feel pre-packaged, obvious, simple, ordinary, outdated, unattractive, and frankly, boring.
2) Because a monkey does what a monkey sees, and humans aren't all that different from monkeys. When people lack a better idea, they tend to just mimic what others are doing without ever stopping to ask why.
3) Because so many people are disillusioned with themselves and how lost they feel in the world, so they find solace in this exotic, alluring cocktail of nihilism, esotericism, mysticism, and religion... they slap the label "spiritual achievement" on it, and suddenly they’ve finally accomplished something, giving their lives "some kind of" meaning.
ps: Even though I "attacked" some of your points, I only did so to shine a light on some of the "sketchy" details within that concept. Looking at the discussion as a whole, I can tell you're already aware of most of these issues. So, please don't take this as an attempt to argue, insult you, or be verbally aggressive.🙂
I have no idea how the Tibetan Book of the Dead came to be, though I imagine it was developed through various experiments conducted by ancient Lam Anagarika Govindas.
What exactly happens when someone survives death—do they transition to the next level, or do they gradually fade back into the Maya?
That is the fundamental question. 🙂 If our current existence is merely an illusion, then a true reality must exist beyond it. This is where most people diverge in their convictions: some believe it is God, others posit it is "nothingness," while some argue that what we experience right now is the only absolute truth. This fundamental premise serves as the bedrock upon which all other beliefs, spiritual teachings, and religions are eventually built.
Even if there were a direct hotline between the living and the dead, I struggle to see what could actually survive death while still being identifiable as an individual, a distinct identity, or any kind of autonomous entity.
If we look at the Tibetan Book of the Dead and similar teachings, there is the concept of an "astral body" that exists for a time after death as a blueprint of the physical self. This mental body holds one's memories, karma, and personality traits. It eventually begins to dissolve—similar to how some American traditions observe a forty-day period following passing—until the essence of the being moves toward its next incarnation, shaped by previous karma. States like heaven, hell, or judgment experienced during this transition are simply reflections of one's own psychological state. According to the Tibetan Book of the Dead, those who dedicated themselves to spirituality during their lifetime are spared the more harrowing experiences in the Bardo realm; even without achieving full liberation, their transition between lives remains smooth, peaceful, and joyful.
ps: even though I "challenged" some of your points, I only did so to highlight certain questionable details within that concept. Looking at our discussion, it seems you are already aware of most of those issues. Please don't view this as an attempt to argue, offend, or be verbally aggressive. 🙂
Not at all! We are simply discussing ideas. 🙂
steeleagle13 said:SO, am I the one doubting, or are YOU?😉 😁
Just like someone who isn't there practically doesn't exist—for someone who isn't there, there is practically no "afterward," and for God's sake, no "astral plane" or "whatever comes next." For those who aren't there, NOTHING follows!
Once someone is gone—there will never be anything again for them.
WHO DOES ANYTHING FOLLOW IF NOBODY IS THERE? 😲 🙄 😂
In other words, DEATH IS IMPOSSIBLE, and your illusory physical shell is ETERNAL!!!
Death in the true sense of the word (assuming there's a "stage" involved, or if there's no astral body outside of the physical—death of the physical being the "end," or the astral body dying, it doesn't matter) can't be anything other than a DEEP DREAMLESS SLEEP... eventually, you'll wake up again, just like you woke up once at birth, and just like you wake up EVERY DAY when you get out of bed in the morning...
That is merely one possible belief; it is quite logical and comforting, which makes it appealing to the mind, but there is no way to know for sure, let alone prove to someone else that it is the absolute truth. 😉