It	was	primarily	through	the	spiritualism
of	the	late	nineteenth	century	that	reincarnation	began	to	be	embraced	by
popular	culture. By	contrast,	some	versions	of	the	afterlife	have	no	wish	to	overlap	with
any	other. When	Mel	Gibson	was	being	interviewed	about	his	controversial
movie,	
The	Passion	of	the	Christ
,	with	its	emphasis	on	ultra-violence	and	its
almost	total	neglect	of	Christian	love,	he	freely	admitted	his	belief	in	an
exclusive	heaven. Gibson	was	being	interviewed	by	the	
Herald	Sun
newspaper	in	Australia	when	he	was	asked	if	Protestants	are	denied	eternal
salvation. “There	is	no	salvation	for	those	outside	the	Church,”	Gibson
replied,	referring	to	the	Catholic	Church. “Put	it	this	way. My	wife	is	a	saint. She’s	a	much	better	person	than	I	am. Honestly. She’s,	like,	Episcopalian,
Church	of	England. She	prays,	she	believes	in	God,	she	knows	Jesus,	she
believes	in	that	stuff. And	it’s	just	not	fair	if	she	doesn’t	make	it,	she’s	better
than	I	am. But	that	is	a	pronouncement	from	the	chair. I	go	with	it.”
Fundamentalism	is	often	criticized	for	its	inflexible	and	literalist
interpretations	of	Scripture. The	great	advantage	of	believing	in	this	kind	of
exclusivity,	as	millions	of	devout	Christians,	Muslims,	and	Jews	do,	is	its
unalloyed	simplicity. Dying	is	as	cut-and-dried	as	winning	a	football	game—or	losing	it,	in	the	case	of	hell—and	just	as	irrevocable. Good	and	bad	deeds
are	added	up	with	a	specific	weight	assigned	to	each	one. A	petty	theft	or
adultery	can	be	offset	by	penance	of	equal	value,	while	some	sins,	such	as
murder,	cancel	all	good	deeds	and	buy	a	ticket	directly	to	eternal	damnation. In	traditional	Hinduism,	however,	the	arithmetic	of	good	and	bad	deeds	is
infinitely	flexible. For	every	act	that	earns	bad	karma,	sending	the	soul
downward	in	its	next	rebirth,	there	is	a	chance	to	
balance
	the	scale	through
good	karma. Reincarnation	also	allows	a	soul	to	experience	one	heaven	or
hell	after	another	without	limit	until	
Moksha
,	or	liberation,	is	achieved. Moksha	ends	the	entire	cycle	of	heaven	and	hell	forever,	at	which	time	the
soul	returns	to	its	original	state	as	pure	consciousness,	a	drop	of	bliss	in	the
ocean	of	bliss. Here,	the	quarrels	of	religion	end. Like	all	earthly	attachments,
they	fall	away. According	to	Vedanta,	eternity	isn’t	a	smorgasbord. If	“God	is	one”	as	so
many	faiths	declare,	there	must	be	a	deeper	layer	to	the	Akashic	field	where
disagreements	and	multiple	choices	end. Consciousness	is	consciousness	no
matter	who	is	interpreting	it. Akasha	exists	beyond	choice,	beyond	mind. This
state	of	unity	attracts	the	dying	person	toward	it. Through	the	magnetism	of
the	soul,	one	is	drawn	to	the	next	stage	of	a	personal	dream	that	is	universal	at
the	source.8
S
EEING	THE
	S
OUL
THE	MOMENT	SHE
	woke	up,	Savitri	saw	that	they	were	back	at	the	banyan	tree
where	they’d	started. She	sat	up,	squinting	at	the	sun	overhead. How	could	it
be	so	high	in	the	sky? Then	she	saw	Ramana	standing	over	her. He	wore	a
mysterious	look. “We	haven’t	left	yet,”	he	said. “There	are	still	hours	to	go	before	Satyavan
returns	home.”
Weakly	rising	to	her	feet,	Savitri	gazed	at	the	monk	as	if	he	were	a
magician. “What	did	you	do?”
Ramana	shrugged. “You	were	exhausted. You	slept. I’m	not	responsible	if
you	had	a	productive	dream.”	Without	another	word	he	picked	up	his	flute,
exactly	as	he	had	before,	and	set	off. This	time	Savitri	followed	him	without
hesitation. They	did	not	take	the	trail	up	the	mountain	but	the	path	down,	and
after	a	while	Ramana	said,	“When	I	was	young	there	was	a	traveling	fortune-
teller	who	set	up	his	tent	by	the	Ganges. Every	devout	person	wants	to	die	in
Benares. Their	families	come	to	the	funeral,	and	a	fortune-teller	can	make	a
good	living,	particularly	this	one,	since	his	specialty	was	predicting	the	day
that	a	person	will	die. But	I	refused	to	go.”
“Why?”	asked	Savitri. Ramana	laughed. “I	was	different,	even	then. I	used	to	say	it’s	easy	to	see
the	future. I’ll	go	to	the	fortune-teller	who	can	see	the	present. The	most
difficult	thing	is	seeing	what’s	right	here.”
“Can	you	explain?”	Savitri	asked. “Have	you	heard	of	Maya?”
“Of	course. She	is	the	goddess	of	illusion.”
“Just	so,”	said	Ramana. “But	what	is	illusion? A	kind	of	magic	that	hides
reality	from	us? Maya	is	more	subtle. Let’s	say	I	show	you	a	piece	of	ice,	a
cloud	of	steam,	and	a	snowflake. Have	you	seen	any	water? If	you	say	yes,
then	you	have	overcome	Maya—the	forms	of	ice,	steam,	and	snowflake
didn’t	fool	you. You	went	to	the	essence,	which	is	that	they	are	all	made	of
water. “If	you	say	no,	then	you	fell	for	illusion. The	ice,	steam,	and	snowflake
grabbed	your	attention,	and	you	lost	the	essence. It	didn’t	take	magic	to	fool
you. You	allowed	your	mind	to	be	distracted. So	it	is	with	the	soul. We	look	atpeople	and	see	everything	on	the	surface. This	one	is	ugly,	that	one	beautiful,
this	one	poor,	that	one	rich,	this	one	I	love,	that	one	I	hate. Yet	each	is	Atman,
the	same	essence	in	infinite	forms.”
“Is	that	what	you	see?”	Savitri	asked. “Yes,	and	so	did	you	when	you	fell	in	love	with	Satyavan,”	Ramana	said. He	gazed	at	her	deeply. “I	know	all	about	you,	princess.”
Suddenly	Savitri’s	cheeks	burned. Somehow	Ramana	had	uncovered	her
secret. She	had	been	born	a	princess,	the	most	cherished	daughter	of	a	rich
and	powerful	king. When	the	time	came	for	her	to	marry,	Savitri	had	insisted
on	finding	the	right	man	herself,	and	so	her	father,	despite	his	worries,	sent
her	with	a	band	of	nobles	to	find	the	husband	of	her	heart’s	desire. Savitri	and
her	guards	traveled	through	the	dense	forest,	and	by	chance	they	came	upon	a
woodcutter’s	hut. As	soon	as	she	set	eyes	on	Satyavan,	who	was	humble	and
poor,	Savitri	resolved	to	marry	him,	whatever	the	obstacles. When	she	announced	her	choice,	Savitri	deeply	disappointed	her	father. However,	after	meeting	Satyavan	and	recognizing	his	good	heart	and
generosity	as	well	as	how	deeply	he	loved	Savitri,	the	king	reluctantly
accepted	his	daughter’s	choice. Then	something	disturbing	happened. On	the
three	nights	before	her	wedding,	Savitri	dreamed	of	Lord	Yama,	and	each
night	he	said	the	same	thing:	Satyavan	would	die	when	they	had	been	wed
exactly	a	year. “So	you	already	knew,”	said	Ramana. “And	yet	you	decided	to	marry
someone	who	was	doomed. Why?”
“Because	I	loved	him,”	Savitri	murmured. “And	what	is	true	love	but	recognizing	someone	else’s	soul? If	you	can
see	past	all	the	illusions	laid	in	your	way	by	Maya,	you	will	always	commune
with	Satyavan’s	soul. This	connection	can	never	be	lost,	no	matter	what
happens	to	his	body.”
Ramana	touched	Savitri’s	forehead,	and	instantly	she	saw	bodies	burning
on	the	funeral	pyres	beside	the	Ganges,	their	ashes	escaping	on	the	wind. “The	eye	can’t	help	but	see	this,”	Ramana	whispered,	“yet	it	never	saw	the
soul	in	the	first	place,	so	the	act	of	seeing	nothing	makes	us	believe	in	death.”
He	let	these	words	sink	in. “Do	you	think	you	can	stop	believing	your	eyes
now?”
Savitri	nodded,	and	for	an	instant	she	felt	Satyavan’s	soul	merge	with
hers,	just	as	she	had	on	the	day	they	met. THE	DIFFERENCE	BETWEEN	LIFE	AND	DEATH
Believing	what	we	see	is	addictive—we	can	hardly	do	without	it. I	know	aman	in	his	sixties,	a	retired	broker,	who	lost	his	wife	in	a	tragic	accident. She
was	driving	home	around	sunset	and	got	distracted	somehow. Her	right	front
tire	slid	up	over	the	curb,	and	one	jerk	of	the	steering	wheel	caused	her
vehicle	to	overturn	into	oncoming	traffic. She
	died	of	massive	internal
bleeding	in	the	ER	three	hours	later. Her	husband	went	into	shock. He
couldn’t	comprehend	suddenly	losing	her. Even	after	several	months	he	was
in	severe	psychological	pain;	he	became	obsessed	with	the	idea	that	he	had	to
talk	to	his	departed	wife	or	live	in	grief	permanently. “They	say	that	when	you	love	someone	long	enough	they	become	part	of
you,”	he	said. “I	think	that’s	true,”	I	replied. “The	moment	Ruth	left	I	felt	a	hole	inside	me. That’s	how	I	would
describe	grief—and	it	hurts	like	hell.”	We	were	sitting	in	his	house,	which	felt
far	too	big	for	one	person. He	must	have	realized	this	himself,	because	he	had
taken	to	shutting	off	several	bedrooms	and	retreating	to	an	overstuffed	chair
in	the	study. “I	was	grieving,	like	a	sick	dog,	for	months	after	Ruth	died,”	he	said. “Then	I	decided	it	just	hurt	too	damn	much. I	mean,	some	part	of	my	mind
was	telling	me,	over	and	over,	that	Ruth	wasn’t	really	gone. I	began	to	have
conversations	with	her. Yet	I	wasn’t	one	of	those	fortunate	people	who	feel
the	presence	of	the	departed. I	was	talking	to—what? The	air? A	figment	of
my	imagination?”	He	paused	for	a	moment	before	going	on. “I	made	up	my	mind	to	see	a	psychic	about	this. You’d	be	amazed	how
many	people	you	can	find	in	Southern	California	who	can	talk	to	the	dead	for
you.”
