Science	in	the	age	of	quantum	physics
does	not	deny	the	existence	of	invisible	worlds. Quite	the	contrary. And	we
can’t	claim	that	Jesus	is	only	about	metaphysics—he	gives	plenty	of	advice
about	living	in	this	world. Which	brings	us	to	a	puzzle. When	Jesus	tells	his
disciples	that	they	should	be	in	the	world	but	not	of	it,	his	teaching	seems
unlivable. If	I’m	eating	breakfast,	how	can	I	do	that	without	being	of	the
world? My	physical	body	anchors	me	here	every	moment. But	the	soul
manages	to	be	in	this	world	while	remaining	firmly	outside	time	and	space. Jesus	is	giving	us	a	clue	about	the	kingdom	of	heaven	within.Where	the	Rishis	Go
Many	times	Jesus	sounds	like	a	rishi	in	the	tradition	of	Vedanta. Certainly
that’s	true	about	being	in	the	world	but	not	of	it. In	simple	terms,	he	is	telling
his	closest	followers	to	stop	thinking	of	themselves	as	physical	creatures. Jesus	becomes	more	explicit	if	we	look	outside	the	four	Gospels	to	the
fragmentary	Gospel	of	Thomas,	which	
was
	written	very	early,	perhaps	within
a	century	after	the	Crucifixion,	but	was	later	excluded	from	the	official	canon. Jesus	said:	“If	those	who	lead	you	say	to	you:	See,	the	kingdom	is	in
heaven,	then	the	birds	of	the	sky	will	go	before	you;	if	they	say	to	you:	It	is	in
the	sea,	then	the	fish	will	go	before	you. But	the	kingdom	is	within	you,	and	it
is	outside	of	you. When	you	know	yourselves,	then	you	will	be	known,	and
you	will	know	that	you	are	the	sons	of	the	living	Father.”	This	passage	shows
how	profound	the	roots	of	religion	are,	and	how	compatible	the	great
traditions	of	wisdom	would	be	if	dogma	didn’t	stand	in	the	way. What	Jesus
says	here	supports	the	view	that	heaven	is	everywhere,	but	it	goes	further	by
saying	that	heaven	is	an	inward	experience—an	experience	in	consciousness. Jesus	sees	the	soul	everywhere	and	thus	he	can	see	that	the	essence	of	people
lies	outside	time	and	space. Like	the	rishis,	Jesus	was	comfortable	living	with
eternity. Why,	then,	aren’t	we? Eternity	can’t	be	grasped	by	the	mind	in	our	ordinary	waking	state. Our
waking	state	is	dominated	by	time	while	eternity	is	not. There	must	be	a	link. Vedanta	says	that	there	is	a	continuum,	in	fact. Every	quality	in	yourself	is
actually	a	soul	quality
. Think	about	the	following	sequence	of	words:
Contented
Happy
Thrilled
Overjoyed
Ecstatic
Blissful
This	is	the	kind	of	continuum	the	rishis	had	in	mind. A	person	can	feel
contented	without	knowing	that	there	is	any	connection	to	the	soul. When
contentment	intensifies,	one	is	aware	of	being	happy,	
and
	if	happiness	is
intense	enough,	it	feels	thrilling. At	rare	moments	we	can	rise	to	a	higher
level	and	say	that	we	are	overjoyed,	or	ecstatic. We	are	moving	along	a
continuum,	which	may	be	invisible	but	is	just	as	real	as	tasting	increasingly
sweet	desserts. Ecstasy	represents	the	limit	of	happiness	that	can	be	felt	personally,	and
even	here	the	Latin	root	of	the	word	“ecstasy”	means	“to	stand	outside.”	In
common	usage	people	will	say,	“I	was	so	happy	it	felt	unreal,	like	it	washappening	to	someone	else,”	or	“I	loved	her	so	much	it	was	like	an	out-of-
body	experience.”	In	Vedanta	there	is	one	final	step	on	the	continuum:	bliss. In	Sanskrit	the	word	is	
ananda
. Bliss	is	a	quality	of	the	soul. From	the
perspective	of	everyday	life,	it	cannot	be	imagined. The	mind	is	as	baffled	by
infinite	happiness	as	the	tongue	would	be	if	it	tasted	something	sweeter	than
sweet. Even	though	it	is	inside	everyone,	heaven	isn’t	reached	in	a	single	leap	of
faith. As	with	bliss,	there	is	a	continuum	with	every	quality	of	the	soul. We	all
know	this	instinctively. Take	kindness. The	urge	to	perform	a	small	act	of
kindness,	such	as	giving	spare	change	to	a	homeless	person	on	the	street,	is
expandable	to	giving	welfare	to	the	needy. Kindness	crosses	over	into	a
religious	act	when	faith-based	groups	engage	in	AIDS	relief	work	in	Africa. We	see	the	essence	of	this	impulse	in	Buddha,	the	Compassionate	One,	whose
very	nature	is	kindness. We	need	this	reminder	that	our	best	qualities	can	reach	universality. Christianity	may	claim	that	Jesus	was	unique,	as	Buddhism	claims	that
Gautama	was	unique,	yet	the	continuum	says	otherwise. The	following
qualities	become	more	intense	as	we	get	closer	to	the	soul:
Compassion
Strength
Truth
Bliss
Beauty
Love
Wisdom
Power
Every	act	of	kindness	adds	another	brushstroke	to	the	picture;	every
insight	draws	you	nearer	to	your	essence. You	and	I	differ	from	each	other	in
a	thousand	ways,	depending	on	how	we	relate	to	our	souls. On	a	given	day	I
may	be	struck	by	a	beautiful	sunset,	a	loving	smile	from	a	child,	a	sudden
truth	about	who	I	am. You	may	be	struck	by	how	much	the	poor	deserve
compassion,	how	wise	a	poem	by	Keats	is,	how	beautiful	it	is	to	give	of
yourself. What	keeps	life	fascinating	is	the	constant	creativity	of	the	soul. After	all	is	said	and	done,	I	believe	in	heaven,	and	when	I	die	I	expect	to	be
there,	not	in	a	celestial	garden	but	in	a	space	described	by	T.	S.	Eliot’s	famous
lines:
We	shall	not	cease	from	exploration
And	the	end	of	all	our	exploring
Will	be	to	arrive	where	we	startedAnd	know	the	place	for	the	first	time
. Truth,	wisdom,	beauty,	and	all	the	other	qualities	of	the	soul	don’t	need
physical	settings. Pure	love	exists	even	in	the	absence	of	a	person	to	love. Spiritual	truth	needs	no	crusade	to	follow. The	soul	in	its	full	intensity	takes
center	stage	after	we	die	but	is	foreshadowed	long	before. “I’ve	never	married,	and	I’ve	never	been	a	mother,	because	I’m	a	man,”	a
middle-aged	writer	told	me	once. He	had	been	a	spiritual	seeker	for	a	long
time. “For	some	years	I	lived	in	an	ashram	in	western	Massachusetts	where
the	orientation	was	Hindu	and	a	lot	was	said	about	the	Divine	Mother. I’m	not
Christian	enough	to	be	attracted	to	
the
	Virgin	Mary. I	guess	you’d	say	I	was
always	more	male	oriented. But	I	realize	that	the	feminine	is	important. “I	have	women	friends	who	have	joined	Goddess	groups. They	perform
rituals	and	dance	under	the	full	moon. I	followed	a	more	conventional	path,
basically	meditating	hours	a	day. No	dancing,	no	singing,	not	even	any
prayers. I	did	this	for	five	years. Then	one	day	something	very	strange
occurred. “I	was	sitting	in	meditation	when	a	gentle	feeling	came	over	me. It	began
as	warmth	in	my	heart,	then	it	took	on	an	emotional	tone. Tenderness,
sweetness,	love. I	sat	there	enjoying	this	when	the	intensity	increased. I
seemed	to	melt	away. Within	ten	seconds	I	became	pure. Nothing	but	love. I
was	the	Divine	Mother
. “How	can	I	tell	you	what	that’s	like? Imagine	that	you’re	watching	a	great
movie	actress. She	embraces	and	kisses	her	children,	and	for	a	moment	you
forget	that	you’re	sitting	in	the	dark	watching	the	play	of	light	on	a	screen. You	are	her. That’s	what	this	felt	like,	only	a	thousand	times	more	intense. I
was	nothing	but	the	Mother.”
At	unexpected	moments	we	go	beyond	our	usual	place	on	the	spiritual
continuum. We	don’t	feel	mere	affection,	infatuation,	romantic	love,	or	deep
devotion. We	become	absorbed	into	universal	love	itself. This	man	told	me
that	he	now	looks	at	women	very	differently. “They	exist	as	ordinary	people
but	at	the	same	time	a	totally	impersonal	force—the	Mother—shines	through
them. I	can	be	honking	at	a	woman	driver	to	move	faster	through	a	light,	but
if	she	turns	her	face	toward	me,	I	see	
it. It
	is	doing	everything,	and	when	I
realize	that,	honking	my	horn	seems	absurd. Can	you	honk	your	horn	at
God?”
In	physical	form	there’s	only	so	much	purity	we	can	absorb,	but
sometimes	that	threshold	is	transcended. I’m	thinking	of	Saint	Teresa	of
Ávila,	the	sixteenth-century	Spanish	saint	who	experienced	divine	love	as	a
golden	arrow	being	pushed	through	her	heart	by	an	angel. Teresa	described
this	as	excruciatingly	painful	and	blissful	at	the	same	time	(hence	her	status	as
the	patron	saint	of	sufferers).This	brings	us	back	to	the	paradox	of	heaven,	that	God	is	visible	and
invisible	at	the	same	time. So	is	the	soul. We	encounter	it	visibly	through
events	that	inspire	us	to	feel	love,	truth,	and	beauty. The	vessel	that	contains
them—a	loving	spouse,	a	beautiful	painting,	a	wise	saying—will	fade	and
disappear. But	its	essence	remains,	and	it	is	this	essence	that	allows	us	to	look
forward	to	feeling	more	love	tomorrow. This	is	the	path	to	heaven. For	someone	who	has	died,	the	path	is	complete. Then	what? Having
arrived	in	the	soul’s	domain,	does	experience	stop? In	physical	terms,	yes. The	objects	of	love	are	gone. Only	essence	is	real	now. But	as	we	will	see,
activity	hasn’t	come	to	an	end—far	from	it. The	soul	finds	itself	much	freer	to
choose	“on	the	other	side,”	and	the	possibilities—so	the	rishis	declare—are
more	interesting	than	ever.5
T
HE
	P
ATH	TO
	H
ELL
“I	WONDER	IF
	Yama	fools	himself?”	Ramana	mused. “He	certainly	fools
everyone	else.”
“You	talk	as	if	he’s	pulling	some	kind	of	trick,”	Savitri	said. It	was
wearing	on	her	to	be	in	the	forest	this	long. She	knew	that	time	was	running
out. “Yama	
is
	pulling	a	trick,”	Ramana	agreed. “You	wouldn’t	have	run	away
from	him	if	you’d	known	it.”	Ramana	stopped,	as	if	he	had	pronounced
something	obvious. “Show	me	how	the	trick	works,”	Savitri	said. “All	right. I’ll	tell	you	the	story	of	a	monkey	who	was	shut	inside	a	small
room	in	a	castle	tower. Nothing	was	happening	in	the	room,	and	the	monkey
was	restless. “The	monkey	could	only	divert	himself	by	going	to	the	window	and
looking	out	at	the	world. This	distracted	him	for	a	while,	but	then	he	started	to
think	about	his	situation. How	did	he	end	up	in	this	tower? Why	had	he	been
captured	and	put	there? The	monkey’s	mood	began	to	darken. There	was
nothing	to	do,	no	one	to	talk	to. His	thoughts	made	him	more	and	more
depressed. The	room	seemed	to	close	in;	the	monkey	started	to	sweat
anxiously. No
,	he	suddenly	realized,	
I’m	not	in	a	room,	I’m	in	hell
. Quickly
his	depression	grew	into	
anguish
	and	anguish	into	torment. The	monkey	saw
demons	all	around	inflicting	every	imaginable	pain. “This	is	it
,	the	monkey	thought. I	am	in	eternal	hell
. And	so	the	torment
continued,	getting	worse	and	worse. The	monkey	saw	no	way	out. But
gradually	the	monkey	got	used	to	his	torment. How	much	time	had	elapsed? The	monkey	couldn’t	remember. But	he	began	to	feel	better	about	his
surroundings. It	wasn’t	such	a	bad	room,	not	really. In	fact,	it	was	rather
pleasant	to	be	by	oneself	looking	out	the	window	at	all	the	fascinating	things
going	on	outside. “Bit	by	bit	the	demons	stopped	torturing	the	monkey	and	withdrew. He
began	to	feel	better,	and	soon	the	day	came	when	he	was	feeling	optimistic. The	monkey	grew	more	cheerful,	and	then	…”	Ramana	broke	off. “No	doubt
you	know	where	this	story	is	headed.”
Savitri	nodded. “The	monkey	is	going	to	heaven.”“Exactly. He	starts	to	feel	better	and	better,	until	he	imagines	himself	in
Paradise,	and	instead	of	being	punished	by	demons	he	is	being	soothed	by
angels. Ah
,	the	monkey	thinks,	
I	am	in	eternal	bliss
.”
“Until	he	gets	bored	again,”	Savitri	remarked. Ramana	nodded. “The	monkey	is	the	mind,	sitting	alone	in	the	tower	of
the	head. As	the	mind	expands	with	pleasure	and	contracts	with	pain,	it
creates	every	possible	world,	constantly	falling	for	its	own	creations. The
monkey	will	believe	in	heaven	for	a	while,	but	then	boredom	will	set	in,	and
being	the	seed	of	discontent,	boredom	will	pull	him	out	of	heaven	and	back
down	to	hell.”
Savitri	felt	despondent. “So	we’re	all	trapped.”
“Only	if	you	agree	to	be	trapped. I	didn’t	say	the	tower	was	locked,”	said
Ramana. “There	is	an	infinite	domain	outside	the	castle	walls. You	can	take
your	mind	beyond	walls. There	is	freedom	outside,	and	having	achieved	it,
you	will	never	have	to	go	to	heaven	or	hell	again.”	
KARMA	AND	THE	WAGES	OF	SIN
So	far,	I’ve	offered	a	view	of	the	afterlife	that	is	open,	creative,	and	full	of
choices. Step-by-step	we	fulfill	our	expectations	and	behold	images	that	fit
those	expectations. But	this	view	leaves	out	one	aspect	that	looms	large	for
many	people:	sin. In	Christian	belief	sin	cannot	be	overlooked,	since	God	is
constantly	adding	up	our	good	and	bad	deeds. He	must;	otherwise	everyone
would	go	to	heaven,	and	its	mixture	of	good	and	bad	people	would	too	closely
resemble	earthly	life. I	saw	a	Catholic	bishop	being	interviewed	on	television	recently,	and	he
was	asked	a	question	that	could	have	been	posed	to	a	bishop	in	the	Middle
Ages:	“Do	Christians	really	believe	that	this	life	only	exists	to	prepare	us	for
the	life	to	come?”	The	bishop’s	immediate	reply	was	yes—exactly	what	a
Catholic	bishop	would	have	said	in	the	Dark	Ages. A	thousand	years	hasn’t
changed	a	basic	Christian	belief	that	the	material	world	is	a	vale	of	tears,	that
sin	created	death,	and	that	the	only	escape	is	to	reach	heaven. “I’ll	be	at	peace
when	I	get	there. I’ll	be	able	to	relax,”	the	bishop	said. In	other	words,	what
we	suffer	here	and	now	plays	a	huge	part	in	our	image	of	what’s	to	come. Hell	is	payback	for	sin,	but	it’s	also	an	extension	of	earthly	suffering. When	escape	is	the	ultimate	reward,	staying	behind	is	the	ultimate
punishment. Christian	theology	basically	says,	“Be	good	or	God	will	give	you
more	of	this	life,	only	worse.”	The	Vedic	rishis	looked	at	suffering	not	as	a
matter	of	sin	but	as	a	matter	of	lost	freedom. According	to	Vedanta,	whatever
limits	our	freedom	now	will	continue	to	operate	after	we	die. In	both	cases,
you	are	subject	to	the	power	of	Karma. Originally	the	Sanskrit	word	
Karma
	meant	“action,”	but	it	quickly
expanded	and	now	implies	the	eternal	struggle	between	good	and	evil. (I	will
use	capital	“K”	to	refer	to	the	cosmic	aspect	of	Karma,	small	“k”	to	refer	to	its
personal	effects.) At	the	most	superficial	level	
you
	build	good	karma	by	being
good	and	bad	karma	by	being	bad. This	matches	the	Christian	concept	of
choosing	between	good	and	evil	actions,	and	being	rewarded	or	punished
accordingly. Millions	of	people,	East	and	West,	live	by	that	belief. But	Karma
never	ends;	it’s	part	of	the	soul’s	continuous	journey,	not	just	a	single	lifetime
that	leads	once	and	for	all	to	heaven	or	hell. The	catch	is	that	no	amount	of	good	karma	can	win	a	person’s	freedom. The	Vedic	version	of	hell	is	never	finding	a	way	out	of	bondage,	which	makes
it	strangely	congruent	to	Christian	hell. Perfect	goodness	isn’t	achievable,	and
bit	by	bit	the	effect	of	karma	will	turn	the	saint’s	life	into	the	sinner’s,	andvice	versa. That’s	why	“glue”	might	be	a	better	translation	of	Karma	than
“action.”
