On Floating State of In-Between: Masters’ Level-1 Instructions on Tashī's Passing-On–Pt. 2 Ch. 1.8

In the cool, dim-lit training chamber, the screen flickered to life once more, casting a greenish hue over the stone walls. Shadows danced in the corners, melding with the drifting mist that hovered in the air. The shifting glow of the screen flickered like a lantern in a storm, playing on the edges of reality itself. It was a realm suspended between dimensions, and I felt as though I were slipping deeper into it, away from the physical world, into something far more mysterious.

Drakos stood at the center of the room, his arms folded, an unreadable expression on his face. His features, sharp as they were, seemed to soften and blur in the ever-shifting light. The hum of energy filled the air—an undercurrent that made my skin tingle. It was the pulse of the universe, the sound of things unspoken, vibrating through the ether.

Tenzin sat next to me, his eyes fixed on the screen, his brow furrowed with confusion. "Bardo?" he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost like he was testing the word in his mouth, trying to understand it.

"Yes," Drakos answered, his voice calm but imbued with a strange resonance. "It’s a state of transition. The in-between. Neither life nor death. A passage between worlds where your soul is untethered. It’s where we confront ourselves... and everything we’ve ever been."

The screen flickered again, the image now showing a faint, glowing thread—an ethereal ribbon of light—floating above the body of a man who appeared to be in a deep, suspended state. His body lay motionless, but the thread pulsed in time with a rhythmic, steady beat, like a heartbeat echoing through the void.

"Is he dreaming?" I murmured, my eyes still fixed on the screen.

Drakos nodded slowly. "In a way. But this dream—this is no mere illusion. This is reality as it has always been, beneath the surface of your thoughts."

Tenzin’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, studying the figure. "What does it mean? The soul-thread?"

"The soul-thread is your essence," Drakos explained, his voice almost meditative. "It is the link between your consciousness and the material world. When we pass, that thread remains, pulling you toward your next state. But... it is easy to get lost in the Bardo. The illusions can trap you."

I stared at the screen, watching as the man’s thread shimmered, pulsating. Around him, faint glimpses of images flickered—fragments of his life, fragments of his fears, of his unfulfilled desires. They coiled around him, wrapping his soul in confusion.

The screen shifted, and the form of the figure began to morph, becoming less defined, as if the boundaries between solid and ethereal were blurring. It was as though the man’s identity was unraveling before our eyes, his very being fragmented, and yet still very much alive in its own way.

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Tenzin looked at me, his voice laced with concern. "Is this... what happens? When you die? You just float, lost in memories and fear?"

"That is the danger of the Bardo," Drakos replied, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it. "If you are unprepared, if you do not understand the nature of this state, it can feel like an eternity. It’s a mirror—a mirror to your mind, your emotions, your attachments. If you’re not careful, you can get trapped in it forever."

I watched as the soul-thread flickered again, the images surrounding it growing more intense—flashbacks to moments of pain, regret, anger, and love. Each image became more vivid, the emotions more pronounced, as though the soul itself was being pulled apart.

"So..." Tenzin's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, "how do you escape this? How do you move on?"

The glowing thread shimmered in response. It flickered, expanding like the wings of a moth, before narrowing again. "By understanding," came the voice from the screen. "By realizing that these visions, these illusions, are not real. They are merely the reflections of your mind. The Bardo is a passage, not a prison."

"Then what is the way forward?" I asked, my voice shaky. The atmosphere in the chamber had become heavy, laden with the weight of something I couldn’t quite grasp.

"The way forward," the voice from the screen continued, "is through clarity. When you release your attachments, when you let go of the fears that bind you, the path forward will reveal itself. It is always there. But only if you’re ready to see it."

As the luminous figure spoke, the screen brightened. The images surrounding the soul-thread began to dissolve, one by one. The man’s thread pulsed again, stronger now, as if the soul had begun to recognize the illusion for what it was.

Tenzin’s voice broke through the silence. "But... how do we know we’re ready?"

"You cannot prepare for the Bardo by waiting for it," Drakos replied, his voice distant yet resolute. "You prepare for it by living. By understanding the nature of your mind, the nature of the world around you, and the illusions that will arise."

The screen shimmered again, and this time the soul-thread brightened even more, as if it had shaken off the darkness that had surrounded it. The figure on the screen took a single step forward, into the light. The vision blurred again, but this time, the space between us and the screen felt less distant.

"This is the Bardo," Drakos said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. "Not something to fear. But something to understand. To embrace."

I looked at the figure on the screen as it faded into the light, feeling a shift within myself. There was a weight in the air—heavy, yes, but filled with possibility. As though the entire room was holding its breath, waiting for something to unfold.

Tenzin let out a quiet breath. "So, we’re all stuck in this... in-between place, until we understand ourselves enough to move on?"

Drakos nodded. "Yes. But it’s not a punishment. It’s an opportunity. An invitation to grow beyond the confines of your attachments and illusions."

A silence stretched between us. The screen flickered once more, and the images of the soul-thread began to fade, leaving only the soft glow of the chamber in its wake.

I turned to Drakos, my voice barely above a whisper. "And the path forward? How do we know when we’re ready?"

Drakos looked at me with a sharp intensity. "You will know. When the time comes, you will know."

In that moment, I understood—perhaps not fully, but enough to know that the Bardo was not something to fear. It was simply a moment of reflection, a threshold between worlds, a chance to break free from the illusions we had created.

The screen dimmed, and in the quiet that followed, I felt the weight of the room lift. The air seemed lighter, as though something had shifted, both inside me and in the world beyond the walls.

And for the first time, I felt a small flicker of hope—hope that the path ahead would eventually reveal itself, when I was ready to see it.