I	murmured	something	about	a	survivor’s	need	to	know	what	happened	to
their	loved	ones. “Yes,	I	agree. The	psychic	I	found	had	only	good	intentions,	I’m	sure. I
walked	into	her	place	feeling	nervous. She	didn’t	live	in	a	gypsy’s	tent	or
anything. It	was	a	town	house,	and	to	look	at	her,	she	could	have	been
anybody	standing	in	line	at	your	local	supermarket.”
The	psychic	was	reassuringly	down	to	earth. She	found	him	a	comfortable
chair	with	pillows,	put	some	bottled	water	by	his	side,	
and
	sat	on	the	opposite
side	of	the	coffee	table. She	closed	her	eyes	and	asked	that	they	both	sit
quietly. He	could	meditate	if	he	knew	how. The	man	didn’t,	so	he	sat	with	his
eyes	closed,	peeking	at	the	psychic	when	it	seemed	she	was	taking	a	long	time
to	speak. “But	then	something	happened?”	I	asked. “She	said	a	woman	wanted	to	talk	to	me,	and	that	she	was	getting	images:
two	children,	one	far	away	now,	a	cabin	in	the	mountains,	a	great	field	of
white	(snow? a	frozen	lake?). We	do	have	two	grown	children,	and	our
daughter	lives	in	England. And	Ruth	and	I	liked	to	ski,	sometimes	renting	acabin	near	the	slopes. All	at	once	I	was	paying	attention.”
“A	lot	of	people	like	to	ski,”	I	remarked. He	sighed. “I	know. That’s	how	it	went. The	psychic	kept	hitting	on	things
that	felt	real	to	me,	but	if	you	weren’t	there—”
“I	didn’t	have	to	be	there. You	definitely	thought	it	was	Ruth.”
“Right	then	I	did. Maybe	because	I	wanted	it	to	be	her	so	damn	much.”
He	went	on	to	say—as	thousands	of	people	do	in	such	situations—that	the
psychic	came	up	with	many	arresting	details. Whoever	is	contacting	the
psychic	draws	a	picture	through	convincing	small	touches,	such	as	pet	names
and	quirky	events	that	stick	in	the	mind. I	said,	“Ruth	told	you	she	was	in	a	good	place	and	not	to	worry. She	was
safe	and	kept	telling	you	she	loved	you. Right?”
“I	know	it	sounds	trite,”	the	man	said	hesitantly. “But	it	felt	genuine. I	was
very	emotional	the	whole	time,	close	to	tears. The	session	lasted	maybe	forty-
five	minutes. The	psychic	hugged	me. It	had	been	emotional	for	her,	too;	it
was	weird	to	think	we	had	been	total	strangers	an	hour	ago.”
“And	what	has	been	the	fallout?”	I	asked. He	shrugged. “I	immediately	felt	better. But	then	doubts	crept	in. Why
was	Ruth	talking	only	about	things	I	already	knew? Was	the	
psychic
	just
reading	my	mind,	or	my	aura,	whatever	that	is? Was	she	tuning	in	to	some
desperate	wish	of	mine? Now	I’m	not	sure	how	much	good	it	really	did.”
What	this	man	didn’t	know	was	that	I	had	had	a	similar	experience
myself. Several	years	ago	I	was	asked	to	participate	in	a	university	study	to
explore	whether	communication	with	the	dead	is	real. I	sat	in	a	sealed-off
room	and	was	told	to	say	nothing—all	contact	with	the	psychic	would	occur
through	the	experiment	leader. In	fact	there	were	three	psychics	connected	to
us	by	telephone,	each	in	a	different	part	of	the	country,	and	they	were	unable
to	hear	or	talk	to	one	another. Two	of	the	three	psychics	said,	“Do	you	have	Deepak	Chopra	in	the
room?”	They	had	not	been	told	who	I	was,	or	even	that	I	was	a	man. They
didn’t	hear	my	voice. All	three	said	that	someone	departed	wanted	to	talk	to	me. Two
immediately	knew	it	was	my	father,	who	had	died	suddenly	two	years
previously. One	took	a	bit	more	time	circling	around	the	relationship	with	me,
then	hit	on	it	being	my	father. This	“father”	knew	my	childhood	nickname	in
Hindi. He	said	he	was	happy	and	not	to	worry. All	three	psychics	came	up
with	these	generalized,	positive	sentiments. The	whole	thing	lasted	two	hours. Like	the	man	who	contacted	his	dead	wife,	I	thought	this	was	a	genuine
experience. I	also	came	away	with	doubts. My	“father”	knew	things	I	knew,
but	nothing	more. The	experiment	had	strict	guidelines,	which	I	came	to
regret. I	couldn’t	blurt	out	questions	or	react	to	what	I	was	hearing. I
wondered	why	the	departed	don’t	say	more	about	what	dying	is	like. Thereare	also	questions	about	whether	“Ruth”	and	my	“father”	should	be
considered	ghosts,	departed	souls,	or	not	quite	either. To	the	Vedic	rishis	they
were	wisps	of	memory	in	the	Akasha,	information	floating	around	until	it
found	a	place	to	attach	itself. “Ruth”	and	my	“father”	were	as	real	as	anything
else	in	the	Akasha,	but	to	give	them	quasi-physical	status	remains	a	
problem
. I	prefer	to	view	the	“father”	who	talked	to	me	as	aspects	of	his	consciousness
that	had	such	a	close	association	to	me	that	we	could	still	communicate. Skeptics	would	point	out	that	we	are	in	the	habit	of	seeing	and	hearing
other	people,	a	habit	we	are	loath	to	drop	even	after	death. Therefore	a	ghost
is	a	holdover	created	by	the	mind. Believers	would	contend	the	opposite,	that
ghosts	are	real	and	almost	physical,	the	embodiment	in	shadowy	form	of
people	who	cannot	find	a	way	to	leave	this	world. But	in	both	cases	habit	and
memory	are	at	work. Was	it	my	habit	or	my	father’s	that	brought	us	together? I	think	a	bit	of	both,	because	anyone	whom	you	relate	to	through	love	and
intimacy	shares	your	consciousness. We	are	inside	one	another,	as	shown	by
how	easily	I	can	call	up	my	father’s	voice,	face,	mannerisms,	speech	patterns,
and	ways	of	thinking. To	some	extent	I	have	adapted	some	of	these	as	my
own,	which	further	blurs	the	line	between	us. When	we	speak	to	the	dead	we	are	using	a	familiar	connection,	then,	and
it	can	be	strong	or	weak. When	it’s	weak,	we	see	and	hear	the	deceased	in	our
minds;	when	it	is	strong,	we	see	and	hear	them	more	vividly,	as	if	outside
ourselves. But	neither	I	nor	my	father	is	outside	the	field. That’s	the	point	the
rishis	emphasize	over	and	over,	and	my	experience	tells	me	it’s	true. The	Powers	You	Need
To	successfully	navigate	the	“other	side”	means	mastering	the	powers	that	are
needed	there. If	the	“other	side”	isn’t	merely	an	imitation	of	this	side,	those
powers	must	be	different	from	willpower,	physical	strength,	and	the	other
familiar	supports	of	life	in	the	material	world. Yet	our	subtle	powers,	being
part	of	ourselves,	can’t	be	totally	foreign,	either. For	most	of	us	our	primary
world	is	physical,	of	course,	but	we	are	using	subtle	powers	all	the	time,	and
these	may	support	us	in	the	afterlife. If	the	rishis	are	correct	in	saying	that
everyone	
inhabits
	the	Akashic	field,	both	in	life	and	after	death,	then	subtle
powers	of	consciousness	unite	both. T
HE
	P
OWERS
	Y
OU
	N
EED
Self-awareness:
	The	power	to	know	yourself. This	power	keeps	you
centered. Willingness:
	The	power	to	open	your	mind. This	power	allows	reality	to	beseen	despite	old	conditioning	and	beliefs. Intention:
	The	power	to	manifest	desires. This	power	connects	you	with
your	purpose. Discrimination:
	The	power	to	make	fine	distinctions. This	power	guides
you	in	the	subtleties	of	understanding. Acceptance:
	The	power	of	nonresistance. This	power	enables	you	to
integrate	reality	into	yourself. To	truly	know	something	as	deep	as	what	happens	after	death,	your	mind
must	call	upon	these	powers. That’s	the	only	thing,	really,	separating	us	from
the	Vedic	rishis:	they	used	their	subtle	powers	to	the	fullest;	we	call	on	them
to	a	much	lesser	degree. We	are	postponing	the	soul	journey	until	we	die. Yet
our	subtle	powers	are	needed	every	day—for	ourselves	and	for	those
relationships	that	expand	our	horizons. You	have	to	be	centered	and	
self-aware
	so	that	you	don’t	manipulate
others	or	allow	yourself	to	be	manipulated. Your	
willingness
	to	see	beyond	your	own	ego	creates	an	open	space	for
the	relationship	to	grow. Instead	of	allowing	the	relationship	to	fluctuate	as	mood	dictates,	you
intend
	for	it	to	become	richer	and	deeper. Your	partner	is	constantly	filling	you	with	a	stream	of	desires,	needs,	and
opinions	(you	are	doing	the	same	back). You	must	
discriminate
	how	much	of
this	outside	influence	is	positive	for	you,	neutral,	or	outright	negative. Having	paid	attention	to	all	of	the	above,	you	can	fully	
accept
	your
partner	without	posing	a	threat	to	your	integrity	and	personal	growth. Now	substitute	the	word	“soul”	for	“relationship.”	All	the	things	that
make	a	relationship	work	apply	to	your	soul. Those	skills	will	be	crucial	if	the
afterlife	brings	you	into	the	soul’s	domain,	as	every	spiritual	tradition	says	it
does. You	and	I	can	already	identify	with	every	experience	that	occurs	in	the
afterlife	because	they	are	familiar. As	I	grow,	so	do	my	powers. I	will	become	more	self-aware	as	the	boundary	between	“me”	and	“not
me”	dissolves. The	self	will	begin	to	encompass	much	more	of	reality	as	the
boundary	dissolves. I	will	feel	free. I	will	become	more	willing	to	change	and	evolve. My	old	beliefs	will	be
tested	and	allowed	to	change	if	need	be. I	will	feel	curious	and	fascinated. I	will	trust	in	my	intention	to	know	the	truth,	whatever	it	may	reveal. I
will	feel	in	control. I	will	find	that	I	can	discriminate	very	fine	layers	of	nature. Subtle	worlds
won’t	be	hidden	from	me	because	they	are	inside	my	self	already. I	will	feel
connected. I	will	accept	my	own	truth	as	it	unfolds. This	brings	a	final	end	to	fear	and
doubt. I	will	feel	fulfilled.I’ve	placed	so	much	emphasis	on	feeling	because	for	most	of	us	the
reason	to	be	alive	is	so	that	we	can	pursue	the	feelings	of	being	safe,	loved,
happy,	and	fulfilled. We	connect	to	the	soul	through	these	desires,	and	we	are
motivated	to	move	into	the	subtle	realm	of	the	soul	for	the	same	reason. For
some	people	that’s	motivation	enough,	but	most	of	us	require	a	breakthrough
or	a	turning	point	before	we	can	fully	put	our	subtle	connections	to	work. “My	husband	and	I	were	having	problems,”	a	woman	in	her	forties	told
me;	I’ll	call	her	Kate. “He	promised	to	work	less	and	spend	more	time	with
his	family,	but	that	didn’t	improve	things	much. He	kept	moping	around	the
house,	and	instead	of	sneaking	off	for	a	drink	he’d	sneak	off	to	check	his
voice	mail. Just	for	peace	of	mind	I	agreed	to	a	friend’s	suggestion	and
learned	the	same	meditation	technique	she	was	using.”