You	can	compare	Karma	to	a	cosmic	clock	with	every	gear	perfectly
meshed. You	can	compare	it	to	a	super-computer	keeping	track	of	every
action	in	creation. You	can	compare	it	to	an	eternal	judge	weighing	the	good
and	bad	results	of	every	thought	and	deed. In	truth	the	whole	system—
universe,	brain,	lower	self,	higher	self,	Atman,	God—is	bound	together	by
Karma’s	invisible	force. The	law	of	Karma,	which	underlies	every	Eastern
belief	system,	holds	that	none	of	us	can	escape	paying	our	debts,	and	since	we
accumulate	debts	every	day,	we	have	no	choice	but	to	keep	paying	them	off
lifetime	after	lifetime. Being	Saved	from	Sin
According	to	the	rishis,	punishment	in	the	afterlife	is	the	result	of	unpaid
karmic	debts. If	I	commit	a	crime	and	don’t	pay	for	it	here	on	earth,	I	will	pay
by	suffering	later. What	is	a	karmic	debt? Basically	any	cause	that	hasn’t	yet
found	its	effect. There’s	a	saying	in	India,	“Karma	waits	on	the	doorstep,”
meaning	that	a	person	may	try	to	walk	away	from	past	actions,	but	like	a	dog
sleeping	by	the	door	until	
its
	master	returns,	Karma	can	be	endlessly	patient. Eventually	the	universe	will	insist	on	redressing	the	balance	of	wrong	with
right. Hell	is	the	condition	of	karmic	suffering. The	vast	majority	of	near-death
experiences	turn	out	to	be	positive,	but	some	are	not. Instead	of	moving
toward	a	benign	and	welcoming	light,	a	few	people	experience	the	features	of
hell. They	see	demons	or	even	Satan	himself;	they	hear	sinners	crying	out	in
torment;	a	heavy	blackness	looms	over	everything. NDE	investigators	have
even	found	a	category	of	people	whom	they	call	“earthbound	souls,”	haunted
by	evil	actions	and	frustrated	desires. Prime	witness	to	this	was	offered	by	a
man	named	George	Ritchie,	who	was	given	a	firsthand	look	at	them:
In	Ritchie’s	near-death	experience,	Jesus	took	him	to	a	large	city	on	earth
where	he	observed	earthbound	souls	stalking	the	living	for	one	reason	or
another. One	earthbound	soul	begged	in	vain	for	a	cigarette. A	young	man
who	had	committed	suicide	begged	his	parents	in	vain	for	forgiveness. In	a
house,	Ritchie	was	shown	the	soul	of	a	boy	following	a	living	teenage	girl	and
begging	for	forgiveness	despite	the	fact	that	the	girl	was	completely	unaware
of	the	boy’s	presence. Jesus	told	Ritchie	that	the	boy	had	committed	suicide
and	was	chained	to	every	consequence	of	his	act. These	are	the	ghosts	of	unpaid	karma. It’s	worth	remembering	that	hellish
experiences	don’t	depend	upon	dying. People	have	seen	Satan	in	dreams,
visions,	imagination,	and	even	in	the	flesh	(or	
inside
	the	flesh,	if	you	believe
in	demonic	possession	and	Satan’s	ability	to	take	up	his	abode	in	a	person’sbody	until	he	is	somehow	exorcised). NDE	investigators	are	among	the	few	in	our	society	whose	job	is	to	think
about	the	afterlife,	and	when	they	consider	any	experience	of	hell	or
tormented	souls,	certain	factors	create	these	visions	of	torment. Our	minds	put
us	in	hell,	and	they	can	take	us	out	again. Whether	suffering	is	created	here	on
earth	through	physical	pain	or	in	the	afterlife	through	psychological	torment,
the	causes	remain	the	same,	since	
they
	can	be	traced	back	to	the	workings	of
Karma. Every	culture	believes	that	bad	deeds	are	inescapable	in	the	afterlife,
but	the	rishis	opened	the	picture	to	describe	how	torment	can	be	escaped	in
general. On	the	material	level	it’s	not	self-evident	that	“as	you	sow,	so	shall	you
reap.”	Wrongdoing	escapes	notice,	much	less	punishment,	all	the	time. We	all
harbor	a	fantasy	of	a	life	where	we	can	get	away	with	anything. It’s	strong
enough	to	turn	bank	robbers	into	heroes,	for	example,	at	least	in	movies. By	saying	that	bad	karma	will	one	day	catch	up	with	wrongdoers,	are	we
guilty	of	wish	fulfillment? Skeptics	would	certainly	say	yes,	because	if	a
karmic	debt	is	paid	outside	the	material	world,	it	isn’t	being	paid	at	all. The
matter	can’t	be	easily	settled,	but	in	spiritual	terms	we	can	observe	the
difference	between	someone	who	is	mature—and	by	implication	has	paid	off
some	debts—and	someone	who	is	immature,	loaded	down	with	unpaid	debts. The	spiritually	mature	person	pursues	a	meaningful	life	through	the
following:
Self-worth:
	I	matter	in	the	divine	plan,	I	am	unique	in	the	universe. Love:
	I	am	deeply	cared	for	and	care	for	others	deeply. Truth:
	I	can	see	past	illusions	and	distractions. Appreciation	and	gratitude:
	I	cherish	the	fits	of	creation. Reverence:
	I	can	feel	and	see	the	sacred. Nonviolence:
	I	respect	life	in	all	its	forms. To	live	outside	these	values	is	painful,	and	if	intense	enough,	perhaps	the
pain	puts	a	person	in	hell. So	the	value	of	a	meaningful	life	demonstrates	the
hidden	side	of	karmic	debts:	when	you	are	free	of	them,	your	life	becomes
fulfilled	and	deeply	worth	living. What	About	Satan? Religious	Christians	will	object	that	I	have	painted	a	psychological	picture	of
hell	that	leaves	out	Satan. To	leave	Satan	out	is	to	ignore	biblical	text,	which
tells	us	of	the	angel	Lucifer,	closest	to	God	among	all	the	angels,	who
disobeyed	God	and	fell	through	the	sin	of	pride	until	he	reached	the	farthest
place	in	creation,	hell. That	millions	of	people	believe	literally	in	this	mythsays	a	great	deal	about	our	refusal	to	take	responsibility	for	the	afterlife. We
prefer	to	objectify	a	Prince	of	Darkness,	an	all-powerful	opposite	of	God,	who
then	becomes	the	agent	of	all	evil. Taking	responsibility	for	hell	sounds	awful,	but	not	taking	responsibility	is
the	same	as	giving	up	on	ourselves. Hell	is	farthest	from	God	because	it
represents	the	low	ebb	of	consciousness. The	causes	of	hellish	experiences
here	on	earth	aren’t	merely	psychological. They	don’t	just	involve	being
depressed	or	guilty. When	we	become	disconnected	from	ourselves,	a	sense	of
deserving	to	suffer	begins. Hell	is	the	suffering	you	think	you	deserve. When
connections	are	repaired,	we	no	longer	believe	we	deserve	punishment:	we
are	back	in	the	flow	of	life	with	all	its	healing	properties. Everything	Satan	stands	for	is	included	in	our	own	self-judgment. Indeed,
he	is	a	massive	reflection	of	self-judgment. Satan	is	a	creation	of
consciousness,	and	as	such	he	waxes	and	wanes,	he	evolves,	and	he	changes
in	significance. Satan	is	real
	under	the	following	conditions:
People	feel	they	deserve	punishment	instead	of	healing. A	culture	believes	in	the	Satan	myth. Believers	pay	attention	to	that	myth	and	give	it	value. Guilt	is	projected	outward	onto	demons	instead	of	healed	inside. Wrongdoing	accumulates	without	a	means	for	finding	forgiveness,
atonement,	or	purification. Children	are	put	in	fear	of	demons	and	told	that	they	have
supernatural	power. Satan	is	unreal
	under	the	following	conditions:
People	feel	they	deserve	healing	instead	of	punishment. A	culture	is	aware	of	how	myths	are	made. People	are	self-aware	and	take	responsibility	for	their	own
emotions. There	is	a	belief	in	forgiveness,	healing,	and	atonement. Outlets	for	negative	energies	are	found	(through	therapy,	sports,
open	dialogue,	healthy	family	dynamics,	education,	etc.). Children	are	not	conditioned	to	believe	in	demons	and	other
supernatural	enemies. Society	promotes	the	evolution	of	consciousness. Our	culture	has	largely	moved	beyond	Satan,	because	despite	religious
literalists,	we	have	a	century	of	secularism	behind	us. Whatever	its	faults,
which	can	be	glaring,	secular	culture	has	promoted	therapy,	discouragedsuperstition,	given	people	responsibility	over	their	own	destinies,	and
encouraged	open-minded	dialogue	in	every	area	once	considered	taboo. These
are	considerable	achievements;	they	bespeak	tremendous	growth	in
consciousness. Evil,	however	you	define	it,	remains	even	after	Satan	is	gone,
but	removing	our	attention	from	Satan	has	diminished	him	greatly,	just	as	the
ancient	gods	of	Mount	Olympus,	once	so	powerful	that	they	served	to	explain
every	natural	phenomenon,	are	now	relegated	to	history. Like	the	Greek	gods,	Satan	has	outlived	his	usefulness. When	people	find
a	better	explanation	for	any	phenomenon,	the	old	explanation	withers	away—
meteorology	replaces	Aeolus	the	god	of	wind,	
and
	thermodynamics	replaces
Promethean	fire. We	have	the	power	to	make	Satan	grow	or	diminish. In	fact,
we	have	the	power	to	make	him	real	and	unreal,	which	is	far	more	crucial. As	consciousness	evolves,	Satan	will	become	more	unreal. Already	I
believe	there	are	millions	of	people	who	are	ready	to	stop	talking	about
demons,	sin,	and	cosmic	evil	as	the	root	cause	of	suffering. They	are	ready	to
talk	in	terms	of	consciousness. They	are	ready	to	talk	about	being
disconnected	from	themselves. We	have	spent	centuries	calling	upon	God	to
rescue	us	and	fearing	Satan	as	the	supreme	enemy. Perhaps	this	was	necessary
to	our	evolution,	but	now	we	can	turn	to	the	deeper,	more	humane	wisdom	of
the	rishis,	which	speaks	of	one	reality,	not	a	fractured	universe	with	heaven
and	hell	at	opposite	poles. Good	and	evil,	the	rishis	tell	us,	is	a	direct	function	of	being	connected	to
the	soul. The	soul	is	the	most	real	aspect	of	the	self. When	we	break	our
connection	with	the	soul,	we	lose	touch	with	reality. THE	SOUL	IS	DISGUISED	WHEN	…
You	are	too	tired	or	stressed. You	are	pulled	outside	yourself. Your	attention	is	dominated	by	externals. You	let	others	think	for	you. You	act	out	of	compulsion. You	are	influenced	by	fear	and	anxiety. You	struggle	and	suffer. These	conditions	have	to	change	before	the	soul	connection	can	be
reestablished. Death	provides	access	to	the	domain	of	the	soul,	but	Vedanta
declares	that	the	soul	has	a	great	deal	to	offer	before	death. Life	is	conducted
under	the	gaze	of	the	soul. Your	portion	of	pure	consciousness	has	certain
universal	qualities:It	is	constant. It	never	loses	sight	of	you. It	is	connected	to	every	other	soul. It	shares	God’s	omniscience. It	is	untouched	by	change. It	lives	beyond	time	and	space. So	it	isn’t	only	tender,	loving,	quiet	moments	that	reveal	the	soul. Rather,
it’s	those	moments	when	the	soul’s	own	qualities	come	to	the	surface	that	are
most	important. Such	moments	occur	too	rarely	in	modern	lives,	but	the	soul
never	stops	revealing	itself. THE	SOUL	IS	REVEALED	WHEN	…
You	feel	centered. Your	mind	is	clear. You	have	the	sensation	that	time	has	stopped. You	suddenly	feel	free	of	boundaries. You	are	keenly	self-aware. You	feel	merged	with	another	person,	either	in	love	or	silent
communion. You	feel	untouched	by	aging	and	change. You	feel	blissful	or	ecstatic. You	have	an	intuitive	flash	that	turns	out	to	be	true. You	somehow	know	what	is	going	to	happen. You	sense	the	truth. You	feel	supremely	loved	or	absolutely	safe. If	there	is	only	one	reality,	as	the	rishis	declare,	then	life	is	not	a	struggle
between	good	and	evil,	but	a	tangled	web	where	all	actions,	good	and	bad,
move	us	closer	to	reality	or	deeper	into	illusion. Karma	
spins
	the	web. Karma
isn’t	a	prison,	it’s	a	field	of	choice. Karma	keeps	our	choices	honest. We	sow
what	we	reap,	but	this	is	far	from	saying	that	we	are	trapped	by	the	forces	of
cosmic	good	and	evil. Hell,	like	every	other	location	in	consciousness,
ultimately	reflects	the	state	of	our	own	awareness,	and	freedom	from	hell	is
won,	like	every	other	achievement,	by	coming	closer	to	the	reality	of	the	soul.6
G
HOSTS
“I	AM	DEEPLY
	grateful	for	all	that	you	have	taught	me,”	Savitri	said. It	was
getting	late,	and	in	truth	she	was	beginning	to	lose	hope	of	returning	home. “I
am	resigned	to	living	alone,	and	perhaps	I	can	visit	you	to	learn	more.”
“Is	anyone	ever	alone?”	Ramana	said. The	forest	was	enfolded	in	purple
shadows,	and	Savitri	couldn’t	read	the	expression	on	his	face	clearly. “I	feel	alone,”	she	said. “Often	feelings	aren’t	trustworthy,”	Ramana	pointed	out. Suddenly	there	was	rustling	in	the	bushes	by	the	side	of	the	path. Savitri
jumped	back. “What	was	that?”	she	exclaimed,	feeling	the	return	of	her
anxiety. “Ghosts.”	Ramana	had	stopped	short. “It’s	time	you	met	them,	for	having
traveled	beyond	this	life,	ghosts	and	spirits	have	much	to	teach.”
He	stood	still	and	beckoned	her	to	keep	quiet. Savitri	froze	in	place,	and	a
chill	passed	over	her	skin. After	a	moment	someone	emerged	from	the
dimness	of	the	forest—a	little	girl	no	more	than	two	years	old,	toddling
toward	them	but	not	looking	their	way. “Don’t!”	Ramana	warned,	anticipating	that	Savitri	would	want	to	run	and
hold	the	baby. The	baby	looked	around	blankly,	then	it	crossed	the	path	and	disappeared
into	the	woods	again. “Did	you	recognize	her?”	Ramana	asked. “No,	how	could	I? Is	she	lost?”	Savitri	felt	confused	and	disturbed	by
what	she’d	witnessed. Instead	of	answering	her	directly,	Ramana	said,	“There
are	more. You’re	attracting	them.”	At	that	moment	a	second	ghost	appeared,
this	time	a	girl	of	four. Savitri	was	dumbfounded. “Do	you	know	that	one?”
he	asked. “It’s	me!”
At	that,	the	ghost	peered	her	way	for	a	moment	before	wandering	away. “And	the	baby	was	also	me?”
Ramana	nodded. “Every	former	self	you	have	left	behind	is	a	ghost. Your
body	is	no	longer	the	body	of	a	child. Your	thoughts,	desires,	fears,	and	hopes
have	changed. It	would	be	terrible	to	walk	around	with	all	your	dead	selves
holding	on. Let	them	go.”Savitri	could	say	nothing. One	by	one	apparitions	of	herself	appeared. She
witnessed	the	girl	of	ten	who	sat	by	her	mother’s	side	in	the	kitchen,	the	girl
of	twelve	blushing	to	talk	to	a	boy,	the	ardent	young	woman	obsessed	with
Satyavan,	her	first	love. The	last	ghost	was	the	most	startling,	because	it	was
like	a	mirror	image,	exactly	her	age	and	wearing	the	same	shawl	that	Savitri
had	thrown	on	when	she	fled	her	hut. “You	see,	even	the	self	you	had	today	is	a	ghost,”	said	Ramana. When	this	last	apparition	had	faded	back	into	the	forest,	Savitri	said,
“What	do	they	have	to	teach	me?”
“That	death	has	been	with	you	every	moment	of	your	life,”	Ramana
replied. “You	have	survived	thousands	of	deaths	every	day	as	your	old
thoughts,	your	old	cells,	your	old	emotions,	and	even	your	old	identity	passed
away. Everyone	is	living	in	the	afterlife	right	now. What	is	there	to	fear	or
doubt?”
“But	they	seemed	so	real,”	Savitri	said. “Yes,	as	real	as	dreams,”	said	Ramana. “But	you	are	in	the	here	and	now,
not	in	the	past.”
Savitri	had	never	seen	herself	in	this	way,	and	the	sight	gave	her	new
courage. “I	am	still	determined	to	defeat	death,	for	I	want	Satyavan	in	my
arms	again. But	if	Yama	is	victorious,	I	won’t	cling	to	ghosts. At	least	I	have
won	that	much	wisdom.”
