6 Dazzling Gray and White Light

Sixth Chapter of the Crazy Commentaries

Appalling Cold Grey and White Light

So – my highly esteemed readers – still there? Now it’s time to talk about dying.

At night, high in the Himalayas in the Kullu Valley, I rose in the dark from my bed in a feverish delirium. With my left hand, I clutched my shoulder bag with my money and passport, and very carefully set one foot in front of the other. To my left, on a primitive wooden bed frame, lay an old woman—at least a hundred years old, and despite the darkness, I saw that she was nothing but skin and bones, a skeleton more or less, and she was breathing heavily. I took another step. Actually, there was a wall there in front of me, but the wall opened up and I knew: now I’m heading into death. My right hand reached out, searching for orientation—ready to feel something? I stood before the gate of death, already in some kind of shock, but on the other hand, also remarkably composed. To my left, the musty, suffocating breathing continued to rattle. But at the same time there was solemnity and peace even, as if a church organ were playing. I dared another small, careful step forward.

Now an endlessly wide cave opened up, an endless tunnel, like in a coal mine, granite, and there it was this infinite, cool, milky, appalling, horrible grey in vision and as my inner mood at the same time. I strained my eyes and tried to look more closely, tried to penetrate veils, and sighed quite heavily and sighed: “Is death really so deeply and hopelessly grey?” Yet even the basic horror of this hopeless grey was not realy overwhelming not even desperate. Somehow, I even remained matter-of-fact, almost cool. I had to stand it. There seemed to be no way out. Unmoving I stood paralysed before the grey of grey. By the way, it was bitterly cold. I started to reflect on the word “cool.” So I stared into this tunnel and thought again and again: “Is death really so unbearably appalling and horribly grey? This is the greyest grey I have ever experienced.” And the threshold was right in front of me, less than twenty centimetres away. Just one tiny step and I would be on the other side. But I just couldn’t manage to move any further. No! I even turned around. I dragged myself back towards my own bed something like two meters away and I sat down. Since then I could never forget this experience of this unconditional grey up there in the Himalayas. Thinking of it is even fifty years later it feels extremely irritating cold and unpleasantly touching. It used to feel extraordinary steely, soulless, and coldy cold.

Fortunately, I didn’t die back then, but was merely wandering around in a feverish delirium at the peak of a pneumonia. The old woman to my left wasn’t an old woman at all, but a well-fed German student from a wealthy family who had shared a cabin in the Himalayas with me for a few days. He was a biology student and did research on snakes. During the day, he roamed the forests looking for snakes. He ignored me as much as he could, because he didn’t want his expensive four-week research trip — a flight to India was still really expensive back then — ruined by having to care for a dying useless hippie. So he tried to ignore me as much as possible. Up there in the Kullu Valley, not far away, there even was a modern clinic run by Europeans— less than ten kilometres away —and it would have been easy for him to get me some help, but he was probably just afraid of losing precious vacation time, just like another German student, the third in this cabin, who would go to hot springs during the day to bathe, relax, recharge, and enjoy. Actually, I don’t really know what he did, but he was always out during the day. Maybe he was smoking dope out there, because up there in the Kullu Valley, the best natural cannabis of the world grows right by the waysides. Both ignored me as best as they could. But to be fair, I must say that they sometimes brought me fruit and water in the evenings, as far as I can remember. And on my pilgrimage, I had become so accustomed to dealing with my problems on my own without looking for help, that I may not have even asked for help, or maybe I even refused it. That’s quite possible. I had become very peculiar and odd.

The Intermediate State of Dying: Chikhai Bardo with the White Light

Back to the grey: In our Book of the Dead, there is nothing about grey. Quite the opposite — in the first moments after the heart and the breathing stops, one experiences dazzling white light. Radiant glaring light. Even lightness…? There’s nothing about grey mentioned. And the white is even unbearable and blinding, so intense that the recently deceased cannot endure it and tries, tormented and hysteric, to escape into unconsciousness like searching for sleep. But on one hand it is impossible to loose consciousness here, but also it would mean to through away an unimaginable big opportunity to face basic reality or let´ s say at least touch for a moment a way towards eternal peace and basic goodness.

Let’s imagine that we are lying on a bed, dying. We wait a bit, and then suddenly we realize: we are dead now. There is no more breathing and no more blood circulation. We saw it coming, and now it has happened. Of course, we knew all our lives that it would happen someday, but now it has really happened. We are dead! Now what?