This	involved	sitting	alone	in	a	quiet	room	twice	a	day	for	ten	to	twenty
minutes	and	repeating	a	mantra,	Kate	said. The	first	few	times	she	fell	asleep,
but	her	teacher	reassured	her	that	this	was	a	positive	sign. She	had	a	lot	of
stress	to	release	from	her	body. “The	second	week	went	better. My	mind	got	quieter	and	I	stayed	awake. My	breathing	settled	into	a	soft,	slow	rhythm. It	surprised	me	one	day	when	I
had	the	feeling	that	I	wasn’t	even	breathing	at	all. Even	more	surprising	was
the	time	I	had	the	impulse	to	sit	on	the	floor	in	a	modified	lotus	position. I	had
never	taken	a	yoga	class;	my	body	seemed	to	know	what	it	wanted	to	do.”
Kate	felt	good	about	all	this,	and	she	began	to	feel	more	centered	in	her
daily	life,	less	subject	to	flashes	of	anger	and	irritation. Things	settled	down
considerably	in	her	marriage. “Then	one	night	as	I	was	falling	asleep,	I	noticed	a	faint	blue	glow. My
eyes	were	closed,	and	at	first	I	thought	it	was	just	an	afterglow	from	the
bedroom	lights,	the	kind	you	see	when	a	photo	flash	goes	off	in	your	eyes. But	this	was	different. The	blue	I	was	seeing	felt	magnetic. I	couldn’t	keep
my	attention	off	it. Then	I	opened	my	eyes	in	the	dark,	and	the	whole	room
was	filled	with	the	same	blue	glow. There	were	sparkles	or	flecks	of	gold	in
it.”
I	told	Kate	that	this	was	not	an	uncommon	experience	for	Yoginis. She
was	perceiving	the	light	that	emanates	from	a	subtle	level	of	perception. I
asked	her	how	it	felt. “Soothing. Safe. But	mostly	the	light	was	fascinating. It	drew	me	in	until	I
felt	I	could	gaze	at	it	forever.”
“Which	shows,”	I	said,	“that	you	were	being	fascinated	by	your	own
awareness. The	soul,	it	is	said,	shows	itself	to	our	subtle	senses	as	a
pearlescent	lustrous	glow.”
“Is	this	something	I	should	try	to	repeat?”	Kate	asked. “There’s	no	realistic	way	to	do	that,”	I	said,	“since	your	experience	was
spontaneous. It’s	like	trying	to	repeat	a	first	impression	or	a	first	kiss.”When	she	looked	a	little	crestfallen,	I	told	her	that	one	of	the	classic	traps
for	spiritual	seekers	was	the	temptation	to	repeat	a	moment	of	heightened
experience. We	harbor	that	impulse. Have	you	noticed	this	yourself? The
surprise	of	a	breathtaking	sunset,	a	delicate	moment	of	intimacy,	even	a
superb	meal,	all	beg	to	be	repeated. But	it’s	never	quite	the	same,	because
what	makes	the	moment	special	isn’t	the	sunset,	the	loving	gesture,	or	the	fine
food. It’s	a	sudden	crossing	over	into	the	subtle	world. I	told	Kate	about	the	continuum	of	experience	that	leads	from	happiness
to	bliss,	from	physical	intimacy	to	oneness	with	the	soul. She	had	given
herself	permission	to	move	more	fluidly	along	this	continuum. Meditation	is	a
gentle	way	to	unloose	our	moorings. It	isn’t	so	forceful	that	it	pushes	your
perception	into	a	new	domain;	instead	there	is	a	gentle	arrival	into	subtler
sensations—like	the	blue	glow	Kate	saw—attended	by	subtler	feelings	and
insights. I	congratulated	her	and	promised	that	there	would	be	more
breakthroughs	to	come. Through	our	brief	voyages	into	the	subtle	world	we	can	anticipate	how
gentle	the	afterlife	will	be. There,	subtle	power	feels	natural. Peace	and
fulfillment	come	through	direct	communication	with	the	soul.9
T
WO
	M
AGICAL
	W
ORDS
“LOOK,	DO	YOU
	see	that?”	said	Ramana. He	pointed	ahead,	where	Savitri	could
make	out	a	wisp	of	smoke	above	the	trees. “A	cooking	fire?”	she	guessed. “Follow	it	and	find	out. I’ll	stay	here	until	you	return.”	Ramana	made
himself	comfortable	on	a	stump. So	Savitri	headed	toward	the	smoke	alone. Soon	she	noticed	that	trees	had
been	burned	down,	and	saw	wrecked	oxcarts	and	other	signs	of	destruction. Eventually	she	found	herself	in	a	deserted	village. Soldiers	had	invaded	from
a	nearby	kingdom	and	had	laid	waste	to	the	countryside. In	this	village	all	the
houses	were	reduced	to	smoldering	ashes	except	for	one,	which	was
untouched. Savitri	walked	up	to	the	door	where	an	old	woman	sat. “Everything	all
around	is	destroyed,”	Savitri	said,	bowing	to	her. “How	did	your	house	come
to	be	spared?”
The	old	woman	replied,	“All	the	men	of	our	village	were	away	fighting. When	the	soldiers	came	with	their	torches	to	rob	me	and	set	fire	to	my	house,
I	told	them,	‘Come,	come,	for	no	one	else	is	brave	enough	to	enter. Everyone
inside	has	scarlet	fever. Help	me	tend	to	my	sick	family.’	At	that	the	soldiers
were	so	frightened	they	refused	to	come	a	step	closer	and	ran	away.”
Savitri	reached	into	her	sari	and	found	a	small	coin,	which	she	gave	to	the
old	woman. She	retraced	her	steps	until	she	found	the	place	where	Ramana
was	waiting. “Why	did	you	send	me	there?”	she	asked. “The	old	woman	turned	away	an	army	with	two	words:	
scarlet	fever,”
	he
said. “The	wise	know	that	Death	can	also	be	turned	away	with	two	words:	
I
am
.”
“I	don’t	understand.”	She	was	even	more	confused	when	she	looked	at	the
sky	and	saw	that	the	wisp	of	smoke	had	disappeared. “That	village	was	just	a	symbol,”	said	Ramana. “For	trouble	and	sorrow?”
“No,	for	impermanence. Heed	this,	Savitri. There	is	no	permanence	in	this
life. Possessions	come	and	go,	as	do	other	people. Somehow	we	cope	with	so
much	loss. How? By	clinging	to	the	notion	that	
we
	are	permanent,	that	ourworld	is	forever. “But	that	is	the	wrong	way. Death	is	greedy	and	wants	to	destroy
everything	as	wantonly	as	an	invading	army. Just	hold	out	your	arms	to	him
and	say,	
I	am
. Death	will	retreat	because	there	is	nothing	for	him	to	destroy. I
am
	has	no	possessions,	no	expectations,	nothing	to	cling	to. Yet	it	is
everything	you	are	and	everything	you	will	ever	need,	in	this	world	or	the	one
to	come.”
Ramana	spoke	with	calm	authority,	and	this	helped	Savitri. “The	old	woman	lied	when	she	said	
scarlet	fever
. You	must	tell	the	truth
when	you	say	
I	am
. I	think	that	you	are	nearly	ready,”	Ramana	said	gently. “How	can	I	make	it	the	truth?”	asked	Savitri. “It’s	not	difficult. When	you	are	happy,	go	inside	and	feel	the	one	who	is
the	experiencer	of	happiness. When	you	are	sad,	go	inside	and	feel	the
experiencer	of	sadness. They	are	the	same. There	is	a	still,	small	point	that
watches	all,	witnesses	all. Be	with	that	stillness	whenever	you	can. Notice	it
instead	of	sliding	past	it. Familiarity	is	
your
	greatest	ally. I	am
	is	your	being. There	is	nothing	foreign	about	simply	being. “At	first	the	still,	small	point	will	not	be	much	of	an	experience,	yet	it	can
grow	without	limit. When	you	die	and	finally	have	nothing	to	hold	on	to,	
I	am
will	fill	the	whole	universe. The	wise	have	repeated	this	truth	over	and	over,
in	every	age. But	you	mustn’t	buy	a	truth	secondhand. Find	the	
I	am
	inside
yourself,	and	it	will	expand	to	fill	you. When	that	happens,	you	are	safe. Your
being	will	be	the	same	as	your	soul.”