THE	FIELD	OF	DREAMS
When	people	wonder	if	the	personality	survives	death,	the	answer	is	that	the
personality	doesn’t	even	survive	while	we	are	alive. We	are	not	the	same
person	we	were	five,	ten,	or	fifteen	years	ago	and	it	would	be	a	sorry	state	if
we	were. Our	personalities	are	constantly	evolving,	transforming,	growing. If
the	question	becomes,	Does	the	individual	survive	death?,	the	answer	is,
What’s	an	individual? In	reality	what	we	call	“me”	is	different	from	day	to
day,	week	to	week,	year	to	year. Which	individual	are	you	talking	about,	the
young	person	who	was	in	love	and	full	of	romance	and	desire,	or	the	child
who	was	full	of	innocence	and	wonder? Perhaps	we	must	wait	for	the	one
who	is	senescent	and	dying. Which	one	would	you	survive	as? Perhaps	none. Vedanta	tells	us	that	the	afterlife	brings	the	opportunity	for
a	creative	leap. As	our	choices	continue	to	expand,	we	will	experience	a	new
reality	that	is	far	richer	than	the	conventional	notion	of	heaven. Heaven	is	an
end	point,	whereby	definitions,	all	transformation,	stops. Souls	lounge	around
in	a	blessed	state	that	sounds,	frankly,	like	eternal	assisted	living. Why	should
consciousness	become	inert? In	the	afterlife	survival	would	be	meaninglessunless	we	continued	to	respond. The	biggest	difference	is	that	in	the	afterlife	the	input	of	the	five	senses	no
longer	stimulates	us. The	furniture	of	the	mind	has	been	
cleared
	away,	leaving
a	space	that	is	both	inside	and	outside	ourselves. This	is	why	Jesus	wasn’t
being	paradoxical	when	he	sometimes	talked	about	heaven	“within	you”	and
heaven	“with	the	Father.”	When	you	empty	a	room	of	furniture,	the	space	left
behind	is	empty,	but	the	Vedic	rishis	say	that	mental	space	is	different. It	is
full	of	possibilities. Anything	can	be	born	there. They	called	this	pregnant
space	
Akasha
. The	closest	equivalent	in	English	would	be	“dream	space,”	or
at	least	that’s	a	good	place	to	begin. A	dream	is	like	a	blank	screen	on	which	anything	can	be	projected:	any
event,	place,	or	person. Akasha	is	the	same. When	Vedanta	says	that	every
world	is	a	projection	of	the	mind,	it	is	describing	an	Akashic	dream. “Worlds
come	and	go	like	specks	of	dust	in	a	beam	of	sunlight,”	declares	a	famous
Vedic	saying. In	Akasha	we	realize	the	transience	of	all	things	and	the
immensity	of	the	unknown. The	Akashic	dream	is	cosmic,	unlike	the	personal
dreams	we	have	at	night. NDEs	tell	us	that	the	stage	of	“crossing	over”—the	temporary	realm
preceding	the	full	experience	of	the	afterlife—still	feels	personal. People
report	seeing	their	deceased	friends	and	relations,	for	example. The	dying
person	continues	to	see	the	room	in	which	his	body	lies,	and	memories	and
associations	keep	tying	him	back	to	physical	existence. The	possibility	of
taking	a	creative	leap	has	yet	to	be	realized. As	long	as	you	continue	to	feel
like	the	person	you	were,	you	can’t	experience	the	unknown. Let	me	give	you
an	example. On	a	speaking	engagement	a	few	years	ago	I	met	Gerald,	a	man	who	told
me	that	he	had	become	fascinated	by	the	healing	powers	of	shamans	in	the
Southwest. What	kind	of	healing	did	he	need? I	asked. “I	don’t	want	to	give	you	any	background	just	yet,”	Gerald	said. “I	flew
down	to	New	Mexico	and	found	myself	in	a	group	outside	Santa	Fe,	about
twenty	of	us. I’d	never	met	a	shaman	before. Ours	was	Hopi,	but	he	didn’t
wear	any	religious	symbols. He	was	just	a	very	
pleasant
	older	man	with
shoulder-length	hair. He	greeted	each	of	us	as	we	entered	the	meeting	room	in
a	motel.”
The	shaman	began	by	asking	everyone	to	pick	a	partner. “We	were	asked
to	pair	off	with	the	person	in	the	room	whom	we	felt	most	comfortable	with. I
picked	a	guy	about	my	age	who	was	standing	next	to	me. I	was	as
comfortable	with	him	as	anyone	else,	considering	how	bad	I	felt	anyway.”
Gerald	now	revealed	that	he	had	been	through	a	debilitating	course	of
treatment	for	prostate	cancer,	including	surgery	and	chemotherapy. He	had
been	cancer	free	for	two	years	but	was	haunted	by	fears	that	the	doctors
hadn’t	gotten	everything. His	anxiety	kept	on	growing	even	though	he	keptbeing	reassured	that	he	was	in	the	clear. Finally,	on	the	advice	of	a	friend,
Gerald	reluctantly	sought	out	a	shaman. “Once	we’d	picked	our	partners	we	formed	a	circle. The	shaman	walked
into	the	middle	and	began	to	chant. He	didn’t	ask	us	to	do	anything	but
observe. After	fifteen	minutes	he	turned	to	the	first	pair,	a	man	and	a	woman. The	shaman	looked	into	the	man’s	eyes	and	muttered	something. Immediately
the	man’s	body	began	to	tremble,	then	he	fell	down	in	a	kind	of	mild	seizure. “In	an	insistent	voice	the	shaman	said,	
Speak	to	me! The	man’s	eyes	had
gone	blank. He	began	to	mumble	about	being	freezing	cold,	lying	on	the
ground	in	winter. He’d	passed	out	from	alcohol	and	was	dying. “The	shaman	nodded. He	turned	to	the	woman,	who	looked	pretty	shaken. ‘Are	you	an	alcoholic?’	he	asked. ‘Is	that	why	you’ve	come	here?’	Turning
red,	the	woman	nodded. ‘Well,	you	have	a	spirit	in	your	family	line,	someone
who	died	of	alcohol. We	need	to	free	him.’	He	helped	the	woman’s	partner	to
his	feet	and	told	him	he’d	done	a	good	job. And	that’s	how	it	went,	one	pair	at
a	time	going	around	the	circle.”
Gerald	watched	as	each	partner	was	used	to	invoke	a	departed	spirit. In
each	case	the	spirit	would	talk	about	a	problem—depression,	
cancer,
addiction—which	turned	out	to	be	a	perfect	match	for	the	problem	that	the
other	person	in	the	pair	had	come	about. No	one	had	talked	to	the	shaman
before	meeting	in	the	motel. Gerald	was	astonished	when	his	partner	brought
in	the	spirit	of	Gerald’s	grandfather,	who	had	died	of	lung	cancer	when	Gerald
was	a	small	child. “Not	everybody	recognized	their	spirit,	and	it	wasn’t	always	a	close
relative. In	my	case	I	had	heard	a	lot	about	my	grandfather,	who	had	been	a
prominent	citizen. It	was	spooky	hearing	him	beg	to	be	released	from	his
pain,	very	spooky.”
For	some	of	the	people	in	the	room	clearing	the	departed	spirit,	which	the
shaman	proceeded	to	do,	marked	the	end	of	treatment. Gerald	stayed	in	the
Southwest	and	underwent	a	series	of	medicinal	sweat	lodges,	accompanied	by
rituals	and	chanting. After	several	weeks	the	shaman	told	him	that	his
grandfather’s	spirit	was	now	at	peace. “When	I	got	back	home	I	almost	went	back	for	a	medical	checkup,	but	I
had	stopped	feeling	anxious. I	quit	having	nightmares	or	waking	up	in	a
sweat. It	was	over,	just	like	the	shaman	said.”
I’m	recounting	this	story	to	open	our	perspective. Being	raised	in	a
Christian	culture	doesn’t	automatically	mean	that	a	dying	person	will	see
himself	arriving	at	the	pearly	gates	greeted	by	Saint	Peter. (This	isn’t	one	of
the	common	scenarios	reported	by	near-death	patients,	either.) One	might	find
oneself	in	the	spirit	world	of	Native	Americans	instead. The	soul’s	passage
follows	links	that	we	don’t	foresee. Gerald’s	story	has	a	curious	addendum. A	month	after	returning	home	hewent	with	his	wife	on	vacation	to	the	upper	Midwest	where	his	family
originally	came	from. “We	checked	into	a	renovated	Victorian	hotel. Our
room	was	done	up	in	flowery	wallpaper	and	a	four-poster	bed. But	what
caught	my	eye	was	a	framed	newspaper	hanging	on	the	wall. It	was	from	the
turn	of	the	century	and	showed	a	picture	of	a	volunteer	fire	brigade. Right	in
the	middle	staring	out	at	me	was	my	grandfather	as	a	young	man.”
“Did	that	shake	you?”	I	asked. “No,	to	me	it	was	a	sign	that	the	shaman	was	right. I’m	glad	my
grandfather	was	set	free,	wherever	he’s	gone.”
Akasha
In	all	the	tales	of	ghosts	who	want	to	be	set	free,	what	holds	them	back	is
memory. They	continue	to	remember	what	physical	life	was	like,	and	the
unfinished	business	of	those	memories	has	a	grip. The	unsettled	spirit	can’t
escape	into	the	next	stage	of	existence. What	this	means,	strangely	enough,	is
that	when	the	afterlife	has	become	real,	the	physical	world	has	become	the
dream. It’s	just	a	matter	of	perspective. When	you	are	in	a	physical	body	your
perspective	makes	physicality	real. When	you	are	dreaming	at	night,	the
dream	state	is	real. When	you	are	“crossing	over,”	both	waking	and	dreaming
are	unreal,	and	Akasha—the	field	of	consciousness—is	real. What	causes	this
change	of	reality? Vedanta	holds	that	consciousness	is	convinced	by	its	own
creations. Therefore,	nothing	we	can	see,	hear,	and	touch,	whether	in	waking,
dreaming,	or	beyond	both,	is	ultimately	real. They	represent	shifting
perspectives. To	be	completely	free	means	waking	up	from	all	dreamlike	states,	and
reclaiming	who	you	are:	the	maker	of	reality. One	cannot	say	that	all	dying
people	will	achieve	this	kind	of	absolute	freedom. They	may	glimpse	it	only
for	a	fleeting	second;	they	may	sense	the	possibility	of	breaking	away	from
one	dream	and	yet	be	seduced	into	the	next	one	that	comes	to	mind. I	knew	a	woman	who	as	a	child	had	come	home	from	school,	and	as	she
entered	the	door	she	saw	her	young	cousin	from	Chicago	standing	in	the
corner	waiting	for	her. Both	were	about	eight	at	the	time. The	cousin	didn’t
speak,	and	the	girl	ran	to	tell	her	mother	that	they	had	a	visitor. When	she	entered	the	kitchen	her	mother	was	crying. The	little	girl	asked
why,	and	her	mother	said	that	there	had	been	a	sudden	death	in	the	family. It
was	the	cousin	from	Chicago,	who	had	died	that	morning. Did	the	girl	see	her
cousin	as	a	vision,	a	premonition,	or	merely	as	a	coincidental	act	of
imagination? As	she	tells	the	story,	she	saw	her	cousin	“for	real.”	Yet	what	do
we	mean	by	“for	real”	except	that	something	is	convincing? This	encounter
with	a	departed	relative	can	be	judged	as	either	hallucinatory	or	deeply
spiritual,	depending	not	on	the	event	itself	but	on	who	is	looking	at	it.In	the	afterlife	a	person	wakes	up	from	one	extremely	convincing
perspective—physical	existence—and	faces	the	possibility	of	freedom. Akasha	isn’t	any	particular	perspective;	it’s	a	wide	open	playing	field	waiting
for	players	to	enter	it. Who	will	the	players	be? They	could	be	the	same	players	we	are	already	used	to. They	could	be	players	we	have	imagined	and	are	eager	to	see. They	could	be	otherworldly	beings. They	could	be	emanations	of	ourselves. They	could	be	embodiments	of	abstract	ideas. In	world	culture	all	these	variations	have	been	reported. Christian	heaven
is	a	specific	Akashic	play,	a	drama	of	redemption	with	otherworldly	beings	in
it,	along	with	familiar	people	from	the	past	and	an	abstraction	that	we	call
God. To	the	extent	that	all	these	images	materialize	in	the	mind,	a	dying
Christian	accepts	that	she	has	arrived	in	heaven. Vedanta	says	that	the	deeper
truth	is	that	the	dying	person	has	arrived	in	a	creative	space,	Akasha,	which
produces	whatever	is	wanted. But	how	does	a	person	know	what	he	wants? The	answer	gets
complicated. Let’s	take	it	back	down	to	earth	and	ask	the	same	question. How
do	you	know	what	you	want	right	now? Until	your	next	desire	appears,	you
won’t	know. It’s	certain	that	you	will	want	something,	
because
	the	mind	is	a
continuous	stream	of	desires. However,	this	doesn’t	make	the	mind
predictable. You	may	be	a	creature	of	habit	who	always	wants	two	scrambled
eggs	for	breakfast,	while	I	may	be	restless	and	want	a	different	breakfast
every	day. Both	of	us	could	be	thrown	out	of	our	accustomed	pattern	by	a
sudden	stress,	such	as	having	a	death	in	the	family,	losing	our	jobs,	being
diagnosed	with	heart	trouble. Suddenly	we	aren’t	hungry;	our	minds	want	to
grieve,	not	eat. The	unpredictable	tug-of-war	between	old	patterns	and	new
situations	makes	it	impossible	to	pin	down	desire. In	the	same	way,	Akasha	is	elusive	because	it’s	so	open-ended;	it’s	as
unpredictable	as	a	dream	and	just	as	convincing. Even	so,	the	Akashic	field
can	be	navigated. In	fact,	it	must	be	navigated	if	we	are	to	take	advantage	of
the	creative	leap	that	the	afterlife	opens	up. Navigating	the	Field
We	have	a	chance	to	open	up	the	possibilities	beyond	what	our	culture	has
conditioned	us	to	believe. One	experience	can’t	fit	everyone. Our	eyes
continue	to	see	what	they	expect,	even	when	we	use	the	eyes	of	the	soul,	but
the	Akashic	field	isn’t	a	swirl	of	random	images. It	is	more	structured	than	a
dream;	it	has	a	kind	of	invisible	landscape. The	structure	of	Akasha	cannot	bedescribed	in	physical	terms,	yet	if	we	look	inside	ourselves,	the	seemingly
random	flow	of	our	minds	also	obeys	a	kind	of	invisible	structure. Let’s	say	someone	walks	up	to	you	and	greets	you	by	name. The	person	is
smiling;	there’s	an	expectant	look	on	her	face. How	do	you	come	up	with	a
response? Your	mind	does	several	things	at	once. It	consults	its	stored	picture
files	for	familiar	faces. It	looks	for	a	name	to	attach	to	the	right	face. If	neither
can	be	found	immediately,	the	mind	doesn’t	feel	stymied	yet—it	has	backup
resources. It	rummages	through	faces	that	could	fit	this	person	but	are
younger	or	fuzzily	recorded. It	tosses	up	sample	names	that	might	jog	your
memory. It	
runs
	through	recent	events	that	this	apparent	stranger	may	have
played	a	part	in. If	all	this	doesn’t	work,	the	mind	starts	thinking	of	what	to
say	to	cover	up	your	memory	lapse. We’re	all	familiar	with	such	situations,	and	we	are	so	accustomed	to
matching	names	and	faces	that	we	don’t	marvel	at	how	astonishing	the	whole
process	is. Not	only	can	the	mind	Google	itself	for	information	with
incredible	swiftness,	it	performs	multiple	operations	with	backup	plans	if	they
fail. This	implies	an	amazingly	complex	but	invisible	structure. In	the	afterlife	the	same	structure	continues	to	exist. In	near-death
experiences	the	dying	person,	suddenly	confronted	with	an	unknown
situation,	searches	inside	for	familiar	landmarks:	deceased	relatives,
recognizable	voices,	a	divine	light,	the	presence	of	a	fatherly	(or	motherly)
God. In	other	words,	we	all	have	a	built-in	map	that	we	consult. This	map
prepares	us	to	convert	any	unknown	experience	into	something	meaningful. (As	I	was	writing	this	chapter	a	TV	special	about	heaven	came	on,	and	one
woman	being	interviewed	was	certain	that	she	had	been	to	heaven. Her	near-
death	experience	occurred	when	she	was	giving	birth,	had	a	crisis,	and	fell
briefly	into	a	coma. Describe	heaven,	the	interviewer	said. The	woman’s	face
grew	rapturous	at	the	memory. She	described	an	endless	stairway	going	up	to
the	sky,	and	along	the	stairway	happy	animals	pranced	around. She	added	that
the	blue	of	the	sky	was	like	no	color	that	could	be	found	on	earth. To	me,	she
chose	to	interpret	her	experience	by	drawing	from	a	scrapbook	of	childhood
images.) Psychologists	have	conducted	experiments	that	illustrate	how	we
automatically	create	meaning. In	one,	a	group	of	subjects	sits	in	a	room	before
a	tape	recorder. They	are	told	to	listen	to	a	tape	of	someone	talking	and	to	take
notes	on	what’s	being	said	as	best	they	can. They	are	also	told	that	the	voice
on	the	tape	will	be	very	soft,	since	the	experiment	is	testing	how	well	the
brain	can	register	the	faintest	spoken	words. The	tape	is	turned	on	and	is	barely	audible. The	subjects	crane	forward
and	take	their	notes,	which	are	then	collected. What	they	haven’t	been	told	is
that	the	voice	is	speaking	nonsense. Only	random	words	are	coming	out	of	the
machine. Yet	each	subject	will	take	notes	that	make	sense,	because	anexpectation	of	hearing	meaningful	words	leads	to	the	
creation
	of	meaning. In	the	afterlife	the	creative	possibilities	are	enormously	expanded. Instead
of	asking	one	question—
What	is	the	voice	on	the	tape	saying
?—the	mind	has
a	host	of	questions	to	ask:	
Where	am	I? What’s	happening	to	me? Who	have	I
become? What	lies	ahead? In	the	afterlife	the	mind	is	multidimensional. Akasha	takes	us	out	of	all
time-space	limitations. In	truth	we	always	were	multidimensional,	only	we
were	so	convinced	by	inhabiting	the	material	world	that	we	conformed	to	its
rules. Now	we	need	to	adapt	ourselves	to	Akasha,	where	there	is	structure
without	rigid	rules	and	creative	possibility	without	cultural	dogma.7
T
HE
	I
NVISIBLE
	T
HREAD
TO	TELL	THE
	truth,	the	things	that	Ramana	had	told	Savitri	didn’t	come	as	a
total	surprise. She	had	been	raised	to	believe	in	the	soul. She	had	heard	about
how	the	higher	self,	the	“inward	dweller”	as	Lord	Krishna	called	it,	was
immortal. But	these	lessons	had	seemed	remote. “How	do	I	know	I	have	a	soul?”	she	asked. “You	cannot	know	by	seeing	it	or	touching	it,”	Ramana	said. “Your	soul
might	whisper	to	you,	but	even	then	you	could	just	be	hearing	echoes	of	your
own	voice.”