ETERNITY
When	all	images	have	disappeared	at	the	subtle	level,	the	dying	person	arrives
at	eternity. Eternity	is	the	source	of	the	soul. The	rishis	say	that	at	last
illusions	have	ended	and	reality	begins. The	fact	that	we	can’t	see	eternity
while	we’re	alive,	as	it	extends	in	all	directions	around	us,	is	a	limitation	the
rishis	strove	to	overcome. The	more	boundless	your	vision,	the	more	real	you	are
. As	inspiring	as	this	sounds,	it	also	makes	us	uneasy,	for	we	are	used	to
living	inside	boundaries. “Years	ago	I	became	interested	in	spirituality,”	one
woman	told	me,	“but	I	hated	all	this	talk	about	the	One. I	couldn’t	relate	to	it. I	knew	that	the	way	I	was	raised,	believing	in	a	grandfatherly	God	sitting	in
heaven,	was	very	narrow. But	at	least	I	could	understand	it. I	can’t	understand
the	One.”	I	find	this	a	very	natural	reaction. At	the	end	of	the	journey	there
are	no	loved	ones,	no	physical	destination,	no	memories	of	the	material	plane. Even	the	Buddhist	phrase	“Clear	Light”	is	only	a	metaphor,	since	eternity	isneither	light	nor	clear. Imagine	what	this	means. As	you	get	closer	to	eternity,	you	won’t
experience	being	dead	or	alive. You	won’t	be	male	or	female. A
	moment	will
be	the	same	as	a	century,	and	before	will	merge	with	after. Have	we	wound	up
in	a	place	that	is	too	incomprehensible	to	understand? If	that	were	so,	it	would
be	too	incomprehensible	to	matter,	either. Eternity	gives	you	more	freedom	than	the	mind	can	conceive. The
absence	of	images	means	you	don’t	need	images	anymore. The	absence	of
loved	ones	means	you	don’t	need	relationships	anymore. You	are	back	at	your
source,	but	with	a	difference. You’ve	experienced	it	all
. Creation	has	shown
you	everything. The	mind	we	possess	now	may	recoil,	thinking	that	this	must
be	the	ultimate	nightmare. But	the	rishis,	who	called	this	stage	Moksha,	or
liberation,	celebrated	it. Only	the	liberated	soul	can	choose	
anything
. There	is
no	tug	up	or	down,	and	the	whole	mechanism	of	pleasure	and	pain	grinds	to	a
halt. What	would	it	feel	like	to	find	yourself	free? Boundless? Nameless? If
you	try	to	apply	any	word	to	the	eternal	soul—good,	holy,	loving,	truthful—
the	rishis	respond	with	
“netti,”
	the	Sanskrit	word	for	“not	that.”	In	fact,	in
some	schools	of	Vedanta,	the	spiritual	path	is	called	
“netti,	netti,”
	by	which
you	keep	repeating	“not	this,	not	this,”	until	by	a	process	of	stripping	away
you	arrive	at	essence. That’s	also	what	the	afterlife	journey	is	about. The
dying	person	realizes,	step-by-step,	“This	used	to	be	me,	but	it’s	not
anymore.”
As	it	happens,	one	person	who	reported	his	near-death	experience	in	great
detail	came	close	to	describing	eternity. The	account,	now	famous	in	near-
death	literature,	comes	from	an	artist	named	Mellen-Thomas	Benedict,	who
died	of	a	brain	tumor	in	1982. That	he	could	be	dead	for	an	hour	and	a	half,
only	to	return	to	life,	is	not	credible	by	Western	standards. In	Tibetan
Buddhism	he	would	be	considered	a	delog,	and	Benedict’s	experiences	are	as
detailed	as	any	given	by	delogs. I	will	recount	it	in	detail	because	Benedict’s
journey	practically	provides	an	encyclopedia	of	the	afterlife. He	found	himself	out	of	body,	aware	that	his	corpse	was	lying	in	bed. His
perception	was	greatly	expanded—he	could	see	over,	around,	and	under	his
house—and	he	sensed	that	he	was	enveloped	in	darkness,	but	soon	a	brilliant
light	became	evident. He	moved	toward	it,	aware	that	if	he	entered	the	light,
he	would	be	dead. At	this	point	Benedict	made	a	startling	decision. He	asked	for	the
experience	to	stop,	and	it	did. That	he	found	a	way	to	control	what	happens
after	death	would	not	surprise	a	rishi,	but	it	is	almost	unique	in	NDE
literature. Benedict	called	a	halt	so	that	he	could	talk	to	the	light. As	he	did	so,
it	continually	changed	shapes,	sometimes	resembling	Jesus	or	Buddha,	other
times	turning	into	a	complex	pattern	like	a	mandala	or	archetypal	images	andsigns,	as	he	puts	it. The	light	told	him	(or,	to	be	precise,	transferred
information	to	his	mind)	that	a	dying	person	is	given	a	“feedback	loop”	of
images	that	fits	their	own	belief	system:	Christian	images	are	seen	by
Christians,	Buddhist	images	by	Buddhists. Being	a	loop,	the	dying	person	can
enter	into	the	experience	and	shape	it,	as	Benedict	found	himself	doing. (The
light	explained	that	he	was	a	rare	case:	most	people	proceed	ahead	without
question.) The	fact	that	Benedict	saw	so	many	shifting	images	may	have	to	do	with
his	immersion	in	world	religions	and	spiritual	traditions	after	he	was
diagnosed	with	cancer. Next	Benedict	became	aware	that	what	he	was
actually	seeing	was	the	Higher	Self	matrix,	which	he	describes	as	a	“mandala
of	human	souls”;	that	is,	a	cosmic	pattern	of	consciousness. Each	person,	he
realized,	has	a	Higher	Self	that	serves	as	an	oversoul	and	also	as	a	conduit
back	to	the	source. These	terms,	with	almost	no	change,	sound	like	pure
Vedanta. This	gives	an	opening	to	doubt,	since	Benedict	may	have	been
strongly	influenced	by	his	recent	reading	in	Indian	scriptures. On	the	other
hand,	the	experience	unfolded,	from	his	perspective,	as	entirely	spontaneous
and	real. Gazing	at	the	matrix	of	souls,	Benedict	became	aware	they	were	all
connected;	humanity	formed	one	being;	each	of	us	is	an	aspect	of	this
wholeness. He	was	drawn	into	the	matrix,	which	he	describes	as	ineffably
beautiful. It	radiated	a	healing,	generative	love	that	overwhelmed	him. The
light	conveyed	to	him	that	the	soul	matrix	formed	a	subtle	energy	level	that
girded	the	earth	and	bound	people	together. Benedict	had	spent	a	decade
involved	in	nuclear	disarmament	and	ecology,	disturbing	issues	that	had	made
him	deeply	pessimistic. Now	he	was	confronted,	he	says,	with	the	pure	beauty
of	every	human	soul	and	was	dumbfounded. He	was	particularly	astonished	that	no	soul	contained	evil,	and	the	light
informed	him	that	souls	cannot	be	inherently	evil. Underlying	all	human
action	is	the	search	for	love,	and	when	people	are	driven	to	evil	actions,	the
root	cause	is	lack	of	love. When	he	asked	if	this	meant	that	humanity	could	be
saved,	there	was	a	“trumpet	blast”	accompanied	by	spiraling	light,	and
Benedict	was	told	never	to	forget	the	answer:	human	beings	were	already
saved,	no	matter	how	dire	the	current	predicament	looks. Benedict	was	experiencing	profound	ecstasy	as	he	was	absorbed	deeper
into	the	light,	reaching	another	realm	that	was	subtler	but	also	much	more
vast. He	beheld	an	“enormous	stream	of	light,	vast	and	full,	deep	in	the	heart
of	life.”	When	he	asked	what	it	was,	the	light	told	him	it	was	the	river	of	life
and	that	he	should	drink	from	it	to	his	heart’s	content. Fueled	by	limitless	curiosity,	he	now	asked	the	light	to	reveal	the	entire
universe	to	him	“beyond	all	human	illusion.”	He	was	told	to	ride	the	stream	of
life,	and	as	he	did,	he	passed	through	a	tunnel	hearing	“soft	sonic	booms”	onthe	way. His	speed	accelerated	beyond	the	speed	of	light	as	he	left	the	solar
system,	passed	through	the	heart	of	the	galaxy,	and	became	aware	of	many
worlds	and	many	life-forms,	all	in	a	dizzying	rush. At	this	point	Benedict
made	a	critical	discovery,	that	what	appeared	to	be	travel	through	space	was
in	fact	the	
expansion
	of	his	own	consciousness. The	appearance	of	galaxies
and	star	clusters	racing	past	was	his	own	consciousness	streaming	past	one
boundary	of	spacetime	after	another. Benedict	describes	entire	galaxies	disappearing	into	a	point,	of	all	life-
forms	making	their	presence	known,	of	a	second	light	that	contains	every
vibration	in	the	universe. According	to	the	Vedic	rishis,	these	are	the
primordial	vibrations	from	which	creation	emerges,	which	means	that
Benedict	was	actually	witnessing	the	operation	of	consciousness	itself. Benedict	finds	his	own	language	for	this	stage,	saying	that	he	was	interfacing
with	the	hologram	of	the	universe. Passing	into	the	second	light,	he	experienced	a	profound	shift	into	silence
and	utter	stillness. It	came	to	him	that	he	could	see	to	infinity. He	was	in	the
void,	or	pre-creation	as	he	calls	it,	and	his	consciousness	was	limitless. He
was	in	contact	with	the	absolute,	which	wasn’t	a	religious	experience	but	one
of	unbounded	awareness. He	perceived	all	of	creation	generating	itself
without	beginning	or	end. Instead	of	one	Big	Bang,	a	singular	event	that
created	the	universe,	Benedict	perceived	millions	of	Big	Bangs	constantly
generating	new	universes. Since	he	was	beyond	time,	this	was	happening
simultaneously	in	all	dimensions. After	reaching	this	cosmic	epiphany,	Benedict’s	journey	reversed	itself,
step-by-step,	and	he	woke	up	in	his	bed	at	home	with	the	unshakable
realization,	now	so	familiar	in	the	NDE	literature,	that	death	was	an	illusion. Benedict	assumed	that	his	return	to	earth	would	be	as	a	baby,	in	a	new
incarnation. When	he	opened	his	eyes,	however,	he	still	had	the	same	body,
one	that	had	been	dead	for	over	an	hour	according	to	the	hospice	worker	who
was	present	(there	was	no	monitoring	machinery	or	doctor). The	hospice
worker,	who	had	been	crying	over	him,	assured	Benedict	that	he	had	shown
every	sign	of	being	dead,	including	a	growing	cold	stiffness	in	his	body. An
amplified	stethoscope	revealed	no	heartbeat. (In	and	of	itself	this	claim	is
medically	so	outrageous	
that
	it	would	lead	a	skeptic	to	discount	every	other
part	of	Benedict’s	story.) Although	severely	disoriented	at	first,	Benedict	felt	better	than	he	had	in
his	life. It	took	him	three	months	to	chance	a	new	brain	scan,	being
understandably	nervous	about	his	tumor—but	it	proved	to	be	great	news. All
traces	of	malignancy	were	gone,	which	his	oncologist	explained	as	a
spontaneous	remission,	a	rare	example	of	a	malignancy	disappearing	on	its
own. This	sidesteps	the	issue	that	remissions	through	death	are	not	found	in
medical	literature,	and	remissions	of	advanced	brain	tumors,	so	far	as	I	know,are	the	rarest	of	occurrences. My	own	view	is	that	every	end	point	is	also	a	starting	point. For	Mellen-
Thomas	Benedict	pure	consciousness	became	the	ultimate	end	of	a	fantastic
journey. For	the	rishis	it	is	the	starting	point	for	living	in	the	present. One	of
the	most	genuine	things	about	Benedict’s	experience	is	that	he	wound	up
finding	the	greatest	value	in	the	present:	“People	are	so	busy	trying	to	become
God	that	they	ought	to	realize	that	we	are	already	God	and	God	is	becoming
us. That’s	what	it	is	really	about.”	His	sense	that	the	void	is	everywhere,	that
the	invisible	domain	contains	everything,	that	God	has	gifted	human	beings
with	every	possible	advantage,	rings	true	spiritually. Traveling	in	Three	Worlds
A	staunch	materialist	may	consider	it	impossible	to	travel	to	nonphysical
worlds,	but	we	travel	to	other	states	of	consciousness	all	the	time,	in	fact. According	to	the	rishis,	we	move	between	three	levels	of	awareness	that
account	for	all	experience:
Consciousness	filled	with	physical	objects
. Consciousness	filled	with	subtle	objects
. Consciousness	filled	with	nothing	but	itself—pure	consciousness
. In	each	state	the	soul	looks	different. In	the	physical	world	the	soul	is
centered	around	emotions	and	idealism. It	connotes	warmth	of	heart,	love,
devotion	to	God. We	look	to	our	souls	to	remind	ourselves	that	we	have	a
divine	spark	inside,	and	yet	we	don’t	base	our	lives	on	it. The	soul	flickers	in
and	out. In	the	subtle	world	the	soul	is	spirit,	denoting	holiness,	closeness	to	God,
and	freedom	from	the	burdens	of	physical	existence. The	soul	no	longer	offers
mere	comfort;	it	is	the	bliss	that	pain	was	disguising. The	soul	is	constant
now;	its	guidance	can	be	clearly	followed	without	confusion. The	primary
feeling	is	magnetic:	one	is	being	drawn	inexorably	toward	the	divine. In	the	domain	of	pure	consciousness,	merging	is	complete. One	sees	that
self	and	soul	are	one. Since	there	is	no	here	and	there,	the	soul	has	no
location. It	exists	everywhere	and	nowhere	at	the	same	time. One	no	longer
seeks	the	soul’s	goodness,	holiness,	or	purity. It	simply	is. After	death	a	person	experiences	the	subtle	dimension	automatically,	yet
to	the	rishis	every	dimension	is	enfolded	into	the	others. The	appearance	of
angels	on	earth	is	possible,	even	though	they	are	properly	consigned	to	the
domain	of	subtle	objects,	and	so	is	the	sojourn	of	the	prophet	Mohammed	to
heaven	on	a	white	horse. Each	involves	a	shift	in	awareness. At	the	same
time,	each	state	of	consciousness	has	its	own	particular	qualities	and	isperceived	as	its	own	separate	reality. THREE	WORLDS:	A	MAP	OF	ETERNITY
1. Consciousness	of	physical	objects:
	This	is	the	world	of	concrete	things
that	we	verify	through	the	five	senses. It	obeys	linear	time. We	appear	to
ourselves	as	physical	bodies	separated	in	time	and	space. A	life	span	occupies
a	limited	number	of	years	between	two	absolute	events,	birth	and	death. The	
laws
	obeyed	in	this	dimension	are	strict. Gravity,	the	speed	of	light,
and	the	conservation	of	matter	and	energy	(which	can	be	neither	created	nor
destroyed)	form	the	foundation	of	every	other	natural	law. If	this	is	your	primary	world,	you	have	certain	
powers
	that	allow	you	to
explore	it. These	include	physical	strength,	willpower,	reason,	emotional
expression,	sexuality,	and	personal	authority. To	the	extent	that	you	use	these
powers	fully,	you	will	be	more	and	more	successful. At	the	same	time,	you
are	more	likely	to	become	attached	to	this	dimension	of	consciousness	as	the
only	reality. In	this	world	Akasha	feels	like	physical	space	filled	with	an	infinity	of
material	things. The	
soul
	feels	personal	but	is	seen	only	in	short	glimpses. 2. Consciousness	of	subtle	objects:
	This	is	the	world	of	dreams,	imagination,
and	inspiration	in	all	its	many	forms. We	verify	this	world	through	intuition,
detecting	qualities	like	love	and	beauty,	feeling	a	subtle	presence	within	and
without	that	is	not	available	to	the	five	senses. A	life	span	in	this	dimension
lasts	as	long	as	it	can	be	imagined. The	
laws
	of	the	subtle	world	are	fluid. Events	can	happen	forward	or
backward. Invisible	structures	may	persist	for	a	long	time	(for	example,	as
myths	and	archetypes),	but	even	then,	time	doesn’t	bind	them	as	strictly	as	in
the	physical	world. Gravity	and	the	speed	of	light	are	no	longer	absolutes. If	this	is	your	primary	world,	you	will	have	certain	
powers
	that	allow	you
to	explore	it. These	include	imagination,	memory,	artistic	ability,	spiritual
sensitivity,	healing	abilities,	and	intuition. The	more	you	exercise	these
powers,	the	more	successful	you	will	be. However,	you	may	also	find
yourself	detached	from	the	physical	world	and	unable	to	navigate	it	as	well	as
someone	without	intuition	and	
spiritual
	sensitivity. This	will	worry	you	until
you	discover	that	the	subtle	world	is	capable	of	supporting	you. Akasha	feels	dreamlike,	filled	with	memories	and	images,	archetypes	and
gods,	spirits	and	etheric	beings. The	
soul
	feels	like	a	guiding	force	leading	back	to	the	source. It	is	sensedconstantly. 3. Pure	consciousness:
	This	is	the	world	of	awareness	being	aware	of
itself. There	are	no	objects,	gross	or	subtle. We	verify	this	world	through	“I
am.”	Existence	becomes	its	own	end,	its	own	reward. As	an	experience,	pure
consciousness	begins	with	a	silent	mind;	this	grows	in	richness	and	meaning
the	longer	a	person	has	the	experience. The	
laws
	of	this	world	apply	to	creation	itself. The	seeds	of	every	object
and	event	gestate	here. Here	is	the	possibility	of	time,	space,	and	physical
things. There	is	also	the	possibility	of	mind,	as	yet	without	thought	or	images. Although	totally	free	of	anything	visible,	pure	consciousness	is	eager	to	give
birth;	mystics	tell	us	it	is	pregnant	with	All	That	Is. If	this	is	your	primary	world,	you	need	no	powers	to	navigate	it. The	flow
of	time	and	the	expansion	of	space	are	neutral	events	to	you;	they	come	and
go	within	your	being. You	witness	them	without	attachment,	although	if	you
wish,	you	can	call	upon	any	quality—love,	compassion,	strength,	truth—and
experience	it	in	fullness. In	this	world	Akasha	feels	uncreated. Concepts	like	birth	and	death,	life
and	death,	have	no	relevance. There	is	only	existence. To	be	is	an	all-
enveloping	experience. It	must	always	be	kept	in	mind	that	the	afterlife	is	not	as	“after”	as	we
assume. All	three	dimensions	of	consciousness	are	ever-present	space. Akasha	enclosing	the	world	of	physical	objects	is	three-dimensional. Our
eyes	can	survey	the	landscape	to	tell	us	where	we	are. Up	and	
down
	are	fixed
directions	to	orient	us	physically. Before	and	after	are	fixed	points	in	time	to
orient	us	as	to	where	we	are	in	our	lifetimes. Akasha	enclosing	the	world	of	subtle	objects	has	much	vaguer	boundaries. These	can	change	in	an	instant	to	freefloating	dream-space. In	the	absence	of
fixed	dimensions,	experience	is	measured	in	terms	of	intensity. Emotions	are
heightened,	dreams	become	more	vivid,	and	the	presence	of	angels	and	other
etheric	entities	is	felt	directly. With	experience	this	becomes	a	comfortable
space	on	its	own	terms,	as	it	already	is	for	artists,	intuitives,	and	deeply
spiritual	people. Akasha	enclosing	itself	is	pure	existence. It	feels	incredibly	secure
because	there	is	unity	with	everything. Any	experience	comes	from	within,	a
single	point	from	which	creation	emanates	like	an	energy	beam	or	a	flower
opening	infinitely. The	
soul
	is	impersonal. It	is	Being,	with	no	added	qualities. Shifting	Your	Allegiance
So	far,	we’ve	used	the	metaphor	of	a	journey	to	describe	what	happens	in	theafterlife. Most	people	expect	to	give	up	the	physical	world	for	a	“higher”
world. The	Vedic	rishis	would	point	out	that	the	real	shift	is	one	of	allegiance. When	we	die	we	give	up	our	allegiance	to	“consciousness	filled	with	physical
objects”	and	move	on	to	“consciousness	filled	with	subtle	objects.”	In
Vedanta	this	is	what	going	to	heaven	actually	means. A	shift	of	allegiance	looks	easy	from	the	perspective	of	the	rishis. However,	it	proves	terribly	difficult	for	most	people,	East	and	West,	because
the	physical	world	is	so	convincing. Doubt	arises	when	we	think	about	the
other	world,	despite	the	fact	that	we	inhabit	it	in	our	dreams	all	the	time. A
perfect	example	of	such	doubt	and	the	anxiety	it	brings	is	Shakespeare’s
Hamlet. In	Hamlet’s	most	famous	soliloquy,	“To	be	or	not	to	be,”	he	wonders
whether	he	should	commit	suicide	in	the	face	of	overwhelming	misery. He
cannot	bring	himself	to	obey	his	father’s	ghost	and	kill	the	usurper	to	the
throne,	his	uncle	Claudius. He	is	trapped	by	agony,	and	undone	by	many
things—his	conscience,	his	sense	of	cowardice	and	failure,	his	disgust	with
his	mother’s	sexual	betrayal,	and	a	depth	of	depression	bordering	on	madness. Even	though	committing	suicide	would	end	his	suffering,	Hamlet	pauses	to
reason	out	things	logically,	breaking	down	the	problem	as	the	rational	mind	is
used	to	doing. …	To	die,	to	sleep;
To	sleep;	perchance	to	dream:	ay,	there’s	the	rub;
For	in	that	sleep	of	death	what	dreams	may	come
,
When	we	have	shuffled	off	this	mortal	coil
,
Must	give	us	pause
. Leaving	aside	the	greatness	of	the	poetry,	the	Prince	of	Denmark	is	caught
between	the	physical	world	and	the	subtle,	and	he	can’t	convince	himself	that
he	trusts	either	one. To	put	the	argument	into	modern	English:	Is	dying	the
end,	or	is	it	akin	to	going	to	sleep? If	it’s	like	going	to	sleep,	will	it	mean	the
end	of	my	troubles,	or	will	I	be	engulfed	in	nightmares? Maybe	these	dreams
are	worse	than	being	alive,	even	when	life	is	at	its	most	painful. I	can’t	speak
with	anyone	who	has	come	back	from	the	dead,	so	I	can’t	resolve	this
problem. I’m	left	with	doubt. And	doubt	is	enough	to	make	me	cling	to	life. This	is	what	Vedanta	means	about	shifting	your	allegiance;	if	you	aren’t
successful,	you	will	be	caught	up	in	bewildering	doubt. The	secret	is	that	
you
have	to	master	the	subtle	world	in	order	to	let	go	of	the	physical
. Right	now
you	rely	on	rational	thought. You	proceed	from	event	to	event	in	a	linear	way. Your	physical	strength	enables	you	to	
manipulate