“So	the	soul	may	be	a	fiction?”	Savitri	asked,	with	a	sinking	feeling. “The	soul	isn’t	a	fiction	just	because	it’s	invisible,”	Ramana	said. “Look.”
Suspended	in	a	shaft	of	light	was	the	outline	of	an	intricate	spiderweb
anchored	between	two	bushes. It	gleamed	and	rippled	with	the	slightest
breeze. “A	spider	made	this	web,”	said	Ramana. “You	see	his	work	but	you	don’t
see	the	spider. He	holds	a	tiny	thread	that	tells	him	when	anything	lands	in	the
web. Where	has	the	soul	gone? It	doesn’t	matter	as	long	as	the	connection
exists.”
Savitri	couldn’t	help	being	stubborn. “I	still	may	be	imagining	I	have	a
soul.”
“Ah,	but	that’s	the	wonder.”
Ramana’s	face	was	suddenly	aglow	with	inspiration. “Nature	imagines
spiders. Big	ones	were	imagined	and	small	ones,	smooth	ones	and	hairy	ones,
those	that	live	in	the	air,	water,	and	earth,	those	colored	white	and	black	and
every	shade	in	between. Think	of	baby	spiders	that	fly	on	gossamer	threads	in
the	spring	while	giant	water	spiders	dive	to	the	bottom	of	a	pond	and	catch
fish. We	are	foolish	to	think	the	spider	is	a	thing. It	is	a	shifting	whirl	of
qualities,	ever	changing	and	fascinating. The	soul	is	like	that,	too. However
you	imagine	it,	it	will	take	on	that	quality	and	still	have	infinite	potential	left
over. When	you	ask,	‘Where	is	my	soul?’	the	answer	isn’t	a	place	but	a
potential. The	soul	is	wherever	it	is,	has	been,	and	will	be.”
Ramana’s	eyes	remained	fixed	on	the	web	rippling	in	the	sunlight,	and
through	his	fascination	Savitri	began	to	be	fascinated,	too. She	couldn’t	know
for	certain	if	the	spider	that	made	this	web	was	white,	yellow,	or	red,	big	orsmall,	male	or	female,	yet	that	didn’t	stop	her	from	knowing	that	it	was	real. She	had	no	idea	of	what	her	soul	looked	like,	either,	or	what	lay	across	the
boundary	of	death. All	she	had	was	an	invisible	thread. Would	it	be	enough? “Yes,”	Ramana	said. “You	have	listened	well	today. You	are	learning.”
Savitri	smiled	a	bit	doubtfully. Suddenly	she	was	quite	tired. She	sank
down	on	a	billowy	bank	of	moss	and	closed	her	eyes. Her	mind	slowed	down,
bit	by	bit,	until	she	forgot	where	she	was	or	the	dangers	she	faced. It	was
enough	just	to	sleep. A	WEB	OF	WORLDS
The	Akashic	field	has	been	interpreted	by	every	culture	to	make	it	meaningful
to	that	culture. In	and	of	itself,	the	field	is	pure	potential. But	the	great
spiritual	guides	of	the	past	wanted	to	reassure	their	
followers
	that	space
wasn’t	the	same	as	a	void. We	know	this	because	our	own	inner	silence	isn’t	a
void. It	doesn’t	take	dying	to	go	beyond	thoughts	and	images. When	someone
meditates	deeply	enough,	thoughts	disappear	and	leave	only	the	experience	of
silence. One	could	say	that	this	silence	is	nothing,	emptiness,	but	the	Vedic
sages	tell	us	that	it’s	a	very	rich	silence	indeed. We’ve	been	following	the	soul’s	journey	into	the	highest	stage	it	can
attain,	which	is	the	Akasha	itself,	the	source	of	creativity. Different	spiritual
traditions	envision	this	end	point	in	different	ways. Here	are	seven	versions
that	continue	to	shape	how	people	experience	their	spiritual	journey:
Paradise
The	Godhead
The	Spirit	World
Transcendence
Transmigration
Awakening
Dissolution
These	are	seven	settings	for	the	soul,	and	each	possibility	is	self-created. A	dream	begun	on	earth	continues	until	it	reaches	its	conclusion. Its
ingredients	are	taken	from	the	mind’s	invisible	structure,	then	combined	in
such	a	way	that	makes	sense	of	the	Akashic	field. SEVEN	DESTINATIONS	FOR	THE	SOUL1. Paradise:
	Your	soul	finds	itself	in	a	perfect	world	created	by	God. You
go	to	paradise	as	a	reward	and	never	leave. (If	you	are	bad,	you	go	to	Satan’s
home	and	never	leave	it.) 2. The	Godhead:
	Your	soul	returns	to	God,	but	not	to	any	particular	place. You	discover	the	location	of	God	as	a	timeless	state	infused	with	His
presence. 3. The	Spirit	World:
	Your	soul	rests	in	a	realm	of	departed	spirits. It
rejoins	your	ancestors	and	those	who	passed	on	before	you,	who	are	gathered
with	the	great	Spirit. 4. Transcendence:
	Your	soul	performs	a	vanishing	act	in	which	this
expression	person	dissolves,	either	quickly	or	gradually. The	pure	soul	rejoins
the	sea	of	consciousness	from	which	it	was	born. 5. Transmigration:
	Your	soul	is	caught	in	the	cycle	of	rebirth. Depending
on	your	karma,	your	soul	moves	from	lower	to	higher	life-forms—and	even
may	be	reborn	in	objects. The	cycle	continues	eternally	until	your	soul
escapes	through	higher	realization. 6. Awakening:
	Your	soul	arrives	in	the	light. It	sees	with	complete	clarity
for	the	first	time,	realizing	the	truth	of	existence	that	was	masked	by	being	in
a	physical	body. 7. Dissolution:
	Eternity	is	nothingness. As	the	chemical	components	of
your	body	return	to	basic	atoms	and	molecules,	the	consciousness	created	by
the	brain	disappears	completely. You	are	no	more. There	is	a	good	deal	of	cultural	overlap	here	as	one	tradition	feeds	into
another. The	Muslim	vision	of	eternity	as	a	paradise	garden,	complete	with
the	sexual	attractions	of	
houris
	and	exotic	fruits,	owes	its	existence	in	part	to
the	Garden	of	Eden. Spirit	worlds	are	common	all	over	the	globe. The	ancient
Greeks	expected	to	meet	the	shades	of	the	departed	across	the	River	Styx	in
Hades,	but	filtered	through	time	and	Christianity,	Hades	became	a	punishing
hell	presided	over	by	Satan	while	the	Greek	place	of	blessed	spirits,	the
Elysian	Fields,	became	heaven. There	are	invisible	spirit	worlds	found	in	the	ancestor	worship	of	Japan
and	China. In	a	prehistoric	age	aboriginal	peoples	drifted	from	South	Asia	to
Australia	and	the	islands	of	the	South	Pacific,	bringing	
their
	spirit	worlds	with
them. With	them	also	came	a	kind	of	“dream	time”	that	infused	ordinary	time,
in	which	material	events	could	be	seen	as	depending	upon	spiritual	events. But	spirit	worlds	didn’t	hold	in	India,	where	the	dominant	belief	gathered
around	three	other	afterlives:	transcendence	(rejoining	the	sea	of
consciousness),	awakening	(discovering	that	one’s	true	nature	is	Atman	or	the
soul),	and	transmigration	(the	eternal	cycle	of	rebirth). Being	born	in	a	certain	culture,	however,	doesn’t	always	determine	where
your	soul	finds	itself	after	“crossing	over.”	Eternal	life,	it	turns	out,	is	alsovery	personal. Expanded	Awareness
The	standard	assumption	is	that	no	one	really	knows	what	happens	after	we
die. But	the	rishis	asked	the	question,	Why	don’t	we	expect	to	know? Instead
of	being	unknowable,	perhaps	the	afterlife	is	something	we	haven’t	looked	at
hard	enough. And	if	so,	why	not? For	one	thing,	the	mind	is	addicted	to	repetition. We	pursue	the	same
desires	today	that	we	had	yesterday. Even	our	thoughts	today	are	generally
about	90%	the	same	as	the	thoughts	we	had	yesterday,	according	to	some
studies. Habit	rules	our	actions;	a	fixed	roster	of	likes	and	dislikes	governs
our	taste. If	you	are	afraid	of	being	poor	today,	it’s	likely	that	you’ve	had	that
same	fear	since	childhood. If	you	think	about	losing	five	pounds,	it’s	likely
that	this	reflects	a	bodily	obsession	that	goes	back	years. On	the	positive	side
psychologists	point	out	that	the	pursuit	of	pleasure	and	the	avoidance	of	pain
motivate	us	every	day,	and	generally	to	good	effect. We’re	reassured	by	what
we	know. In	fact,	the	Vedic	rishis	declare	that	habit	is	what	makes	a	person
feel	real. (In	the	business	world,	when	someone	suddenly	loses	his	job,	the
loss	can	be	psychologically	devastating—not	to	mention	that	a	sudden	layoff
greatly	increases	a	person’s	risk	for	heart	attack,	cancer,	and	stroke.) At	the	same	time	that	it	reassures	us,	repetition	has	a	deadening	effect. By
keeping	out	what’s	new,	it	forces	reality	into	the	straitjacket	of	the	old. Each
of	us	lives	behind	a	wall,	beyond	which	lies	the	infinite	potential	of	the
unknown. Only	the	smallest	gates	are	built	into	the	wall,	and	we	stand	guard
at	these,	allowing	one	experience	to	enter	but	excluding	another,	calling	this
experience	good	and	that	one	evil. As	long	as	we	keep	on	taking	in	reality	so
selectively,	freedom	is	a	remote	possibility. In	this	regard	death	is	a	great	gift,	because	it	throws	open	all	the	doors	and
windows. Dying	forces	us	outside	the	wall. Instead	of	seeing	the	familiar
things	we’ve	assiduously	collected	and	labeled	as	reality,	we	must	start	over. However,	the	rishis	assert	that	we	don’t	enter	the	Akashic	field	empty-handed. Whatever	our	dream	is	right	now,	
that	dream	continues
. Consciousness	is	tied
by	thousands	of	threads	to	old	memories,	habits,	preferences,	and
relationships. Whenever	someone	really	presses	the	issue	of	what	happens	after	we	die,
my	response	comes	in	the	form	of	a	question:	“Who	are	you?”	You	have	to
know	where	you	are	right	now,	in	order	to	know	where	you	will	be	tomorrow,
and	the	afterlife	is	just	a	special	kind	of	tomorrow. Here	are	the	things	necessary	to	knowing	“Who	am	I?”:
1. What	is	your	story? Your	story	is	more	than	just	a	list	of	the	events	inyour	life. It’s	about	your	self-image,	how	you	see	yourself,	what	shaped	your
mind,	which	memories	imprinted	themselves	on	you. Taken	altogether,	your
story	tells	you	where	you	are	in	the	cycle	of	life. 2. What	are	your	expectations? Expectations	are	seeds. Once	planted,
they	manifest	into	those	things	we	gain	from	life,	or	lose. When	you	become
aware	of	your	own	expectations,	you	discover	the	unspoken	limits	you	have
set	on	yourself. There	is	a	huge	difference	between	those	who	expect	great
things	and	those	who	don’t. 3. What	is	your	purpose? This	is	the	meaning	you	are	trying	to	find. Purpose	runs	deeper	than	the	superficial	things	we	hope	to	get,	which	mostly
center	on	money,	possessions,	status,	and	comfort. If	you	know	your	purpose,
you	know	the	deeper	project	to	which	your	life	is	dedicated. 4. What	is	your	destination? This	is	about	fulfillment. Human	goals	are
endless;	they	unfold,	not	like	a	road	that	has	an	end	but	like	a	river	that	flows
to	join	the	sea,	merging	with	ever	larger	possibilities. If	you	know	your
destination,	you	can	envision	your	highest	fulfillment. 5. What	is	your	path? Having	identified	your	purpose	and	your
destination,	there	must	be	a	way	to	get	there. “Path”	has	been	adopted	as	a
spiritual	term,	but	in	fact	everyone,	spiritual	or	not,	follows	certain	ways	to
get	where	they	want	to	go. 6.	
Who	are	your	adversaries? Forward	motion	is	never	without	obstacles. On	your	path	you	will	find	yourself	blocked. At	times	the	adversary	is
external,	but	if	you	examine	yourself	deeply,	you	will	find	it	is	always	internal
as	well. 7.	
Who	are	your	allies? We	all	bring	others	with	us	on	our	journey. Just	as
your	adversaries	did,	you	may	identify	these	allies	as	external,	but	they	only
reflect	your	own	inner	strength,	just	as	an	opponent	reflects	your	inner
vulnerability. None	of	these	questions	asks	anything	about	the	afterlife. They	don’t
touch	on	your	beliefs	about	heaven	and	hell	or	about	your	soul. That’s
because	what	we	know	right	now	is	immediate	and	personal:	how	we	feel,
what	we	want,	whom	we	love. And	that’s	enough. The	decisions	we	make
determine	how	life	proceeds. We	don’t	go	through	life	simply	making	good
choices	and	bad	ones. We	go	through	life	making	who	we	are. Choice	is	the
hand	that	shapes	the	raw	clay	of	a	person. With	a	little	thought	each	of	us	can	answer	questions	about	who	
we
	are
and	our	purpose	in	life. All	we	need	to	do	if	we	wish	to	choose	what	happens
in	Akasha	is	to	extend	the	same	questions	over	the	threshold	of	physical
death. What	do	you	want	your	story	to	be	after	you	die?What	do	you	expect	will	happen	next? What	does	the	afterlife	mean	to	you	personally? Where	will	your	last	breath	take	you? How	will	you	get	there? Who	will	block	your	way? Who	will	help	you	along? Notice	how	strange	these	questions	would	sound	if	you	hadn’t	first
encountered	them	in	the	context	of	every	day. We	are	caught	between	two
levels	of	existence. Let	me	give	an	example:
Recently	I	met	Lydia,	an	older	woman	who	has	been	devoted	to	a	Zen
roshi
,	or	master,	for	over	thirty	years. This	particular	roshi	was	Italian	rather
than	Japanese	and	a	woman. Lydia	mentioned	these	unusual	facts	without
explaining	how	she	happened	to	choose	her	teacher. “We	were	always	very
close. It’s	not	something	one	can	intellectualize	about. It	has	to	come	from	in
here.”	Lydia	touched	her	heart	lightly. “I	spent	time	with	my	teacher	in	Rome,	and	over	the	years	my	practice
became	central	to	my	life. Every	winter	I	go	to	Rome	to	stay	with	her,	and	I
practice	Zen	with	the	small	group	she’s	gathered	there.”
“You’ve	found	your	path,”	I	remarked. She	looked	doubtful. “Have	I? The	last	time	I	was	packing	to	go,	part	of
me	kept	wondering,	
Why	am	I	doing	this? What’s	the	point? My	doubts
seemed	ridiculous	at	first,	but	then	I	began	to	wake	up	at	night	in	a	panic,	my
mind	racing.”
I	asked	her	what	the	panicky	thoughts	were	about. “Always	the	same	thing. I	imagine	I	will	be	lost	over	there,	lonely	
and
with	no	real	confidence	in	what	I’m	doing. But	I	know	everything	is	going	to
turn	out	all	right	once	I	get	with	my	Zen	group,	so	I	go	back	to	sleep.”
After	decades	of	meditation	and	other	spiritual	practices,	Lydia	knew
herself	well,	but	these	panic	attacks	had	recently	grown	worse. She	asked	me
what	I	thought	they	were	about. “A	lot	of	things	are	possible,”	I	said. “Maybe	you’re	just	going	back	and
forth	to	Rome	out	of	habit,	and	your	real	commitment	has	come	to	an	end. Maybe	you	haven’t	gotten	what	you	expected	from	Zen	Buddhism. Maybe
you’ve	reached	a	stubborn	level	of	resistance	that	refuses	to	let	you	move	on.”
Lydia	nodded	eagerly. “All	of	that. I	sometimes	get	so	disgusted	with
myself	and	all	my	stubborn	habits	and	judgments	that	I	think	I	haven’t	gotten
anywhere. Is	that	possible?”
“Of	course	you’ve	gotten	somewhere,”	I	assured	her. (In	fact,	Lydia	had	a
strong	presence	that	made	itself	felt	the	moment	she	entered	the	room.) “But
the	things	we’ve	accomplished	spiritually	get	put	on	the	shelf,	and	the	things
we	still	have	to	work	on	loom	large,	like	spots	on	a	tablecloth	that	attractattention	even	when	the	rest	of	the	tablecloth	is	clean.”
Lydia	liked	the	analogy,	but	she	remained	doubtful. “Maybe	something
inside	me	wants	to	be	judgmental	and	depressed,	or	whatever	negative	thing	it
is	I	can’t	move	past. If	so,	then	what?”
I	offered	several	ways	to	look	at	it. They	apply	generally	to	existential
doldrums. “You	are	a	deeply	spiritual	person,	and	that	means	you’re	allowing	your
deepest	issues	to	come	up	to	the	surface	instead	of	hiding	them. “Being	spiritual	isn’t	about	being	comfortable	all	the	time. “You	may	be	in	transition,	anxiously	awaiting	a	new	phase	in	your
journey.”
“I	didn’t	realize	I	had	that	many	choices. I	thought	I	was	just	…”	Lydia’s
voice	trailed	off. “Failing?”	I	said. “Not	at	all. Most	people	spend	huge	amounts	of	time
and	effort	on	one	thing:	avoiding	the	painful	truth	about	themselves. You’re
doing	exactly	the	opposite.”
She	felt	better,	and	she	had	something	to	think	about. Many	people	resist	a
commitment	to	being	spiritual	once	they	discover	that	it	brings	a	state	of
ferment. Everything	serious	and	difficult	gets	postponed,	often	to	their	dying
day. But	the	rishis	taught	that	self-exploration	is	the	most	important	thing	one
can	do	to	prepare	for	the	afterlife. All	the	tactics	we	use	to	avoid	ourselves
must	be	dissolved. Which	puts	someone	like	Lydia	in	an	unusual	position. In
effect	she	is	experiencing	the	Akashic	field	as	her	own	inner	silence. Buddhism	sometimes	describes	its	practices	as	conscious	dying. One	dies	to
old	memories,	conditioning,	habits,	and	self-denial,	all	the	things	that	the
mind	uses	not	to	see	itself. To	experience	the	Akashic	field	requires	an	expanded	state	of	awareness. Contracted	awareness	keeps	us	anchored	in	daily	affairs. I	told	Lydia	that	her
mood	swings	and	lack	of	decisiveness	were	symptoms	of	swinging	back	and
forth	between	expanded	and	contracted	awareness. When	her	mind	wasn’t	in
the	Akashic	domain,	she	was	centered	in	her	ego	personality. Everyday
desires	and	impulses	took	control. But	at	other	times	her	mind	would	slip
outside	its	boundaries. Seeing	herself	with	expanded	awareness,	she’d	drop
her	ego—as	much	as	anyone	can. “It’s	the	price	you	pay,”	I	said. “Everyone	feels	wobbly	who	walks	the
path	with	your	kind	of	dedication.”
Lydia	was	lucky,	in	that	she	was	used	to	the	swings	between	contracted
and	expanded	awareness. Many	people	find	negative	words	for	expansion. They	say	“I’m	just	spacey,”	“I’ve	lost	my	bearings,”	“I	hardly	know	who	I
am.”	Sometimes	those	labels	may	apply,	but	moments	of	transcendence	are
being	overlooked. By	the	end	of	our	conversation,	Lydia	affirmed	what	she
had	learned	from	long	years	of	
practice
:	The	dramas	we	live	out	takeunexpected	turns,	and	as	we	make	new	choices,	the	life	of	the	soul	takes
shape. The	critical	thing	is	to	
have
	a	life	of	the	soul,	and	that	comes	about
only	through	expansion. A	Variety	of	Choices
Akasha	is	the	home	of	the	soul	and	therefore	cannot	be	limited	in	any	way. The	mystery,	strangely	enough,	is	how	we	manage	to	restrict	the	unbounded
potential	of	our	own	minds. But	we	do. The	choices	we	make	build	invisible
barriers	that	only	we	can	take	down. There	are	constant	forks	in	the	road	that
shape	the	invisible	structure	of	the	mind	depending	on	the	road	we	choose. The	key	words	for	such	choices	are
EXPANSION
CONTRACTION
Expression
Repression
Self-knowledge
Denial
Comfortable	with	uncertainty
Crave	security
Personal	insight
Received	opinion
Spiritually	oriented
Materialistic
Self-accepting
Guilty,	self-denying
Individualism
Conformity
Altruistic,	selfless
Ego-driven
These	qualities	don’t	describe	types	of	people	but	qualities	of	your	own
mind,	which	expands	and	contracts	depending	on	many	factors. The	mind
isn’t	a	single	thing	moving	in	one	direction. We	may	share	a	tendency	to	be
more	expressive	when	young,	more	repressed	in	old	age,	but	we	may	also
have	gained	personal	insight	to	replace	the	received	opinions	that	give	young
people	a	sense	of	belonging. From	day	to	day	the	mind	fluctuates,	even	when
we	feel	
we
	are	committed	to	a	single	path. It’s	natural	for	life	to	be	open-
ended,	and	so	it	will	continue	in	the	afterlife. In	the	Akashic	field	we	will
meet	both	sides	of	ourselves,	the	individual	who	wants	to	be	free	and	the
conformist	who	wants	to	be	secure. The	Akashic	field	is	nothing	more	than
our	own	potential. Will	this	idea	take	root? For	centuries	Eastern	beliefs	have	had	little	effect	on	the	West,	despite
some	evidence	that	the	Old	Testament,	for	example,	considered	reincarnation
possible. The	Gnostics,	a	sect	of	early	Christianity,	espoused	reincarnation
before	they	were	wiped	out	as	heretics. Jesus	seems	to	refer	to	it	once. The
followers	of	John	the	Baptist	believed	that	he	was	either	the	Messiah	or	the
return	of	the	prophet	Elijah,	called	Elias	in	the	New	Testament. This	wasimportant	because	of	the	belief	that	Elias	would	“first	come”	before	the
Messiah. When	Christ’s	disciples	questioned	him	about	this,	he	replied,
“‘Elias	must	truly	first	come	and	restore	all	things. But	I	say	unto	you,	That
Elias	has	come	already,	but	they	knew	him	not,	but	have	done	unto	him
whatsoever	they	liked’	…	then	the	disciples	understood	that	He	spake	unto
them	of	John	the	Baptist”	(Matthew	17:9–13). However,	in	Catholic	theology
reincarnation	was	condemned	as	a	heresy	by	A.D.	553. This	disparity	with
Jesus’	comment	has	given	rise	to	dark	muttering	that	all	references	to
reincarnation	have	been	systematically	removed	from	the	Bible. True	or	not,
the	East	was	resisted. Once	the	Vedic	scriptures	began	to	be	translated	at	the	turn	of	the
nineteenth	century,	their	ideas	began	to	crop	up	in	strange	places. The	Atman,
for	example,	became	the	immensely	popular	Oversoul	that	Ralph	Waldo
Emerson	spread	throughout	New	England	before	the	Civil	War. Drawing	from
Indian	ideas,	Emerson’s	circle	began	to	redefine	inherited	Puritan	beliefs,
discarding	sin,	damnation,	and	the	absolute	boundary	between	life	and	death
that	can	only	be	crossed	through	faith	in	Christ. This	launched	the
Transcendental	movement. Now	we	face	a	polyglot	blend	of	East-West	beliefs. The	New	Age
movement	is	an	outgrowth	of	many	traditions,	but	the	main	one	is	
Theosophy
,
a	spiritualist	movement	that	began	with	séances	in	Victorian	parlors	but	was
deeply	transformed	by	Hinduism. (Mahatma	Gandhi,	in	fact,	first	became
acquainted	with	the	Vedic	scriptures	through	English	translations	produced	by
the	Theosophical	Society	in	India.)
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:

        Science	in	the	age	of	quantum	physics
does	not	deny	the	existence	of	invisible	worlds. Quite	the	contrary. And	we
can’t	claim	that	Jesus	is	only	about	metaphysics—he	gives	plenty	of	advice
about	living	in	this	world. Which	brings	us	to	a	puzzle. When	Jesus	tells	his
disciples	that	they	should	be	in	the	world	but	not	of	it,	his	teaching	seems
unlivable. If	I’m	eating	breakfast,	how	can	I	do	that	without	being	of	the
world. My	physical	body	anchors	me	here	every	moment. But	the	soul
manages	to	be	in	this	world	while	remaining	firmly	outside	time	and	space. Jesus	is	giving	us	a	clue	about	the	kingdom	of	heaven	within. Where	the	Rishis	Go
Many	times	Jesus	sounds	like	a	rishi	in	the	tradition	of	Vedanta. Certainly
that’s	true	about	being	in	the	world	but	not	of	it. In	simple	terms,	he	is	telling
his	closest	followers	to	stop	thinking	of	themselves	as	physical	creatures. Jesus	becomes	more	explicit	if	we	look	outside	the	four	Gospels	to	the
fragmentary	Gospel	of	Thomas,	which	
was
	written	very	early,	perhaps	within
a	century	after	the	Crucifixion,	but	was	later	excluded	from	the	official	canon. Jesus	said:	“If	those	who	lead	you	say	to	you:	See,	the	kingdom	is	in
heaven,	then	the	birds	of	the	sky	will	go	before	you;	if	they	say	to	you:	It	is	in
the	sea,	then	the	fish	will	go	before	you. But	the	kingdom	is	within	you,	and	it
is	outside	of	you. When	you	know	yourselves,	then	you	will	be	known,	and
you	will	know	that	you	are	the	sons	of	the	living	Father. ”	This	passage	shows
how	profound	the	roots	of	religion	are,	and	how	compatible	the	great
traditions	of	wisdom	would	be	if	dogma	didn’t	stand	in	the	way. What	Jesus
says	here	supports	the	view	that	heaven	is	everywhere,	but	it	goes	further	by
saying	that	heaven	is	an	inward	experience—an	experience	in	consciousness. Jesus	sees	the	soul	everywhere	and	thus	he	can	see	that	the	essence	of	people
lies	outside	time	and	space. Like	the	rishis,	Jesus	was	comfortable	living	with
eternity. Why,	then,	aren’t	we. Eternity	can’t	be	grasped	by	the	mind	in	our	ordinary	waking	state. Our
waking	state	is	dominated	by	time	while	eternity	is	not. There	must	be	a	link. Vedanta	says	that	there	is	a	continuum,	in	fact. Every	quality	in	yourself	is
actually	a	soul	quality. Think	about	the	following	sequence	of	words:
Contented
Happy
Thrilled
Overjoyed
Ecstatic
Blissful
This	is	the	kind	of	continuum	the	rishis	had	in	mind. A	person	can	feel
contented	without	knowing	that	there	is	any	connection	to	the	soul. When
contentment	intensifies,	one	is	aware	of	being	happy,	
and
	if	happiness	is
intense	enough,	it	feels	thrilling. At	rare	moments	we	can	rise	to	a	higher
level	and	say	that	we	are	overjoyed,	or	ecstatic. We	are	moving	along	a
continuum,	which	may	be	invisible	but	is	just	as	real	as	tasting	increasingly
sweet	desserts. Ecstasy	represents	the	limit	of	happiness	that	can	be	felt	personally,	and
even	here	the	Latin	root	of	the	word	“ecstasy”	means	“to	stand	outside. ”	In
common	usage	people	will	say,	“I	was	so	happy	it	felt	unreal,	like	it	washappening	to	someone	else,”	or	“I	loved	her	so	much	it	was	like	an	out-of-
body	experience. ”	In	Vedanta	there	is	one	final	step	on	the	continuum:	bliss. In	Sanskrit	the	word	is	
ananda. Bliss	is	a	quality	of	the	soul. From	the
perspective	of	everyday	life,	it	cannot	be	imagined. The	mind	is	as	baffled	by
infinite	happiness	as	the	tongue	would	be	if	it	tasted	something	sweeter	than
sweet. Even	though	it	is	inside	everyone,	heaven	isn’t	reached	in	a	single	leap	of
faith. As	with	bliss,	there	is	a	continuum	with	every	quality	of	the	soul. We	all
know	this	instinctively. Take	kindness. The	urge	to	perform	a	small	act	of
kindness,	such	as	giving	spare	change	to	a	homeless	person	on	the	street,	is
expandable	to	giving	welfare	to	the	needy. Kindness	crosses	over	into	a
religious	act	when	faith-based	groups	engage	in	AIDS	relief	work	in	Africa. We	see	the	essence	of	this	impulse	in	Buddha,	the	Compassionate	One,	whose
very	nature	is	kindness. We	need	this	reminder	that	our	best	qualities	can	reach	universality. Christianity	may	claim	that	Jesus	was	unique,	as	Buddhism	claims	that
Gautama	was	unique,	yet	the	continuum	says	otherwise. The	following
qualities	become	more	intense	as	we	get	closer	to	the	soul:
Compassion
Strength
Truth
Bliss
Beauty
Love
Wisdom
Power
Every	act	of	kindness	adds	another	brushstroke	to	the	picture;	every
insight	draws	you	nearer	to	your	essence. You	and	I	differ	from	each	other	in
a	thousand	ways,	depending	on	how	we	relate	to	our	souls. On	a	given	day	I
may	be	struck	by	a	beautiful	sunset,	a	loving	smile	from	a	child,	a	sudden
truth	about	who	I	am. You	may	be	struck	by	how	much	the	poor	deserve
compassion,	how	wise	a	poem	by	Keats	is,	how	beautiful	it	is	to	give	of
yourself. What	keeps	life	fascinating	is	the	constant	creativity	of	the	soul. After	all	is	said	and	done,	I	believe	in	heaven,	and	when	I	die	I	expect	to	be
there,	not	in	a	celestial	garden	but	in	a	space	described	by	T. S. Eliot’s	famous
lines:
We	shall	not	cease	from	exploration
And	the	end	of	all	our	exploring
Will	be	to	arrive	where	we	startedAnd	know	the	place	for	the	first	time. Truth,	wisdom,	beauty,	and	all	the	other	qualities	of	the	soul	don’t	need
physical	settings. Pure	love	exists	even	in	the	absence	of	a	person	to	love. Spiritual	truth	needs	no	crusade	to	follow. The	soul	in	its	full	intensity	takes
center	stage	after	we	die	but	is	foreshadowed	long	before. “I’ve	never	married,	and	I’ve	never	been	a	mother,	because	I’m	a	man,”	a
middle-aged	writer	told	me	once. He	had	been	a	spiritual	seeker	for	a	long
time. “For	some	years	I	lived	in	an	ashram	in	western	Massachusetts	where
the	orientation	was	Hindu	and	a	lot	was	said	about	the	Divine	Mother. I’m	not
Christian	enough	to	be	attracted	to	
the
	Virgin	Mary. I	guess	you’d	say	I	was
always	more	male	oriented. But	I	realize	that	the	feminine	is	important. “I	have	women	friends	who	have	joined	Goddess	groups. They	perform
rituals	and	dance	under	the	full	moon. I	followed	a	more	conventional	path,
basically	meditating	hours	a	day. No	dancing,	no	singing,	not	even	any
prayers. I	did	this	for	five	years. Then	one	day	something	very	strange
occurred. “I	was	sitting	in	meditation	when	a	gentle	feeling	came	over	me. It	began
as	warmth	in	my	heart,	then	it	took	on	an	emotional	tone. Tenderness,
sweetness,	love. I	sat	there	enjoying	this	when	the	intensity	increased. I
seemed	to	melt	away. Within	ten	seconds	I	became	pure. Nothing	but	love. I
was	the	Divine	Mother. “How	can	I	tell	you	what	that’s	like. Imagine	that	you’re	watching	a	great
movie	actress. She	embraces	and	kisses	her	children,	and	for	a	moment	you
forget	that	you’re	sitting	in	the	dark	watching	the	play	of	light	on	a	screen. You	are	her. That’s	what	this	felt	like,	only	a	thousand	times	more	intense. I
was	nothing	but	the	Mother. ”
At	unexpected	moments	we	go	beyond	our	usual	place	on	the	spiritual
continuum. We	don’t	feel	mere	affection,	infatuation,	romantic	love,	or	deep
devotion. We	become	absorbed	into	universal	love	itself. This	man	told	me
that	he	now	looks	at	women	very	differently. “They	exist	as	ordinary	people
but	at	the	same	time	a	totally	impersonal	force—the	Mother—shines	through
them. I	can	be	honking	at	a	woman	driver	to	move	faster	through	a	light,	but
if	she	turns	her	face	toward	me,	I	see	
it. It
	is	doing	everything,	and	when	I
realize	that,	honking	my	horn	seems	absurd. Can	you	honk	your	horn	at
God. ”
In	physical	form	there’s	only	so	much	purity	we	can	absorb,	but
sometimes	that	threshold	is	transcended. I’m	thinking	of	Saint	Teresa	of
Ávila,	the	sixteenth-century	Spanish	saint	who	experienced	divine	love	as	a
golden	arrow	being	pushed	through	her	heart	by	an	angel. Teresa	described
this	as	excruciatingly	painful	and	blissful	at	the	same	time	(hence	her	status	as
the	patron	saint	of	sufferers). This	brings	us	back	to	the	paradox	of	heaven,	that	God	is	visible	and
invisible	at	the	same	time. So	is	the	soul. We	encounter	it	visibly	through
events	that	inspire	us	to	feel	love,	truth,	and	beauty. The	vessel	that	contains
them—a	loving	spouse,	a	beautiful	painting,	a	wise	saying—will	fade	and
disappear. But	its	essence	remains,	and	it	is	this	essence	that	allows	us	to	look
forward	to	feeling	more	love	tomorrow. This	is	the	path	to	heaven. For	someone	who	has	died,	the	path	is	complete. Then	what. Having
arrived	in	the	soul’s	domain,	does	experience	stop. In	physical	terms,	yes. The	objects	of	love	are	gone. Only	essence	is	real	now. But	as	we	will	see,
activity	hasn’t	come	to	an	end—far	from	it. The	soul	finds	itself	much	freer	to
choose	“on	the	other	side,”	and	the	possibilities—so	the	rishis	declare—are
more	interesting	than	ever. 5
T
HE
	P
ATH	TO
	H
ELL
“I	WONDER	IF
	Yama	fools	himself. ”	Ramana	mused. “He	certainly	fools
everyone	else. ”
“You	talk	as	if	he’s	pulling	some	kind	of	trick,”	Savitri	said. It	was
wearing	on	her	to	be	in	the	forest	this	long. She	knew	that	time	was	running
out. “Yama	
is
	pulling	a	trick,”	Ramana	agreed. “You	wouldn’t	have	run	away
from	him	if	you’d	known	it. ”	Ramana	stopped,	as	if	he	had	pronounced
something	obvious. “Show	me	how	the	trick	works,”	Savitri	said. “All	right. I’ll	tell	you	the	story	of	a	monkey	who	was	shut	inside	a	small
room	in	a	castle	tower. Nothing	was	happening	in	the	room,	and	the	monkey
was	restless. “The	monkey	could	only	divert	himself	by	going	to	the	window	and
looking	out	at	the	world. This	distracted	him	for	a	while,	but	then	he	started	to
think	about	his	situation. How	did	he	end	up	in	this	tower. Why	had	he	been
captured	and	put	there. The	monkey’s	mood	began	to	darken. There	was
nothing	to	do,	no	one	to	talk	to. His	thoughts	made	him	more	and	more