	objects	and	feel	secure	that
you	can	defend	yourself. Your	willpower	and	force	of	character	support	you
in	accomplishing	long-range	goals.None	of	these	powers	are	relevant	in	the	subtle	world	and	therefore
provide	no	support	in	the	afterlife. And	the	threshold	between	physical	and
subtle	reality	is	very	disorienting. We	already	experience	this	in	dreams. In	a
dream	you	can	lift	a	house	as	easily	as	a	feather,	leap	backward	in	time,	or
feel	totally	helpless	in	a	frightening	situation	no	matter	how	hard	you	struggle
to	get	out	of	it. The	long	saga	of	Carlos	Castaneda’s	apprenticeship	with	Don
Juan,	the	Yaqui	sorcerer	who	became	his	spiritual	master,	is	basically	an
education	in	learning	how	to	navigate	the	subtle	world,	in	which	Castaneda
portrays	himself	as	full	of	anxiety	and	doubt. In	one	episode	Don	Juan	takes	Castaneda’s	hand,	and	together	they	jump
over	a	tall	tree. When	they	land	on	solid	ground	again,	Castaneda	feels	sick
and	disoriented,	on	the	verge	of	vomiting	(queasiness	is	the	most	prevalent
condition	the	apprentice	finds	himself	in,	along	with	fear). Don	Juan	asks,
What	is	the	difference	between	jumping	over	a	tree	as	we	just	did	and
jumping	over	a	tree	in	a	dream? Then	he	answers	his	own	question. In	a
dream	you	can	comfortably	jump	over	a	tree	because	it’s	natural	in	the	dream
world. You	know	that	you	are	going	to	wake	up,	and	when	you	do	you	realize
that	all	the	events	in	your	dream	were	just	neural	impulses	in	your	brain. There	was	no	“real”	tree;	you	look	back	on	the	whole	dream	world	as	an
illusion. The	reason	you	can’t	jump	over	a	tree	in	the	physical	world	is	that	you
don’t	realize	you	can	wake	up. A	sorcerer	is	someone	who	has	learned	to
wake	up	completely,	so	to	him	jumping	over	a	tree	is	natural. It	all	happens	as
neural	impulses	in	the	brain. There	is	no	“real”	tree. But	if	you	buy	into	the
tree	being	real,	you	must	accept	the	limitations	of	such	a	world. One	suddenly	realizes	the	immense	challenge	of	shifting	one’s	allegiance
away	from	the	physical. Does	it	involve	being	able	to	leap	
over
	trees? That
would	be	an	extreme	case	(although	not	unheard	of:	Catholic	and	Hindu	lore
are	filled	with	levitating	saints,	and	a	nun	in	Egypt	even	had	to	be	coaxed
down	from	her	perch	in	the	air	above	the	tree). The	fact	that	so	few	of	us	ever
explore	the	mystery	of	life	after	death	is	testimony	to	our	fixed	allegiance. Yet
there	are	moments	when	we	realize	that	we	already	have	the	power	to	shift
from	one	level	of	consciousness	to	another	without	the	illusion	of	dreaming. Let	me	illustrate. “Thirty	years	ago	I	found	a	switch	inside	my	head	that	can	change
reality.”	The	man	speaking	is	Harold;	he	is	around	sixty	and	a	retired
freelance	editor. We	met	at	a	large	New	Age	book	convention	two	years	ago. “I	was	born	with	a	congenital	heart	defect	that	put	me	at	risk	for	dying
young,”	Harold	went	on. “This	was	something	I’d	grown	used	to	growing	up. But	after	college	my	defective	heart	landed	me	in	the	hospital	as	a	prime
candidate	for	a	pacemaker. “Unfortunately,	there	were	complications—an	infection,	all	kinds	oftrouble. One	night	during	the	worst	of	it	I	was	lying	in	my	hospital	bed. The
nurse	came	in	to	take	my	temperature,	and	as	she	left	she	forgot	to	turn	off	the
light. I	was	irritated,	but	I	was	too	sleepy	to	get	out	of	bed. Then	the	lights
went	off. “At	first	I	didn’t	think	this	was	unusual,	even	though	I	had	a	direct	view
of	the	light	switch	and	hadn’t	seen	anybody. A	few	seconds	later	the	lights
went	on	again. Then	off,	then	on. I	didn’t	freak	out	but	just	lay	there,	staring
at	them. It	was	obvious	that	no	one	was	flicking	the	switch,	but	I	could	even
hear	the	buzzing	of	the	fluorescent	bulbs	going	off	and	on. Suddenly	I	had	the
strangest	idea:	
It’s	me
. “At	that	moment	I	wasn’t	sleepy	anymore;	I	felt	a	sense	of	extraordinary
clarity. Have	you	ever	heard	of	such	a	thing? Turning	the	lights	off	and	on
with	your	mind?”
I	told	him	I’ve	heard	of	much	stranger	things. Did	the	episode	repeat
itself? “Not	for	a	long	time. Fast	forward	to	last	month. A	hot	summer	night	in
New	York. My	plane	was	four	hours	late,	and	I	was	seething. I’d	missed	all
my	connections	and	was	just	standing	there	waiting	impatiently	for	my	bag	to
come	off	the	carousel. All	at	once	I	had	this	thought:	
they’ve	lost	my	bag
. Sure	enough,	everyone	grabs	their	luggage,	but	my	bag	never	shows	up. “So	I	march	into	the	lost	baggage	office,	and	I	begin	to	grumble	at	the
clerk,	who	couldn’t	care	less. Yawning,	she	phones	somebody	to	see	if	any
bags	have	been	left	behind,	then	in	a	bored	voice	she	tells	me	to	fill	out	a
claim. Nothing	unusual	so	far.”
On	the	verge	of	losing	his	temper,	a	faint	notion	entered	Harold’s	head. It’s	just	as	easy	to	be	happy	as	angry. You	can	make	this	a	positive	situation
. “What	I	saw	in	my	mind’s	eye	was	an	invisible	switch. And	I	knew	if	I
flipped	the	switch,	everything	would	change. So	I	did. The	clerk	smiled	at	me
and	said	she’d	phone	to	find	out	about	my	bags. I	mean,	she	acted	as	if	she
hadn’t	already	done	that. She	phoned,	and	then	she	told	me	that	my	bag	had
been	located. I	felt	a	strange	sense	of	accomplishment. Then	a	pretty	girl
standing	in	line	behind	me	said	that	her	bag	was	lost	on	the	same	flight. Inside
I	had	the	idea,	
You	should	get	your	luggage,	too
. And	the	next	instant	the
clerk	said	that	they’d	found	another	bag	besides	mine. It	was	the	girl’s,	of
course.”
“And	you	connect	this	incident	to	what	happened	in	the	hospital	thirty
years	ago?”	I	said. “Wouldn’t	you? After	the	airport	incident	I	used	the	switch	a	couple	more
times. Once	to	get	a	seat	on	a	completely	full	flight,	another	time	to	get	my
room	changed	in	a	hotel	when	they	said	I	couldn’t.”
“Don’t	things	like	that	happen	all	the	time	without	the	involvement	of
special	powers?”	I	asked. Harold	looked	bemused. This	was	different. Hecould	tell	that	he	was	causing	it. Several	things	are	striking	about	his	experience. It	involved	a	deliberate
change	of	awareness. It	felt	special,	even	eerie. It	made	Harold	see	himself	in
a	new	light. It	expanded	the	possibility	of	what	the	mind	can	do,	yet	somehow
“flicking	the	switch”	felt	normal	at	the	time. Finally,	once	the	experience	was
over,	it	faded	away	and	was	basically	forgotten. Can	we	say,	then,	that	Harold
took	a	trip	into	the	Akashic	field? Vedanta	would	say	that	Harold	experienced
a	shift	in	consciousness,	and	when	that	happened,	the	world	“out	there”
shifted	with	it. This	is	also	how	moving	into	the	afterlife	works,	via	an
internal	shift	that	creates	a	different	external	environment. It’s	important	to	grasp	that	the	domains	of	physical	objects,	subtle	objects,
and	pure	consciousness	are	actually	one	domain—Akasha—seen	in	three
aspects. This	becomes	evident	in	a	phenomenon	like	faith	healing,	which
brings	together	pure	consciousness	(God),	a	subtle	event	(prayer),	and	the
physical	body. The	light	so	often	seen	by	those	who	are	healed	is	a	subtle
energy,	which	can	also	be	perceived	as	an	electrical	or	nervous	charge	in	the
body,	a	seizure,	rapture,	or	dizziness. In	her	book,	
The	Healing	Touch	of
Mary
,	Cheri	Lomonte	recounts	the	following	story:
Dawn	J.	was	a	devout	Catholic	who	as	a	young	woman	had	prayed	for	a
vision	of	the	Virgin	Mary. Soon	after	she	left	her	parents’	house,	she
experienced	an	actual	visitation. This	created	a	sense	of	awe	and	humility;	she
hardly	felt	worthy	to	behold	the	Mother	of	God	in	the	flesh. But	Dawn	came
to	feel	that	she	had	been	chosen	as	a	messenger. Soon	thereafter	she	was	asked	by	a	coworker	to	help	with	a	personal
matter. The	coworker	was	worried	about	his	wife,	who	had	begun	to	visit	a
house	in	the	Bronx	where	a	statue	of	Mary	had	begun	to	spontaneously	exude
scented	oil. Dawn	agreed	to	intervene	and	paid	a	visit	to	the	house. When	she
walked	in,	however,	she	was	greeted	by	the	powerful	scent	of	roses,	and	when
she	was	shown	the	small	statue,	exuding	a	continual	stream	of	oil,	she	became
convinced	that	this	was	a	genuine	miracle. Subsequently	she	paid	several	visits	to	the	house,	each	time	experiencing
a	divine	presence	in	the	scented	oil. On	one	visit	the	woman	of	the	house	told
her	that	the	walls	and	furniture	had	now	begun	to	exude	oil,	which	she	wiped
up	with	cotton	balls. Dawn	was	given	a	bag	of	these	to	take	home. Sometime
later	she	heard	that	a	friend’s	three-month-old	baby	was	gravely	ill	with	spinal
meningitis	and	had	been	hospitalized	in	intensive	care. Dawn	felt	a	strong
impulse	to	use	the	holy	oil	as	a	healing. With	the	parents’	permission	she
entered	the	hospital	room	and	found	the	baby	listless	and	nearly	unconscious,
its	body	incubated	for	feeding	and	medication. It	was	a	piteous	sight. Dawn	took	an	oil-soaked	cotton	ball	and	gently	stroked	the	baby’s	spine
with	it. She	left,	and	the	next	day	was	informed	that	the	infant	was	out	of
danger. Within	two	days	it	was	sleeping	and	nursing	normally	and	had	beensent	home	with	its	parents. The	doctor	in	charge	of	the	case	considered	this
recovery	miraculous. Dawn	attributed	it	to	the	healing	touch	of	Mary. Of	course,	Catholic	lore	is	filled	with	thousands	of	similar	tales,	but	what
are	we	to	think	of	this	one	in	particular? To	me,	it	shows	that	the	three
domains	of	consciousness	don’t	merely	overlap;	they	are	actively	involved
with	one	another. The	physical	plane	is	represented	by	the	statue,	the	oil,	and
the	baby’s	body. The	subtle	domain	is	represented	by	the	vision	of	Mary,
Dawn’s	faith,	and	the	divine	presence	felt	in	the	oil. The	domain	of	pure
consciousness	is	represented	by	the	divine	itself. I’m	not	offering	this	story	as
established	fact;	the	author	who	repeats	it	went	through	no	process	of
investigation	to	prove	its	truth. She	relied	on	the	sincerity	of	people	who	came
forward,	with	nothing	to	gain,	describing	their	own	experiences. My	only
purpose	here	is	to	open	the	possibility	that	there	is	a	unifying	principle,	the
Akashic	field,	that	embraces	a	wide	range	of	phenomena. Somewhere	in	Akasha	angels	might	look	around	and	say,	“This	is	real.”