depressed. The	room	seemed	to	close	in;	the	monkey	started	to	sweat
anxiously. No
,	he	suddenly	realized,	
I’m	not	in	a	room,	I’m	in	hell. Quickly
his	depression	grew	into	
anguish
	and	anguish	into	torment. The	monkey	saw
demons	all	around	inflicting	every	imaginable	pain. “This	is	it
,	the	monkey	thought. I	am	in	eternal	hell. And	so	the	torment
continued,	getting	worse	and	worse. The	monkey	saw	no	way	out. But
gradually	the	monkey	got	used	to	his	torment. How	much	time	had	elapsed. The	monkey	couldn’t	remember. But	he	began	to	feel	better	about	his
surroundings. It	wasn’t	such	a	bad	room,	not	really. In	fact,	it	was	rather
pleasant	to	be	by	oneself	looking	out	the	window	at	all	the	fascinating	things
going	on	outside. “Bit	by	bit	the	demons	stopped	torturing	the	monkey	and	withdrew. He
began	to	feel	better,	and	soon	the	day	came	when	he	was	feeling	optimistic. The	monkey	grew	more	cheerful,	and	then	…”	Ramana	broke	off. “No	doubt
you	know	where	this	story	is	headed. ”
Savitri	nodded. “The	monkey	is	going	to	heaven. ”“Exactly. He	starts	to	feel	better	and	better,	until	he	imagines	himself	in
Paradise,	and	instead	of	being	punished	by	demons	he	is	being	soothed	by
angels. Ah
,	the	monkey	thinks,	
I	am	in	eternal	bliss. ”
“Until	he	gets	bored	again,”	Savitri	remarked. Ramana	nodded. “The	monkey	is	the	mind,	sitting	alone	in	the	tower	of
the	head. As	the	mind	expands	with	pleasure	and	contracts	with	pain,	it
creates	every	possible	world,	constantly	falling	for	its	own	creations. The
monkey	will	believe	in	heaven	for	a	while,	but	then	boredom	will	set	in,	and
being	the	seed	of	discontent,	boredom	will	pull	him	out	of	heaven	and	back
down	to	hell. ”
Savitri	felt	despondent. “So	we’re	all	trapped. ”
“Only	if	you	agree	to	be	trapped. I	didn’t	say	the	tower	was	locked,”	said
Ramana. “There	is	an	infinite	domain	outside	the	castle	walls. You	can	take
your	mind	beyond	walls. There	is	freedom	outside,	and	having	achieved	it,
you	will	never	have	to	go	to	heaven	or	hell	again. ”	
KARMA	AND	THE	WAGES	OF	SIN
So	far,	I’ve	offered	a	view	of	the	afterlife	that	is	open,	creative,	and	full	of
choices. Step-by-step	we	fulfill	our	expectations	and	behold	images	that	fit
those	expectations. But	this	view	leaves	out	one	aspect	that	looms	large	for
many	people:	sin. In	Christian	belief	sin	cannot	be	overlooked,	since	God	is
constantly	adding	up	our	good	and	bad	deeds. He	must;	otherwise	everyone
would	go	to	heaven,	and	its	mixture	of	good	and	bad	people	would	too	closely
resemble	earthly	life. I	saw	a	Catholic	bishop	being	interviewed	on	television	recently,	and	he
was	asked	a	question	that	could	have	been	posed	to	a	bishop	in	the	Middle
Ages:	“Do	Christians	really	believe	that	this	life	only	exists	to	prepare	us	for
the	life	to	come. ”	The	bishop’s	immediate	reply	was	yes—exactly	what	a
Catholic	bishop	would	have	said	in	the	Dark	Ages. A	thousand	years	hasn’t
changed	a	basic	Christian	belief	that	the	material	world	is	a	vale	of	tears,	that
sin	created	death,	and	that	the	only	escape	is	to	reach	heaven. “I’ll	be	at	peace
when	I	get	there. I’ll	be	able	to	relax,”	the	bishop	said. In	other	words,	what
we	suffer	here	and	now	plays	a	huge	part	in	our	image	of	what’s	to	come. Hell	is	payback	for	sin,	but	it’s	also	an	extension	of	earthly	suffering. When	escape	is	the	ultimate	reward,	staying	behind	is	the	ultimate
punishment. Christian	theology	basically	says,	“Be	good	or	God	will	give	you
more	of	this	life,	only	worse. ”	The	Vedic	rishis	looked	at	suffering	not	as	a
matter	of	sin	but	as	a	matter	of	lost	freedom. According	to	Vedanta,	whatever
limits	our	freedom	now	will	continue	to	operate	after	we	die. In	both	cases,
you	are	subject	to	the	power	of	Karma. Originally	the	Sanskrit	word	
Karma
	meant	“action,”	but	it	quickly
expanded	and	now	implies	the	eternal	struggle	between	good	and	evil. (I	will
use	capital	“K”	to	refer	to	the	cosmic	aspect	of	Karma,	small	“k”	to	refer	to	its
personal	effects. ) At	the	most	superficial	level	
you
	build	good	karma	by	being
good	and	bad	karma	by	being	bad. This	matches	the	Christian	concept	of
choosing	between	good	and	evil	actions,	and	being	rewarded	or	punished
accordingly. Millions	of	people,	East	and	West,	live	by	that	belief. But	Karma
never	ends;	it’s	part	of	the	soul’s	continuous	journey,	not	just	a	single	lifetime
that	leads	once	and	for	all	to	heaven	or	hell. The	catch	is	that	no	amount	of	good	karma	can	win	a	person’s	freedom. The	Vedic	version	of	hell	is	never	finding	a	way	out	of	bondage,	which	makes
it	strangely	congruent	to	Christian	hell. Perfect	goodness	isn’t	achievable,	and
bit	by	bit	the	effect	of	karma	will	turn	the	saint’s	life	into	the	sinner’s,	andvice	versa. That’s	why	“glue”	might	be	a	better	translation	of	Karma	than
“action. ”
You	can	compare	Karma	to	a	cosmic	clock	with	every	gear	perfectly
meshed. You	can	compare	it	to	a	super-computer	keeping	track	of	every
action	in	creation. You	can	compare	it	to	an	eternal	judge	weighing	the	good
and	bad	results	of	every	thought	and	deed. In	truth	the	whole	system—
universe,	brain,	lower	self,	higher	self,	Atman,	God—is	bound	together	by
Karma’s	invisible	force. The	law	of	Karma,	which	underlies	every	Eastern
belief	system,	holds	that	none	of	us	can	escape	paying	our	debts,	and	since	we
accumulate	debts	every	day,	we	have	no	choice	but	to	keep	paying	them	off
lifetime	after	lifetime. Being	Saved	from	Sin
According	to	the	rishis,	punishment	in	the	afterlife	is	the	result	of	unpaid
karmic	debts. If	I	commit	a	crime	and	don’t	pay	for	it	here	on	earth,	I	will	pay
by	suffering	later. What	is	a	karmic	debt. Basically	any	cause	that	hasn’t	yet
found	its	effect. There’s	a	saying	in	India,	“Karma	waits	on	the	doorstep,”
meaning	that	a	person	may	try	to	walk	away	from	past	actions,	but	like	a	dog
sleeping	by	the	door	until	
its
	master	returns,	Karma	can	be	endlessly	patient. Eventually	the	universe	will	insist	on	redressing	the	balance	of	wrong	with
right. Hell	is	the	condition	of	karmic	suffering. The	vast	majority	of	near-death
experiences	turn	out	to	be	positive,	but	some	are	not. Instead	of	moving
toward	a	benign	and	welcoming	light,	a	few	people	experience	the	features	of
hell. They	see	demons	or	even	Satan	himself;	they	hear	sinners	crying	out	in
torment;	a	heavy	blackness	looms	over	everything. NDE	investigators	have
even	found	a	category	of	people	whom	they	call	“earthbound	souls,”	haunted
by	evil	actions	and	frustrated	desires. Prime	witness	to	this	was	offered	by	a
man	named	George	Ritchie,	who	was	given	a	firsthand	look	at	them:
In	Ritchie’s	near-death	experience,	Jesus	took	him	to	a	large	city	on	earth
where	he	observed	earthbound	souls	stalking	the	living	for	one	reason	or
another. One	earthbound	soul	begged	in	vain	for	a	cigarette. A	young	man
who	had	committed	suicide	begged	his	parents	in	vain	for	forgiveness. In	a
house,	Ritchie	was	shown	the	soul	of	a	boy	following	a	living	teenage	girl	and
begging	for	forgiveness	despite	the	fact	that	the	girl	was	completely	unaware
of	the	boy’s	presence. Jesus	told	Ritchie	that	the	boy	had	committed	suicide
and	was	chained	to	every	consequence	of	his	act. These	are	the	ghosts	of	unpaid	karma. It’s	worth	remembering	that	hellish
experiences	don’t	depend	upon	dying. People	have	seen	Satan	in	dreams,
visions,	imagination,	and	even	in	the	flesh	(or	
inside
	the	flesh,	if	you	believe
in	demonic	possession	and	Satan’s	ability	to	take	up	his	abode	in	a	person’sbody	until	he	is	somehow	exorcised). NDE	investigators	are	among	the	few	in	our	society	whose	job	is	to	think
about	the	afterlife,	and	when	they	consider	any	experience	of	hell	or
tormented	souls,	certain	factors	create	these	visions	of	torment. Our	minds	put
us	in	hell,	and	they	can	take	us	out	again. Whether	suffering	is	created	here	on
earth	through	physical	pain	or	in	the	afterlife	through	psychological	torment,
the	causes	remain	the	same,	since	
they
	can	be	traced	back	to	the	workings	of
Karma. Every	culture	believes	that	bad	deeds	are	inescapable	in	the	afterlife,
but	the	rishis	opened	the	picture	to	describe	how	torment	can	be	escaped	in
general. On	the	material	level	it’s	not	self-evident	that	“as	you	sow,	so	shall	you
reap. ”	Wrongdoing	escapes	notice,	much	less	punishment,	all	the	time. We	all
harbor	a	fantasy	of	a	life	where	we	can	get	away	with	anything. It’s	strong
enough	to	turn	bank	robbers	into	heroes,	for	example,	at	least	in	movies. By	saying	that	bad	karma	will	one	day	catch	up	with	wrongdoers,	are	we
guilty	of	wish	fulfillment. Skeptics	would	certainly	say	yes,	because	if	a
karmic	debt	is	paid	outside	the	material	world,	it	isn’t	being	paid	at	all. The
matter	can’t	be	easily	settled,	but	in	spiritual	terms	we	can	observe	the
difference	between	someone	who	is	mature—and	by	implication	has	paid	off
some	debts—and	someone	who	is	immature,	loaded	down	with	unpaid	debts. The	spiritually	mature	person	pursues	a	meaningful	life	through	the
following:
Self-worth:
	I	matter	in	the	divine	plan,	I	am	unique	in	the	universe. Love:
	I	am	deeply	cared	for	and	care	for	others	deeply. Truth:
	I	can	see	past	illusions	and	distractions. Appreciation	and	gratitude:
	I	cherish	the	fits	of	creation. Reverence:
	I	can	feel	and	see	the	sacred. Nonviolence:
	I	respect	life	in	all	its	forms. To	live	outside	these	values	is	painful,	and	if	intense	enough,	perhaps	the
pain	puts	a	person	in	hell. So	the	value	of	a	meaningful	life	demonstrates	the
hidden	side	of	karmic	debts:	when	you	are	free	of	them,	your	life	becomes
fulfilled	and	deeply	worth	living. What	About	Satan. Religious	Christians	will	object	that	I	have	painted	a	psychological	picture	of
hell	that	leaves	out	Satan. To	leave	Satan	out	is	to	ignore	biblical	text,	which
tells	us	of	the	angel	Lucifer,	closest	to	God	among	all	the	angels,	who
disobeyed	God	and	fell	through	the	sin	of	pride	until	he	reached	the	farthest
place	in	creation,	hell. That	millions	of	people	believe	literally	in	this	mythsays	a	great	deal	about	our	refusal	to	take	responsibility	for	the	afterlife. We
prefer	to	objectify	a	Prince	of	Darkness,	an	all-powerful	opposite	of	God,	who
then	becomes	the	agent	of	all	evil. Taking	responsibility	for	hell	sounds	awful,	but	not	taking	responsibility	is
the	same	as	giving	up	on	ourselves. Hell	is	farthest	from	God	because	it
represents	the	low	ebb	of	consciousness. The	causes	of	hellish	experiences
here	on	earth	aren’t	merely	psychological. They	don’t	just	involve	being
depressed	or	guilty. When	we	become	disconnected	from	ourselves,	a	sense	of
deserving	to	suffer	begins. Hell	is	the	suffering	you	think	you	deserve. When
connections	are	repaired,	we	no	longer	believe	we	deserve	punishment:	we
are	back	in	the	flow	of	life	with	all	its	healing	properties. Everything	Satan	stands	for	is	included	in	our	own	self-judgment. Indeed,
he	is	a	massive	reflection	of	self-judgment. Satan	is	a	creation	of
consciousness,	and	as	such	he	waxes	and	wanes,	he	evolves,	and	he	changes
in	significance. Satan	is	real
	under	the	following	conditions:
People	feel	they	deserve	punishment	instead	of	healing. A	culture	believes	in	the	Satan	myth. Believers	pay	attention	to	that	myth	and	give	it	value. Guilt	is	projected	outward	onto	demons	instead	of	healed	inside. Wrongdoing	accumulates	without	a	means	for	finding	forgiveness,
atonement,	or	purification. Children	are	put	in	fear	of	demons	and	told	that	they	have
supernatural	power. Satan	is	unreal
	under	the	following	conditions:
People	feel	they	deserve	healing	instead	of	punishment. A	culture	is	aware	of	how	myths	are	made. People	are	self-aware	and	take	responsibility	for	their	own
emotions. There	is	a	belief	in	forgiveness,	healing,	and	atonement. Outlets	for	negative	energies	are	found	(through	therapy,	sports,
open	dialogue,	healthy	family	dynamics,	education,	etc. ). Children	are	not	conditioned	to	believe	in	demons	and	other
supernatural	enemies. Society	promotes	the	evolution	of	consciousness. Our	culture	has	largely	moved	beyond	Satan,	because	despite	religious
literalists,	we	have	a	century	of	secularism	behind	us. Whatever	its	faults,
which	can	be	glaring,	secular	culture	has	promoted	therapy,	discouragedsuperstition,	given	people	responsibility	over	their	own	destinies,	and
encouraged	open-minded	dialogue	in	every	area	once	considered	taboo. These
are	considerable	achievements;	they	bespeak	tremendous	growth	in
consciousness. Evil,	however	you	define	it,	remains	even	after	Satan	is	gone,
but	removing	our	attention	from	Satan	has	diminished	him	greatly,	just	as	the
ancient	gods	of	Mount	Olympus,	once	so	powerful	that	they	served	to	explain
every	natural	phenomenon,	are	now	relegated	to	history. Like	the	Greek	gods,	Satan	has	outlived	his	usefulness. When	people	find
a	better	explanation	for	any	phenomenon,	the	old	explanation	withers	away—
meteorology	replaces	Aeolus	the	god	of	wind,	
and
	thermodynamics	replaces
Promethean	fire. We	have	the	power	to	make	Satan	grow	or	diminish. In	fact,
we	have	the	power	to	make	him	real	and	unreal,	which	is	far	more	crucial. As	consciousness	evolves,	Satan	will	become	more	unreal. Already	I
believe	there	are	millions	of	people	who	are	ready	to	stop	talking	about
demons,	sin,	and	cosmic	evil	as	the	root	cause	of	suffering. They	are	ready	to
talk	in	terms	of	consciousness. They	are	ready	to	talk	about	being
disconnected	from	themselves. We	have	spent	centuries	calling	upon	God	to
rescue	us	and	fearing	Satan	as	the	supreme	enemy. Perhaps	this	was	necessary
to	our	evolution,	but	now	we	can	turn	to	the	deeper,	more	humane	wisdom	of
the	rishis,	which	speaks	of	one	reality,	not	a	fractured	universe	with	heaven
and	hell	at	opposite	poles. Good	and	evil,	the	rishis	tell	us,	is	a	direct	function	of	being	connected	to
the	soul. The	soul	is	the	most	real	aspect	of	the	self. When	we	break	our
connection	with	the	soul,	we	lose	touch	with	reality. THE	SOUL	IS	DISGUISED	WHEN	…
You	are	too	tired	or	stressed. You	are	pulled	outside	yourself. Your	attention	is	dominated	by	externals. You	let	others	think	for	you. You	act	out	of	compulsion. You	are	influenced	by	fear	and	anxiety. You	struggle	and	suffer. These	conditions	have	to	change	before	the	soul	connection	can	be
reestablished. Death	provides	access	to	the	domain	of	the	soul,	but	Vedanta
declares	that	the	soul	has	a	great	deal	to	offer	before	death. Life	is	conducted
under	the	gaze	of	the	soul. Your	portion	of	pure	consciousness	has	certain
universal	qualities:It	is	constant. It	never	loses	sight	of	you. It	is	connected	to	every	other	soul. It	shares	God’s	omniscience. It	is	untouched	by	change. It	lives	beyond	time	and	space. So	it	isn’t	only	tender,	loving,	quiet	moments	that	reveal	the	soul. Rather,
it’s	those	moments	when	the	soul’s	own	qualities	come	to	the	surface	that	are
most	important. Such	moments	occur	too	rarely	in	modern	lives,	but	the	soul
never	stops	revealing	itself. THE	SOUL	IS	REVEALED	WHEN	…
You	feel	centered. Your	mind	is	clear. You	have	the	sensation	that	time	has	stopped. You	suddenly	feel	free	of	boundaries. You	are	keenly	self-aware. You	feel	merged	with	another	person,	either	in	love	or	silent
communion. You	feel	untouched	by	aging	and	change. You	feel	blissful	or	ecstatic. You	have	an	intuitive	flash	that	turns	out	to	be	true. You	somehow	know	what	is	going	to	happen. You	sense	the	truth. You	feel	supremely	loved	or	absolutely	safe. If	there	is	only	one	reality,	as	the	rishis	declare,	then	life	is	not	a	struggle