The	same	might	be	perceived	by	departed	spirits,	great	spiritual	beings,	and
souls	“crossing	over.”	The	landscape	of	the	afterlife	can	be	as	complex	as
anyone	might	desire,	so	long	as	we	remember	that	ultimately	gods,	goddesses,
spirits,	and	souls	become	only	one	thing:	consciousness	creating	within	itself.10
S
URVIVING	THE
	S
TORM
SAVITRI	TRUSTED	RAMANA,
	but	as	the	hours	grew	long,	once	again	she	began	to
worry	about	the	time. Her	mind	was	filled	with	a	vision	of	Satyavan’s	strong
body	turned	cold	and	lifeless	with	a	glance	from	Yama. I	would	lose
everything
,	she	thought. Ramana	turned	to	her. “Does	that	make	you	afraid,	to	lose	everything?”
He	seemed	to	have	no	trouble	reading	her	thoughts. “Of	course,”	Savitri	said	miserably. Ramana	pointed	up	ahead. Alongside	the	path	was	a	rustic	shrine	that
someone	had	erected	in	the	forest. The	pine	boughs	of	the	altar	sheltered	an
image	of	Vishnu. Knowing	that	Vishnu	was	the	aspect	of	God	that	sustains
life,	she	quickly	ran	ahead,	gathering	some	wildflowers	to	offer	at	the	altar. This	must	be	a	sign
,	she	thought. Ramana	hung	back,	as	with	bowed	head
Savitri	begged	Vishnu	to	help	her. I	will	do	anything
,	she	implored. When	she	raised	her	eyes,	the	god	Vishnu	was	actually	standing	before
her. Savitri	was	awestruck. “You	will	do	anything	for	me	if	I	save	your
husband?”	he	asked. Fervently	Savitri	said	yes. “Then	go	to	the	river	and
fetch	me	a	drink	of	water,”	said	Vishnu. Savitri	ran	off	to	do	as	she	was	bade. Ramana	was	nowhere	to	be	
seen
,	but
she	remembered	passing	the	river	and	knew	it	was	close	by. Kneeling	beside
it,	she	wondered	what	she	could	carry	water	in	when	her	eye	caught	sight	of
someone	else	along	the	bank. It	was	Satyavan! Overjoyed,	Savitri	ran	to	him,
bursting	into	tears. Satyavan	embraced	her	and	asked	what	was	wrong. In	between	sobs	Savitri	told	him	the	danger	he	was	in. “Then	we	shall	not
return	home	at	all,”	Satyavan	declared. He	took	Savitri	tenderly	by	the	hand. They	walked	along	the	river	until	they	spied	a	boatman	tied	up	to	shore. The	boatman	greeted	them	cordially	and	said	that	he	had	been	out	fishing. He	pointed	to	an	island	in	the	middle	of	the	river. “That’s	my	home,”	he	said. Quickly	Satyavan	made	a	bargain	with	the	boatman	to	become	his	helper. He
and	Savitri	were	carried	to	the	island,	where	they	began	a	new	life. Savitri	became	sublimely	happy,	for	after	a	few	days	it	was	apparent	that
Yama	had	not	pursued	them. Her	husband	learned	to	be	a	fisherman,	and
together	they	lived	in	peace	on	the	island. Years	passed. They	had	two
children,	which	were	the	joy	of	their	hearts. Then	one	night	a	great	stormcrashed	down	on	the	island. The	winds	howled,	and	the	river	rose	higher	than
it	ever	had. By	morning	everything	had	been	washed	away. Savitri	had	been
saved	by	tying	herself	to	a	tree	with	a	rope. At	sunrise,	she	saw	that	Satyavan,
their	house,	and	their	children	had	been	swept	away	into	the	river. She	managed	to	find	a	boat	and	rowed	to	shore,	but	Savitri	was	so
devastated	that	all	she	could	do	was	lie	on	the	sand	moaning. Suddenly	she
felt	a	shadow	looming	over	her. She	looked	up	to	see	Lord	Vishnu. “Did	you
remember	my	drink	of	water?”	he	asked. Savitri	looked	down	and	was	amazed	to	see	she	was	wearing	the	same	sari
as	the	day	years	ago	when	Vishnu	first	appeared	to	her. As	she	bent	to	get	him
some	water,	her	reflection	showed	her	the	same	young	woman. “What
happened?”	she	asked	in	bewilderment. Vishnu	replied,	“With	me	there	is	no	time,	for	I	am	beyond	
death
. Time	is
the	field	of	gain	and	loss. As	long	as	you	are	in	time,	it	is	an	illusion	to	think
that	you	can	prevent	loss,	which	is	just	another	word	for	change.”
“Then	Satyavan	may	still	be	alive!”	Savitri	exclaimed. “Can	he	be
saved?”
Vishnu	was	already	beginning	to	fade	away. Savitri	grasped	at	his	image,
but	all	she	held	was	air. When	she	turned	around,	she	saw	Ramana	standing
behind	her	on	the	path. “You	see,”	Ramana	said,	“whatever	you	are	afraid	to	lose	is	unreal. Death
cannot	touch	what	is	real. In	a	way	that	is	a	gift	from	Death.”
“I	don’t	see	that,”	Savitri	said	dejectedly. “When	you	die,	you	will	be	forced	to	lose	everything,	yet	something	will
remain. It	is	the	soul,	which	is	real. Therefore	you	should	celebrate	loss. The
trappings	of	existence	can	fall	away	at	any	time;	the	essence	will	always
remain. And	that	essence	is	you.”
LIVING	BEYOND	BOUNDARIES
The	afterlife	is	not	just	a	mystery	to	be	solved. It’s	an	opportunity	to	expand
life	beyond	boundaries. As	the	rishis	described	it,	awareness	begins	in	an
unbounded	state	with	pure	consciousness	and	then	cascades,	plane	by	plane,
until	it	reaches	the	physical	world. Each	level	is	in	you. At	any	given	moment
you	could	place	yourself	anywhere;	the	choice	of	boundaries—or
unboundedness—is	yours	alone. Therefore	journeys	to	heaven	and	hell	are
daily	occurrences,	not	far-off	possibilities. This	is	hard	for	many	people	to
accept,	because	they	want	a	fixed,	reliable	“me”	that	will	bring	stability	to	an
unstable	world. But	there	is	no	separation	between	observer	and	observed. The	inner	and	outer	worlds	are	changing	constantly.After	death	experience	shifts	to	the	subtle	realm,	which	presents	its
infinite	variety. Yet	we	are	already	touching	on	subtle	experiences	
every
	day. Here	are	some	of	the	labels	we	apply	to	our	voyages	in	the	subtle	world:
Dreams
Imagination
Myths
Archetypes
Epiphanies
The	“shadow”
Collective	consciousness
Numinous	creation	(angels,	demons,	saints,	bodhisattvas,	deities)
Sacred	visions
Desires	and	wishes
Inspiration
Somewhere	on	this	list	falls	everything	the	rishis	called	“consciousness
filled	with	subtle	objects.”	You	cannot	see	yourself	as	a	complete	person
without	taking	these	subworlds	into	account. They	are	destinations	in	the
future	but	are	also	in	the	here	and	now. The	“shadow”	may	be	an	unfamiliar
term;	it	refers	to	hidden	forces	that	influence	us	as	if	beyond	our	will. The
shadow	self	in	Jungian	psychology	is	a	region	of	the	unconscious	where	we
store	energies	that	become	our	version	of	dark,	evil,	shameful,	or	adversarial
beings. It’s	hard	to	imagine	how	the	shadow	can	occupy	the	same	space	as
beings	of	light,	which	are	numinous	and	include	angels	and	deities. We’re
tempted	to	allot	separate	places	for	each,	but	there	are	no	physical	divisions	in
the	subtle	domain	and	therefore	no	barriers	between	heaven	and	hell,	light	and
shadow. Access	to	the	entire	subtle	world	is	always	open. If	you	can	imagine
and	dream,	you	can	also	experience	departed	spirits,	angels,	or	gods. Therefore,	the	first	step	for	anyone	who	wants	to	enter	the	subworlds	of
consciousness	is	to	drop	one’s	inflexible	rules	about	what	is	
real
	and	unreal. Many	cultures	have	viewed	the	barrier	between	life	and	death	as	permeable. We	insist	on	making	it	into	a	wall,	and	behind	this	insistence	lurks	a	good	deal
of	unspoken	fear. We	equate	the	entire	subtle	domain	with	the	realm	of	death,
which	is	far	from	the	case. “My	son	died	when	he	was	just	twenty-two,”	a	woman	told	me	recently. “It	was	a	brain	tumor,	and	I	was	staying	at	his	home	the	day	he	passed	away. With	me	were	his	sister	and	his	new	wife. Tom’s	passing	was	peaceful,	and
that	evening	we	three	women	stayed	up	late	talking	about	him. We	must	have
talked	too	late,	because	we	fell	asleep	together	by	the	fire. “The	next	morning	his	wife	was	quite	excited	and	told	us	that	Tom	came
to	her	in	a	dream	and	reassured	her	that	he	was	all	right. His	sister	blurted	outthat	Tom	had	also	come	to	her	in	a	dream	saying	the	same	thing. They	turned
to	me,	and	yes,	I	had	had	the	same	dream. We	all	felt	that	Tom	was	so	vividly
present	that	it	had	not	seemed	like	a	dream—it	was	really	him.”
In	this	example	one	sees	a	bleed-through	between	several	levels	of	the
subtle	world:	dreams,	departed	spirits,	and	collective	consciousness. In	this
case	“collective”	means	an	awareness	shared	by	three	people,	although	the
term	can	be	expanded	much,	much	further. This	kind	of	blending	is	more
common	than	we	think. Boundaries,	after	all,	are	arbitrary. Einstein,	whose
reputation	rests	upon	rational	thought,	declared	that	the	germ	of	the	theory	of
relativity	came	to	him	while	daydreaming. Shall	we	call	that	a	dream,	a
vision,	or	inspiration? Shall	we	call	Tom’s	reassurance	to	his	family	real	or
illusory,	inspiring	or	merely	a	projection	of	grief	that	needed	an	outlet? Sorting	out	the	subtle	world	was	a	project	that	the	Vedic	rishis	set	for
themselves. By	going	deeper	into	their	explanations	we	can	begin	to	navigate
this	level	of	reality	that	is	closest	to	the	soul. We	have	arrived	at	the	suburbs
of	immortality,	as	it	were,	which	are	not	quite	eternal	yet	not	bound	by	time
and	space,	either. The	Five	Koshas
Near-death	experiences,	Tibetan	Buddhism,	and	the	Book	of	Revelation	agree
on	one	thing:	when	we	die	we	will	look	beautiful. The	“golden	body”	of	the
Tibetan	Bardo	and	the	perfect	body	rising	from	the	grave	at	Judgment	Day	are
untouched	by	age	and	decay. When	people	are	visited	in	dreams	by	the
departed,	they	usually	appear	in	the	prime	of	life,	somewhere	around	thirty,
rather	than	as	children	or	disembodied	ghosts. Apparitions	of	the	Virgin	Mary
never	seem	to	be	of	someone	in	old	age	but	of	a	luminous,	lovely	young
woman. On	the	other	hand,	in	near-death	accounts	of	hell	(much	rarer	than
going	into	the	light),	the	damned	never	look	young	and	healthy. They	are	old,
withered,	sick,	scarred,	deformed,	or	some	wretched	combination. Visions	of
reward	and	punishment	deliver	totally	opposite	images. The	rishis	weren’t	satisfied	with	such	simple,	idealized	images. Seeing	the
entire	subtle	world	as	a	projection	of	consciousness,	they	focused	on	the
Koshas
,	or	divisions	of	pure	consciousness. Kosha
	translates	to	mean	sheath,
layer,	or	envelope,	but	it’s	easiest	to	think	of	pure	consciousness	as	a	point
that	wraps	five	bodies	around	itself	like	layers	of	an	onion. (One	can	also
think	in	terms	of	vibrations,	moving	from	grossest	to	highest.) The	five	layers
are:
1
. Physical	body
2
. Prana	(subtle	breath	or	life	force)
3
. Mind4
. Ego	and	intellect
5
. Body	of	bliss
The	five	Koshas,	operating	in	unison,	give	rise	to	the	self,	or	to	put	it
more	accurately,	the	self	system. You	and	I	are	multilayered	because	we	are
inseparable	from	our	five	Koshas. The	fact	that	each	sheath	has	its	own	rules
provides	us	with	a	structure	for	the	subtle	
world
.
Life_After_Death_by_Deepak_Chopra.txt
Summarize the following text section accurately and concisely. Maintain specific details and numerical information, and use anti-repetition mechanisms:

        It	was	primarily	through	the	spiritualism
of	the	late	nineteenth	century	that	reincarnation	began	to	be	embraced	by
popular	culture. By	contrast,	some	versions	of	the	afterlife	have	no	wish	to	overlap	with
any	other. When	Mel	Gibson	was	being	interviewed	about	his	controversial
movie,	
The	Passion	of	the	Christ
,	with	its	emphasis	on	ultra-violence	and	its
almost	total	neglect	of	Christian	love,	he	freely	admitted	his	belief	in	an
exclusive	heaven. Gibson	was	being	interviewed	by	the	
Herald	Sun
newspaper	in	Australia	when	he	was	asked	if	Protestants	are	denied	eternal
salvation. “There	is	no	salvation	for	those	outside	the	Church,”	Gibson
replied,	referring	to	the	Catholic	Church. “Put	it	this	way. My	wife	is	a	saint. She’s	a	much	better	person	than	I	am. Honestly. She’s,	like,	Episcopalian,
Church	of	England. She	prays,	she	believes	in	God,	she	knows	Jesus,	she
believes	in	that	stuff. And	it’s	just	not	fair	if	she	doesn’t	make	it,	she’s	better
than	I	am. But	that	is	a	pronouncement	from	the	chair. I	go	with	it. ”
Fundamentalism	is	often	criticized	for	its	inflexible	and	literalist
interpretations	of	Scripture. The	great	advantage	of	believing	in	this	kind	of
exclusivity,	as	millions	of	devout	Christians,	Muslims,	and	Jews	do,	is	its
unalloyed	simplicity. Dying	is	as	cut-and-dried	as	winning	a	football	game—or	losing	it,	in	the	case	of	hell—and	just	as	irrevocable. Good	and	bad	deeds
are	added	up	with	a	specific	weight	assigned	to	each	one. A	petty	theft	or
adultery	can	be	offset	by	penance	of	equal	value,	while	some	sins,	such	as
murder,	cancel	all	good	deeds	and	buy	a	ticket	directly	to	eternal	damnation. In	traditional	Hinduism,	however,	the	arithmetic	of	good	and	bad	deeds	is
infinitely	flexible. For	every	act	that	earns	bad	karma,	sending	the	soul
downward	in	its	next	rebirth,	there	is	a	chance	to	
balance
	the	scale	through
good	karma. Reincarnation	also	allows	a	soul	to	experience	one	heaven	or
hell	after	another	without	limit	until	
Moksha
,	or	liberation,	is	achieved. Moksha	ends	the	entire	cycle	of	heaven	and	hell	forever,	at	which	time	the
soul	returns	to	its	original	state	as	pure	consciousness,	a	drop	of	bliss	in	the
ocean	of	bliss. Here,	the	quarrels	of	religion	end. Like	all	earthly	attachments,
they	fall	away. According	to	Vedanta,	eternity	isn’t	a	smorgasbord. If	“God	is	one”	as	so
many	faiths	declare,	there	must	be	a	deeper	layer	to	the	Akashic	field	where
disagreements	and	multiple	choices	end. Consciousness	is	consciousness	no
matter	who	is	interpreting	it. Akasha	exists	beyond	choice,	beyond	mind. This
state	of	unity	attracts	the	dying	person	toward	it. Through	the	magnetism	of
the	soul,	one	is	drawn	to	the	next	stage	of	a	personal	dream	that	is	universal	at
the	source. 8
S
EEING	THE
	S
OUL
THE	MOMENT	SHE
	woke	up,	Savitri	saw	that	they	were	back	at	the	banyan	tree
where	they’d	started. She	sat	up,	squinting	at	the	sun	overhead. How	could	it
be	so	high	in	the	sky. Then	she	saw	Ramana	standing	over	her. He	wore	a
mysterious	look. “We	haven’t	left	yet,”	he	said. “There	are	still	hours	to	go	before	Satyavan
returns	home. ”
Weakly	rising	to	her	feet,	Savitri	gazed	at	the	monk	as	if	he	were	a
magician. “What	did	you	do. ”
Ramana	shrugged. “You	were	exhausted. You	slept. I’m	not	responsible	if
you	had	a	productive	dream. ”	Without	another	word	he	picked	up	his	flute,
exactly	as	he	had	before,	and	set	off. This	time	Savitri	followed	him	without
hesitation. They	did	not	take	the	trail	up	the	mountain	but	the	path	down,	and
after	a	while	Ramana	said,	“When	I	was	young	there	was	a	traveling	fortune-
teller	who	set	up	his	tent	by	the	Ganges. Every	devout	person	wants	to	die	in
Benares. Their	families	come	to	the	funeral,	and	a	fortune-teller	can	make	a
good	living,	particularly	this	one,	since	his	specialty	was	predicting	the	day
that	a	person	will	die. But	I	refused	to	go. ”
“Why. ”	asked	Savitri. Ramana	laughed. “I	was	different,	even	then. I	used	to	say	it’s	easy	to	see
the	future. I’ll	go	to	the	fortune-teller	who	can	see	the	present. The	most
difficult	thing	is	seeing	what’s	right	here. ”
“Can	you	explain. ”	Savitri	asked. “Have	you	heard	of	Maya. ”
“Of	course. She	is	the	goddess	of	illusion. ”
“Just	so,”	said	Ramana. “But	what	is	illusion. A	kind	of	magic	that	hides
reality	from	us. Maya	is	more	subtle. Let’s	say	I	show	you	a	piece	of	ice,	a
cloud	of	steam,	and	a	snowflake. Have	you	seen	any	water. If	you	say	yes,
then	you	have	overcome	Maya—the	forms	of	ice,	steam,	and	snowflake
didn’t	fool	you. You	went	to	the	essence,	which	is	that	they	are	all	made	of
water. “If	you	say	no,	then	you	fell	for	illusion. The	ice,	steam,	and	snowflake
grabbed	your	attention,	and	you	lost	the	essence. It	didn’t	take	magic	to	fool
you. You	allowed	your	mind	to	be	distracted. So	it	is	with	the	soul. We	look	atpeople	and	see	everything	on	the	surface. This	one	is	ugly,	that	one	beautiful,
this	one	poor,	that	one	rich,	this	one	I	love,	that	one	I	hate. Yet	each	is	Atman,
the	same	essence	in	infinite	forms. ”
“Is	that	what	you	see.
Through the spiritualism of the late 19th century.
What is the primary way that people have begun to accept the concept of reincarnation?
The afterlife is not just a destination, but an opportunity to expand life beyond boundaries.
According to the text, what is the significance of the afterlife?
The primary goal of the rishis is to master the powers that are needed in the afterlife, which includes self-awareness, willingness, intention, and acceptance.
What is the primary goal of the rishis, as described in the text?
The key to understanding the afterlife is to recognize that there is no separation between the observer and the observed.
What is the key to understanding the afterlife, according to the Vedic rishis?
The Akashic field is a unified, all-encompassing domain that is the source of all existence, and is not limited to a physical or subtle reality.
What is the significance of the Akashic field, according to the text?