between	good	and	evil,	but	a	tangled	web	where	all	actions,	good	and	bad,
move	us	closer	to	reality	or	deeper	into	illusion. Karma	
spins
	the	web. Karma
isn’t	a	prison,	it’s	a	field	of	choice. Karma	keeps	our	choices	honest. We	sow
what	we	reap,	but	this	is	far	from	saying	that	we	are	trapped	by	the	forces	of
cosmic	good	and	evil. Hell,	like	every	other	location	in	consciousness,
ultimately	reflects	the	state	of	our	own	awareness,	and	freedom	from	hell	is
won,	like	every	other	achievement,	by	coming	closer	to	the	reality	of	the	soul. 6
G
HOSTS
“I	AM	DEEPLY
	grateful	for	all	that	you	have	taught	me,”	Savitri	said. It	was
getting	late,	and	in	truth	she	was	beginning	to	lose	hope	of	returning	home. “I
am	resigned	to	living	alone,	and	perhaps	I	can	visit	you	to	learn	more. ”
“Is	anyone	ever	alone. ”	Ramana	said. The	forest	was	enfolded	in	purple
shadows,	and	Savitri	couldn’t	read	the	expression	on	his	face	clearly. “I	feel	alone,”	she	said. “Often	feelings	aren’t	trustworthy,”	Ramana	pointed	out. Suddenly	there	was	rustling	in	the	bushes	by	the	side	of	the	path. Savitri
jumped	back. “What	was	that. ”	she	exclaimed,	feeling	the	return	of	her
anxiety. “Ghosts. ”	Ramana	had	stopped	short. “It’s	time	you	met	them,	for	having
traveled	beyond	this	life,	ghosts	and	spirits	have	much	to	teach. ”
He	stood	still	and	beckoned	her	to	keep	quiet. Savitri	froze	in	place,	and	a
chill	passed	over	her	skin. After	a	moment	someone	emerged	from	the
dimness	of	the	forest—a	little	girl	no	more	than	two	years	old,	toddling
toward	them	but	not	looking	their	way. “Don’t. ”	Ramana	warned,	anticipating	that	Savitri	would	want	to	run	and
hold	the	baby. The	baby	looked	around	blankly,	then	it	crossed	the	path	and	disappeared
into	the	woods	again. “Did	you	recognize	her. ”	Ramana	asked. “No,	how	could	I. Is	she	lost. ”	Savitri	felt	confused	and	disturbed	by
what	she’d	witnessed. Instead	of	answering	her	directly,	Ramana	said,	“There
are	more. You’re	attracting	them. ”	At	that	moment	a	second	ghost	appeared,
this	time	a	girl	of	four. Savitri	was	dumbfounded. “Do	you	know	that	one. ”
he	asked. “It’s	me. ”
At	that,	the	ghost	peered	her	way	for	a	moment	before	wandering	away. “And	the	baby	was	also	me. ”
Ramana	nodded. “Every	former	self	you	have	left	behind	is	a	ghost. Your
body	is	no	longer	the	body	of	a	child. Your	thoughts,	desires,	fears,	and	hopes
have	changed. It	would	be	terrible	to	walk	around	with	all	your	dead	selves
holding	on. Let	them	go. ”Savitri	could	say	nothing. One	by	one	apparitions	of	herself	appeared. She
witnessed	the	girl	of	ten	who	sat	by	her	mother’s	side	in	the	kitchen,	the	girl
of	twelve	blushing	to	talk	to	a	boy,	the	ardent	young	woman	obsessed	with
Satyavan,	her	first	love. The	last	ghost	was	the	most	startling,	because	it	was
like	a	mirror	image,	exactly	her	age	and	wearing	the	same	shawl	that	Savitri
had	thrown	on	when	she	fled	her	hut. “You	see,	even	the	self	you	had	today	is	a	ghost,”	said	Ramana. When	this	last	apparition	had	faded	back	into	the	forest,	Savitri	said,
“What	do	they	have	to	teach	me. ”
“That	death	has	been	with	you	every	moment	of	your	life,”	Ramana
replied. “You	have	survived	thousands	of	deaths	every	day	as	your	old
thoughts,	your	old	cells,	your	old	emotions,	and	even	your	old	identity	passed
away. Everyone	is	living	in	the	afterlife	right	now. What	is	there	to	fear	or
doubt. ”
“But	they	seemed	so	real,”	Savitri	said. “Yes,	as	real	as	dreams,”	said	Ramana. “But	you	are	in	the	here	and	now,
not	in	the	past. ”
Savitri	had	never	seen	herself	in	this	way,	and	the	sight	gave	her	new
courage. “I	am	still	determined	to	defeat	death,	for	I	want	Satyavan	in	my
arms	again. But	if	Yama	is	victorious,	I	won’t	cling	to	ghosts. At	least	I	have
won	that	much	wisdom. ”
THE	FIELD	OF	DREAMS
When	people	wonder	if	the	personality	survives	death,	the	answer	is	that	the
personality	doesn’t	even	survive	while	we	are	alive. We	are	not	the	same
person	we	were	five,	ten,	or	fifteen	years	ago	and	it	would	be	a	sorry	state	if
we	were. Our	personalities	are	constantly	evolving,	transforming,	growing. If
the	question	becomes,	Does	the	individual	survive	death. ,	the	answer	is,
What’s	an	individual. In	reality	what	we	call	“me”	is	different	from	day	to
day,	week	to	week,	year	to	year. Which	individual	are	you	talking	about,	the
young	person	who	was	in	love	and	full	of	romance	and	desire,	or	the	child
who	was	full	of	innocence	and	wonder. Perhaps	we	must	wait	for	the	one
who	is	senescent	and	dying. Which	one	would	you	survive	as. Perhaps	none. Vedanta	tells	us	that	the	afterlife	brings	the	opportunity	for
a	creative	leap. As	our	choices	continue	to	expand,	we	will	experience	a	new
reality	that	is	far	richer	than	the	conventional	notion	of	heaven. Heaven	is	an
end	point,	whereby	definitions,	all	transformation,	stops. Souls	lounge	around
in	a	blessed	state	that	sounds,	frankly,	like	eternal	assisted	living. Why	should
consciousness	become	inert. In	the	afterlife	survival	would	be	meaninglessunless	we	continued	to	respond. The	biggest	difference	is	that	in	the	afterlife	the	input	of	the	five	senses	no
longer	stimulates	us. The	furniture	of	the	mind	has	been	
cleared
	away,	leaving
a	space	that	is	both	inside	and	outside	ourselves. This	is	why	Jesus	wasn’t
being	paradoxical	when	he	sometimes	talked	about	heaven	“within	you”	and
heaven	“with	the	Father. ”	When	you	empty	a	room	of	furniture,	the	space	left
behind	is	empty,	but	the	Vedic	rishis	say	that	mental	space	is	different. It	is
full	of	possibilities. Anything	can	be	born	there. They	called	this	pregnant
space	
Akasha. The	closest	equivalent	in	English	would	be	“dream	space,”	or
at	least	that’s	a	good	place	to	begin. A	dream	is	like	a	blank	screen	on	which	anything	can	be	projected:	any
event,	place,	or	person. Akasha	is	the	same. When	Vedanta	says	that	every
world	is	a	projection	of	the	mind,	it	is	describing	an	Akashic	dream. “Worlds
come	and	go	like	specks	of	dust	in	a	beam	of	sunlight,”	declares	a	famous
Vedic	saying. In	Akasha	we	realize	the	transience	of	all	things	and	the
immensity	of	the	unknown. The	Akashic	dream	is	cosmic,	unlike	the	personal
dreams	we	have	at	night. NDEs	tell	us	that	the	stage	of	“crossing	over”—the	temporary	realm
preceding	the	full	experience	of	the	afterlife—still	feels	personal. People
report	seeing	their	deceased	friends	and	relations,	for	example. The	dying
person	continues	to	see	the	room	in	which	his	body	lies,	and	memories	and
associations	keep	tying	him	back	to	physical	existence. The	possibility	of
taking	a	creative	leap	has	yet	to	be	realized. As	long	as	you	continue	to	feel
like	the	person	you	were,	you	can’t	experience	the	unknown. Let	me	give	you
an	example. On	a	speaking	engagement	a	few	years	ago	I	met	Gerald,	a	man	who	told
me	that	he	had	become	fascinated	by	the	healing	powers	of	shamans	in	the
Southwest. What	kind	of	healing	did	he	need. I	asked. “I	don’t	want	to	give	you	any	background	just	yet,”	Gerald	said. “I	flew
down	to	New	Mexico	and	found	myself	in	a	group	outside	Santa	Fe,	about
twenty	of	us. I’d	never	met	a	shaman	before. Ours	was	Hopi,	but	he	didn’t
wear	any	religious	symbols. He	was	just	a	very	
pleasant
	older	man	with
shoulder-length	hair. He	greeted	each	of	us	as	we	entered	the	meeting	room	in
a	motel. ”
The	shaman	began	by	asking	everyone	to	pick	a	partner. “We	were	asked
to	pair	off	with	the	person	in	the	room	whom	we	felt	most	comfortable	with. I
picked	a	guy	about	my	age	who	was	standing	next	to	me. I	was	as
comfortable	with	him	as	anyone	else,	considering	how	bad	I	felt	anyway. ”
Gerald	now	revealed	that	he	had	been	through	a	debilitating	course	of
treatment	for	prostate	cancer,	including	surgery	and	chemotherapy. He	had
been	cancer	free	for	two	years	but	was	haunted	by	fears	that	the	doctors
hadn’t	gotten	everything. His	anxiety	kept	on	growing	even	though	he	keptbeing	reassured	that	he	was	in	the	clear. Finally,	on	the	advice	of	a	friend,
Gerald	reluctantly	sought	out	a	shaman. “Once	we’d	picked	our	partners	we	formed	a	circle. The	shaman	walked
into	the	middle	and	began	to	chant. He	didn’t	ask	us	to	do	anything	but
observe. After	fifteen	minutes	he	turned	to	the	first	pair,	a	man	and	a	woman. The	shaman	looked	into	the	man’s	eyes	and	muttered	something. Immediately
the	man’s	body	began	to	tremble,	then	he	fell	down	in	a	kind	of	mild	seizure. “In	an	insistent	voice	the	shaman	said,	
Speak	to	me. The	man’s	eyes	had
gone	blank. He	began	to	mumble	about	being	freezing	cold,	lying	on	the
ground	in	winter. He’d	passed	out	from	alcohol	and	was	dying. “The	shaman	nodded. He	turned	to	the	woman,	who	looked	pretty	shaken. ‘Are	you	an	alcoholic. ’	he	asked. ‘Is	that	why	you’ve	come	here. ’	Turning
red,	the	woman	nodded. ‘Well,	you	have	a	spirit	in	your	family	line,	someone
who	died	of	alcohol. We	need	to	free	him. ’	He	helped	the	woman’s	partner	to
his	feet	and	told	him	he’d	done	a	good	job. And	that’s	how	it	went,	one	pair	at
a	time	going	around	the	circle. ”
Gerald	watched	as	each	partner	was	used	to	invoke	a	departed	spirit. In
each	case	the	spirit	would	talk	about	a	problem—depression,	
cancer,
addiction—which	turned	out	to	be	a	perfect	match	for	the	problem	that	the
other	person	in	the	pair	had	come	about. No	one	had	talked	to	the	shaman
before	meeting	in	the	motel. Gerald	was	astonished	when	his	partner	brought
in	the	spirit	of	Gerald’s	grandfather,	who	had	died	of	lung	cancer	when	Gerald
was	a	small	child. “Not	everybody	recognized	their	spirit,	and	it	wasn’t	always	a	close
relative. In	my	case	I	had	heard	a	lot	about	my	grandfather,	who	had	been	a
prominent	citizen. It	was	spooky	hearing	him	beg	to	be	released	from	his
pain,	very	spooky. ”
For	some	of	the	people	in	the	room	clearing	the	departed	spirit,	which	the
shaman	proceeded	to	do,	marked	the	end	of	treatment. Gerald	stayed	in	the
Southwest	and	underwent	a	series	of	medicinal	sweat	lodges,	accompanied	by
rituals	and	chanting. After	several	weeks	the	shaman	told	him	that	his
grandfather’s	spirit	was	now	at	peace. “When	I	got	back	home	I	almost	went	back	for	a	medical	checkup,	but	I
had	stopped	feeling	anxious. I	quit	having	nightmares	or	waking	up	in	a
sweat. It	was	over,	just	like	the	shaman	said. ”
I’m	recounting	this	story	to	open	our	perspective. Being	raised	in	a
Christian	culture	doesn’t	automatically	mean	that	a	dying	person	will	see
himself	arriving	at	the	pearly	gates	greeted	by	Saint	Peter. (This	isn’t	one	of
the	common	scenarios	reported	by	near-death	patients,	either. ) One	might	find
oneself	in	the	spirit	world	of	Native	Americans	instead. The	soul’s	passage
follows	links	that	we	don’t	foresee. Gerald’s	story	has	a	curious	addendum. A	month	after	returning	home	hewent	with	his	wife	on	vacation	to	the	upper	Midwest	where	his	family
originally	came	from. “We	checked	into	a	renovated	Victorian	hotel. Our
room	was	done	up	in	flowery	wallpaper	and	a	four-poster	bed. But	what
caught	my	eye	was	a	framed	newspaper	hanging	on	the	wall. It	was	from	the
turn	of	the	century	and	showed	a	picture	of	a	volunteer	fire	brigade. Right	in
the	middle	staring	out	at	me	was	my	grandfather	as	a	young	man. ”
“Did	that	shake	you. ”	I	asked. “No,	to	me	it	was	a	sign	that	the	shaman	was	right. I’m	glad	my
grandfather	was	set	free,	wherever	he’s	gone. ”
Akasha
In	all	the	tales	of	ghosts	who	want	to	be	set	free,	what	holds	them	back	is
memory. They	continue	to	remember	what	physical	life	was	like,	and	the
unfinished	business	of	those	memories	has	a	grip. The	unsettled	spirit	can’t
escape	into	the	next	stage	of	existence. What	this	means,	strangely	enough,	is
that	when	the	afterlife	has	become	real,	the	physical	world	has	become	the
dream. It’s	just	a	matter	of	perspective. When	you	are	in	a	physical	body	your
perspective	makes	physicality	real. When	you	are	dreaming	at	night,	the
dream	state	is	real. When	you	are	“crossing	over,”	both	waking	and	dreaming
are	unreal,	and	Akasha—the	field	of	consciousness—is	real. What	causes	this
change	of	reality. Vedanta	holds	that	consciousness	is	convinced	by	its	own
creations. Therefore,	nothing	we	can	see,	hear,	and	touch,	whether	in	waking,
dreaming,	or	beyond	both,	is	ultimately	real. They	represent	shifting
perspectives. To	be	completely	free	means	waking	up	from	all	dreamlike	states,	and
reclaiming	who	you	are:	the	maker	of	reality. One	cannot	say	that	all	dying
people	will	achieve	this	kind	of	absolute	freedom. They	may	glimpse	it	only
for	a	fleeting	second;	they	may	sense	the	possibility	of	breaking	away	from
one	dream	and	yet	be	seduced	into	the	next	one	that	comes	to	mind. I	knew	a	woman	who	as	a	child	had	come	home	from	school,	and	as	she
entered	the	door	she	saw	her	young	cousin	from	Chicago	standing	in	the
corner	waiting	for	her. Both	were	about	eight	at	the	time. The	cousin	didn’t
speak,	and	the	girl	ran	to	tell	her	mother	that	they	had	a	visitor. When	she	entered	the	kitchen	her	mother	was	crying. The	little	girl	asked
why,	and	her	mother	said	that	there	had	been	a	sudden	death	in	the	family. It
was	the	cousin	from	Chicago,	who	had	died	that	morning. Did	the	girl	see	her
cousin	as	a	vision,	a	premonition,	or	merely	as	a	coincidental	act	of
imagination. As	she	tells	the	story,	she	saw	her	cousin	“for	real. ”	Yet	what	do
we	mean	by	“for	real”	except	that	something	is	convincing. This	encounter
with	a	departed	relative	can	be	judged	as	either	hallucinatory	or	deeply
spiritual,	depending	not	on	the	event	itself	but	on	who	is	looking	at	it. In	the	afterlife	a	person	wakes	up	from	one	extremely	convincing
perspective—physical	existence—and	faces	the	possibility	of	freedom. Akasha	isn’t	any	particular	perspective;	it’s	a	wide	open	playing	field	waiting
for	players	to	enter	it. Who	will	the	players	be. They	could	be	the	same	players	we	are	already	used	to. They	could	be	players	we	have	imagined	and	are	eager	to	see. They	could	be	otherworldly	beings. They	could	be	emanations	of	ourselves. They	could	be	embodiments	of	abstract	ideas. In	world	culture	all	these	variations	have	been	reported. Christian	heaven
is	a	specific	Akashic	play,	a	drama	of	redemption	with	otherworldly	beings	in
it,	along	with	familiar	people	from	the	past	and	an	abstraction	that	we	call
God. To	the	extent	that	all	these	images	materialize	in	the	mind,	a	dying
Christian	accepts	that	she	has	arrived	in	heaven. Vedanta	says	that	the	deeper
truth	is	that	the	dying	person	has	arrived	in	a	creative	space,	Akasha,	which
produces	whatever	is	wanted. But	how	does	a	person	know	what	he	wants. The	answer	gets
complicated. Let’s	take	it	back	down	to	earth	and	ask	the	same	question. How
do	you	know	what	you	want	right	now. Until	your	next	desire	appears,	you
won’t	know. It’s	certain	that	you	will	want	something,	
because
	the	mind	is	a
continuous	stream	of	desires. However,	this	doesn’t	make	the	mind
predictable. You	may	be	a	creature	of	habit	who	always	wants	two	scrambled
eggs	for	breakfast,	while	I	may	be	restless	and	want	a	different	breakfast
every	day. Both	of	us	could	be	thrown	out	of	our	accustomed	pattern	by	a
sudden	stress,	such	as	having	a	death	in	the	family,	losing	our	jobs,	being
diagnosed	with	heart	trouble. Suddenly	we	aren’t	hungry;	our	minds	want	to
grieve,	not	eat. The	unpredictable	tug-of-war	between	old	patterns	and	new
situations	makes	it	impossible	to	pin	down	desire. In	the	same	way,	Akasha	is	elusive	because	it’s	so	open-ended;	it’s	as
unpredictable	as	a	dream	and	just	as	convincing. Even	so,	the	Akashic	field
can	be	navigated. In	fact,	it	must	be	navigated	if	we	are	to	take	advantage	of
the	creative	leap	that	the	afterlife	opens	up. Navigating	the	Field
We	have	a	chance	to	open	up	the	possibilities	beyond	what	our	culture	has
conditioned	us	to	believe. One	experience	can’t	fit	everyone. Our	eyes
continue	to	see	what	they	expect,	even	when	we	use	the	eyes	of	the	soul,	but
the	Akashic	field	isn’t	a	swirl	of	random	images. It	is	more	structured	than	a
dream;	it	has	a	kind	of	invisible	landscape. The	structure	of	Akasha	cannot	bedescribed	in	physical	terms,	yet	if	we	look	inside	ourselves,	the	seemingly
random	flow	of	our	minds	also	obeys	a	kind	of	invisible	structure. Let’s	say	someone	walks	up	to	you	and	greets	you	by	name. The	person	is
smiling;	there’s	an	expectant	look	on	her	face. How	do	you	come	up	with	a
response. Your	mind	does	several	things	at	once. It	consults	its	stored	picture
files	for	familiar	faces. It	looks	for	a	name	to	attach	to	the	right	face. If	neither
can	be	found	immediately,	the	mind	doesn’t	feel	stymied	yet—it	has	backup
resources. It	rummages	through	faces	that	could	fit	this	person	but	are
younger	or	fuzzily	recorded. It	tosses	up	sample	names	that	might	jog	your
memory. It	
runs
	through	recent	events	that	this	apparent	stranger	may	have
played	a	part	in. If	all	this	doesn’t	work,	the	mind	starts	thinking	of	what	to
say	to	cover	up	your	memory	lapse. We’re	all	familiar	with	such	situations,	and	we	are	so	accustomed	to
matching	names	and	faces	that	we	don’t	marvel	at	how	astonishing	the	whole
process	is. Not	only	can	the	mind	Google	itself	for	information	with
incredible	swiftness,	it	performs	multiple	operations	with	backup	plans	if	they
fail. This	implies	an	amazingly	complex	but	invisible	structure. In	the	afterlife	the	same	structure	continues	to	exist. In	near-death
experiences	the	dying	person,	suddenly	confronted	with	an	unknown
situation,	searches	inside	for	familiar	landmarks:	deceased	relatives,
recognizable	voices,	a	divine	light,	the	presence	of	a	fatherly	(or	motherly)
God. In	other	words,	we	all	have	a	built-in	map	that	we	consult. This	map
prepares	us	to	convert	any	unknown	experience	into	something	meaningful. (As	I	was	writing	this	chapter	a	TV	special	about	heaven	came	on,	and	one
woman	being	interviewed	was	certain	that	she	had	been	to	heaven. Her	near-
death	experience	occurred	when	she	was	giving	birth,	had	a	crisis,	and	fell
briefly	into	a	coma. Describe	heaven,	the	interviewer	said. The	woman’s	face
grew	rapturous	at	the	memory. She	described	an	endless	stairway	going	up	to
the	sky,	and	along	the	stairway	happy	animals	pranced	around. She	added	that
the	blue	of	the	sky	was	like	no	color	that	could	be	found	on	earth. To	me,	she
chose	to	interpret	her	experience	by	drawing	from	a	scrapbook	of	childhood
images. ) Psychologists	have	conducted	experiments	that	illustrate	how	we
automatically	create	meaning. In	one,	a	group	of	subjects	sits	in	a	room	before
a	tape	recorder. They	are	told	to	listen	to	a	tape	of	someone	talking	and	to	take
notes	on	what’s	being	said	as	best	they	can. They	are	also	told	that	the	voice
on	the	tape	will	be	very	soft,	since	the	experiment	is	testing	how	well	the
brain	can	register	the	faintest	spoken	words. The	tape	is	turned	on	and	is	barely	audible. The	subjects	crane	forward
and	take	their	notes,	which	are	then	collected. What	they	haven’t	been	told	is
that	the	voice	is	speaking	nonsense. Only	random	words	are	coming	out	of	the
machine. Yet	each	subject	will	take	notes	that	make	sense,	because	anexpectation	of	hearing	meaningful	words	leads	to	the	
creation
	of	meaning. In	the	afterlife	the	creative	possibilities	are	enormously	expanded. Instead
of	asking	one	question—
What	is	the	voice	on	the	tape	saying. —the	mind	has
a	host	of	questions	to	ask:	
Where	am	I. What’s	happening	to	me. Who	have	I
become. What	lies	ahead. In	the	afterlife	the	mind	is	multidimensional. Akasha	takes	us	out	of	all
time-space	limitations. In	truth	we	always	were	multidimensional,	only	we
were	so	convinced	by	inhabiting	the	material	world	that	we	conformed	to	its
rules. Now	we	need	to	adapt	ourselves	to	Akasha,	where	there	is	structure
without	rigid	rules	and	creative	possibility	without	cultural	dogma. 7
T
HE
	I
NVISIBLE
	T
HREAD
TO	TELL	THE
	truth,	the	things	that	Ramana	had	told	Savitri	didn’t	come	as	a
total	surprise. She	had	been	raised	to	believe	in	the	soul. She	had	heard	about
how	the	higher	self,	the	“inward	dweller”	as	Lord	Krishna	called	it,	was
immortal. But	these	lessons	had	seemed	remote. “How	do	I	know	I	have	a	soul. ”	she	asked. “You	cannot	know	by	seeing	it	or	touching	it,”	Ramana	said. “Your	soul
might	whisper	to	you,	but	even	then	you	could	just	be	hearing	echoes	of	your
own	voice. ”
“So	the	soul	may	be	a	fiction. ”	Savitri	asked,	with	a	sinking	feeling. “The	soul	isn’t	a	fiction	just	because	it’s	invisible,”	Ramana	said. “Look. ”
Suspended	in	a	shaft	of	light	was	the	outline	of	an	intricate	spiderweb
anchored	between	two	bushes. It	gleamed	and	rippled	with	the	slightest
breeze. “A	spider	made	this	web,”	said	Ramana. “You	see	his	work	but	you	don’t
see	the	spider. He	holds	a	tiny	thread	that	tells	him	when	anything	lands	in	the
web. Where	has	the	soul	gone. It	doesn’t	matter	as	long	as	the	connection
exists. ”
Savitri	couldn’t	help	being	stubborn. “I	still	may	be	imagining	I	have	a
soul. ”
“Ah,	but	that’s	the	wonder. ”
Ramana’s	face	was	suddenly	aglow	with	inspiration. “Nature	imagines
spiders. Big	ones	were	imagined	and	small	ones,	smooth	ones	and	hairy	ones,
those	that	live	in	the	air,	water,	and	earth,	those	colored	white	and	black	and
every	shade	in	between. Think	of	baby	spiders	that	fly	on	gossamer	threads	in
the	spring	while	giant	water	spiders	dive	to	the	bottom	of	a	pond	and	catch
fish. We	are	foolish	to	think	the	spider	is	a	thing. It	is	a	shifting	whirl	of
qualities,	ever	changing	and	fascinating. The	soul	is	like	that,	too. However
you	imagine	it,	it	will	take	on	that	quality	and	still	have	infinite	potential	left
over. When	you	ask,	‘Where	is	my	soul. ’	the	answer	isn’t	a	place	but	a
potential. The	soul	is	wherever	it	is,	has	been,	and	will	be. ”
Ramana’s	eyes	remained	fixed	on	the	web	rippling	in	the	sunlight,	and
through	his	fascination	Savitri	began	to	be	fascinated,	too. She	couldn’t	know
for	certain	if	the	spider	that	made	this	web	was	white,	yellow,	or	red,	big	orsmall,	male	or	female,	yet	that	didn’t	stop	her	from	knowing	that	it	was	real. She	had	no	idea	of	what	her	soul	looked	like,	either,	or	what	lay	across	the
boundary	of	death. All	she	had	was	an	invisible	thread. Would	it	be	enough. “Yes,”	Ramana	said. “You	have	listened	well	today. You	are	learning. ”
Savitri	smiled	a	bit	doubtfully. Suddenly	she	was	quite	tired. She	sank
down	on	a	billowy	bank	of	moss	and	closed	her	eyes. Her	mind	slowed	down,
bit	by	bit,	until	she	forgot	where	she	was	or	the	dangers	she	faced. It	was
enough	just	to	sleep. A	WEB	OF	WORLDS
The	Akashic	field	has	been	interpreted	by	every	culture	to	make	it	meaningful
to	that	culture. In	and	of	itself,	the	field	is	pure	potential. But	the	great
spiritual	guides	of	the	past	wanted	to	reassure	their	
followers
	that	space
wasn’t	the	same	as	a	void. We	know	this	because	our	own	inner	silence	isn’t	a
void. It	doesn’t	take	dying	to	go	beyond	thoughts	and	images. When	someone
meditates	deeply	enough,	thoughts	disappear	and	leave	only	the	experience	of
silence. One	could	say	that	this	silence	is	nothing,	emptiness,	but	the	Vedic
sages	tell	us	that	it’s	a	very	rich	silence	indeed. We’ve	been	following	the	soul’s	journey	into	the	highest	stage	it	can
attain,	which	is	the	Akasha	itself,	the	source	of	creativity. Different	spiritual
traditions	envision	this	end	point	in	different	ways. Here	are	seven	versions
that	continue	to	shape	how	people	experience	their	spiritual	journey:
Paradise
The	Godhead
The	Spirit	World
Transcendence
Transmigration
Awakening
Dissolution
These	are	seven	settings	for	the	soul,	and	each	possibility	is	self-created. A	dream	begun	on	earth	continues	until	it	reaches	its	conclusion. Its
ingredients	are	taken	from	the	mind’s	invisible	structure,	then	combined	in
such	a	way	that	makes	sense	of	the	Akashic	field. SEVEN	DESTINATIONS	FOR	THE	SOUL1. Paradise:
	Your	soul	finds	itself	in	a	perfect	world	created	by	God. You
go	to	paradise	as	a	reward	and	never	leave. (If	you	are	bad,	you	go	to	Satan’s
home	and	never	leave	it. ) 2. The	Godhead:
	Your	soul	returns	to	God,	but	not	to	any	particular	place. You	discover	the	location	of	God	as	a	timeless	state	infused	with	His
presence. 3. The	Spirit	World:
	Your	soul	rests	in	a	realm	of	departed	spirits. It
rejoins	your	ancestors	and	those	who	passed	on	before	you,	who	are	gathered
with	the	great	Spirit. 4. Transcendence:
	Your	soul	performs	a	vanishing	act	in	which	this
expression	person	dissolves,	either	quickly	or	gradually. The	pure	soul	rejoins
the	sea	of	consciousness	from	which	it	was	born. 5. Transmigration:
	Your	soul	is	caught	in	the	cycle	of	rebirth. Depending
on	your	karma,	your	soul	moves	from	lower	to	higher	life-forms—and	even
may	be	reborn	in	objects. The	cycle	continues	eternally	until	your	soul
escapes	through	higher	realization. 6. Awakening:
	Your	soul	arrives	in	the	light. It	sees	with	complete	clarity
for	the	first	time,	realizing	the	truth	of	existence	that	was	masked	by	being	in
a	physical	body. 7. Dissolution:
	Eternity	is	nothingness. As	the	chemical	components	of
your	body	return	to	basic	atoms	and	molecules,	the	consciousness	created	by
the	brain	disappears	completely. You	are	no	more. There	is	a	good	deal	of	cultural	overlap	here	as	one	tradition	feeds	into
another. The	Muslim	vision	of	eternity	as	a	paradise	garden,	complete	with
the	sexual	attractions	of	
houris
	and	exotic	fruits,	owes	its	existence	in	part	to
the	Garden	of	Eden. Spirit	worlds	are	common	all	over	the	globe. The	ancient
Greeks	expected	to	meet	the	shades	of	the	departed	across	the	River	Styx	in
Hades,	but	filtered	through	time	and	Christianity,	Hades	became	a	punishing
hell	presided	over	by	Satan	while	the	Greek	place	of	blessed	spirits,	the
Elysian	Fields,	became	heaven. There	are	invisible	spirit	worlds	found	in	the	ancestor	worship	of	Japan
and	China. In	a	prehistoric	age	aboriginal	peoples	drifted	from	South	Asia	to
Australia	and	the	islands	of	the	South	Pacific,	bringing	
their
	spirit	worlds	with
them. With	them	also	came	a	kind	of	“dream	time”	that	infused	ordinary	time,
in	which	material	events	could	be	seen	as	depending	upon	spiritual	events. But	spirit	worlds	didn’t	hold	in	India,	where	the	dominant	belief	gathered
around	three	other	afterlives:	transcendence	(rejoining	the	sea	of
consciousness),	awakening	(discovering	that	one’s	true	nature	is	Atman	or	the
soul),	and	transmigration	(the	eternal	cycle	of	rebirth). Being	born	in	a	certain	culture,	however,	doesn’t	always	determine	where
your	soul	finds	itself	after	“crossing	over. ”	Eternal	life,	it	turns	out,	is	alsovery	personal. Expanded	Awareness
The	standard	assumption	is	that	no	one	really	knows	what	happens	after	we
die. But	the	rishis	asked	the	question,	Why	don’t	we	expect	to	know. Instead
of	being	unknowable,	perhaps	the	afterlife	is	something	we	haven’t	looked	at
hard	enough. And	if	so,	why	not. For	one	thing,	the	mind	is	addicted	to	repetition. We	pursue	the	same
desires	today	that	we	had	yesterday. Even	our	thoughts	today	are	generally
about	90%	the	same	as	the	thoughts	we	had	yesterday,	according	to	some
studies. Habit	rules	our	actions;	a	fixed	roster	of	likes	and	dislikes	governs
our	taste. If	you	are	afraid	of	being	poor	today,	it’s	likely	that	you’ve	had	that
same	fear	since	childhood. If	you	think	about	losing	five	pounds,	it’s	likely
that	this	reflects	a	bodily	obsession	that	goes	back	years. On	the	positive	side
psychologists	point	out	that	the	pursuit	of	pleasure	and	the	avoidance	of	pain
motivate	us	every	day,	and	generally	to	good	effect. We’re	reassured	by	what
we	know. In	fact,	the	Vedic	rishis	declare	that	habit	is	what	makes	a	person
feel	real. (In	the	business	world,	when	someone	suddenly	loses	his	job,	the
loss	can	be	psychologically	devastating—not	to	mention	that	a	sudden	layoff
greatly	increases	a	person’s	risk	for	heart	attack,	cancer,	and	stroke. ) At	the	same	time	that	it	reassures	us,	repetition	has	a	deadening	effect. By
keeping	out	what’s	new,	it	forces	reality	into	the	straitjacket	of	the	old. Each
of	us	lives	behind	a	wall,	beyond	which	lies	the	infinite	potential	of	the
unknown. Only	the	smallest	gates	are	built	into	the	wall,	and	we	stand	guard
at	these,	allowing	one	experience	to	enter	but	excluding	another,	calling	this
experience	good	and	that	one	evil. As	long	as	we	keep	on	taking	in	reality	so
selectively,	freedom	is	a	remote	possibility. In	this	regard	death	is	a	great	gift,	because	it	throws	open	all	the	doors	and
windows. Dying	forces	us	outside	the	wall. Instead	of	seeing	the	familiar
things	we’ve	assiduously	collected	and	labeled	as	reality,	we	must	start	over. However,	the	rishis	assert	that	we	don’t	enter	the	Akashic	field	empty-handed. Whatever	our	dream	is	right	now,	
that	dream	continues. Consciousness	is	tied
by	thousands	of	threads	to	old	memories,	habits,	preferences,	and
relationships. Whenever	someone	really	presses	the	issue	of	what	happens	after	we	die,
my	response	comes	in	the	form	of	a	question:	“Who	are	you. ”	You	have	to
know	where	you	are	right	now,	in	order	to	know	where	you	will	be	tomorrow,
and	the	afterlife	is	just	a	special	kind	of	tomorrow. Here	are	the	things	necessary	to	knowing	“Who	am	I. ”:
1. What	is	your	story. Your	story	is	more	than	just	a	list	of	the	events	inyour	life. It’s	about	your	self-image,	how	you	see	yourself,	what	shaped	your
mind,	which	memories	imprinted	themselves	on	you. Taken	altogether,	your
story	tells	you	where	you	are	in	the	cycle	of	life. 2. What	are	your	expectations. Expectations	are	seeds. Once	planted,
they	manifest	into	those	things	we	gain	from	life,	or	lose. When	you	become
aware	of	your	own	expectations,	you	discover	the	unspoken	limits	you	have
set	on	yourself. There	is	a	huge	difference	between	those	who	expect	great
things	and	those	who	don’t.
It suggests that it is an inward experience, and that we should not focus on the external world.
What does Jesus' teaching seem to suggest about the nature of the kingdom of heaven?
In Vedanta, karma is a continuous process that affects our experiences in the afterlife, whereas in Christianity, it is seen as a single event that determines one's fate.
What is the concept of karma in Vedanta and Christianity?
The story illustrates the idea that the soul is the source of our experiences, and that our connection to the soul is the key to freedom and growth.
What is the significance of the story about the monkey in the forest?
The shaman helps individuals navigate their inner selves and the Akashic field, and find their true nature.
What is the role of the shaman in the story?
The afterlife in Vedanta is seen as a continuation of the journey of the soul, whereas in Christianity, it is seen as a destination.
What is the difference between the concept of the afterlife in Vedanta and Christianity?