This naked realization — truly being dead — will be shocking, shattering, and overwhelming for almost all of us. Maybe we try to move an arm. But nothing happens. Some kinds of magical sounds are simply not identifiable or describable. Maybe we miss the familiar sensory impressions, the weight of our body, for example. If we pursue such thoughts further, panic arises. Maybe not immediately, but then very sudden extremely intense. We might want to get ourselves be overwhelmed by this panic, but it doesn’t grant us that favour. Maybe horror? Even if we always assumed we’d die coolly: “As lived—so died.” That was the modest saying my grandfather wanted for his obituary. But when we can no longer avoid this death and have to look it in the eye, are we really so calm and ready for the great adventure, as my funny grandpa had imagined? Well – all our live, we had to master changes and surprises—so what is so different now?

But dying is not a feverish delirium; there is no merciless grey to endure. We are encountering a completely new reality, one we have never experienced, with which we have no experience, and for which we are not prepared at all. Maybe we are met by unbearable delight in the form of the brightest, most radiant, whitest light? At least that’s how the statements in the Book of the Dead about the first moments after death could be interpreted.

But however it may be, it is certainly helpful in the moment after dying if you have had experiences with panic and panic attacks during your lifetime. I am convinced that panic attacks are very good preparation for death. Because panic attacks are quite similar to dying. Quite unannounced, out of the blue—like lightning—a fit begins. Out of the blue? Beyond all imagination. The first panic attack of your life is certainly by far the most unbearable and terrible, because such intense, naked fear is still completely new to you. Where does it come from? You don’t yet know from experience that even the most direct, naked fear—total horror—subsides after a while, lessens, and even becomes predictable. But the first time, you don’t know that, and that gives it a very special quality. The knowledge that the unbearable state of absolute panic will pass after a while becomes a lifeline for anyone who has to go through it a second time. The actual panic is, however, always intense and terrible. There is no point to give false hopes. Even with the next panic attack, all that remains of us at first is pure, terrible fear, but the difference is that we can calm ourselves somewhat by knowing it will pass. And we remember what helped last time. For example, we breathe into a bag to avoid hyperventilation. Or we go outside and meditate in the fresh air. Or we stimulate the appropriate points in Jin Shin Jyutsu. Maybe we even have medication—psychotropic drugs—that help with panic. Everyone has their own methods and lifelines, but each time, it’s essential to accept the panic for what it is and learn to live with it and deal with it. It is a part of us whether we like it or not. We have to learn to accept it.

We see here that it can be very helpful to have at least theoretically gone through something like panic before. Again, such a panic passes—whereas death might be definitely final?

So, when dying, instead of turning away and looking for distractions, pills, meditation, or Jin Shin Jyutsu, we could simply surrender to this intensity in the first moments after death, to this glaring white light. But that, of course, is not easy, and that’s why we should look for ways to prepare for it during our lifetime. In meditation we could imagine to surrender, even turn toward death and move toward it, even try to dissolve into it and finally disappear. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it? There’s even a hint of relief in it. And I guess any kind of meditation practised regularly will help to prepare somehow.

So, my highly esteemed, attentive readers, these are almost positive prospects, aren’t they? But if at all, it certainly only works with appropriate, suitable preparations. Just as with learning strategies for panic attacks, you also have to prepare for the immeasurable, dazzling, uncompromising light— the vast, endless, peaceful white light—right after death. And instead of bags, medication, or yoga, you might acclimatize by reading this short Book of the Dead over and over again? If you think about death daily, this phenomenon becomes more familiar. You can internalize one or two profound prayers or spells. Is that really possible? Of course, I can’t guarantee it, because unfortunately, I can’t remember any previous death myself but I am sure it helps to have something prepared.

On the other hand, I am fairly certain that it can be quite helpful for post-death experiences (bardos in Tibetan) to be familiar with panic attacks, because there are many parallels. The problem is only that most strategies for such attacks serve as distractions and avoidance of horror, and something similar is probably simply not possible in the first phases right after death! But at least you can learn to deal with fear. You can practice that and develop mental strategies. Especially the paralysing and petrifying aspect of fear—you can learn to let go of that. For the next panic attack, you can have a mosquito net ready so you can quickly grab it if you want to go outside at night during an attack?

But to openly engage with the first post-death experiences—and there are probably no escape routes, mosquito nets, or other tricks—to open yourself widely and unreservedly to this possibly pure intensity of reality—of no body to hold on — so not to evade it, even without any strategy or ulterior motive—that is something very special, that is something else. Please try to understand this difference! And maybe strategies to soften intensity probably don’t help with dying at all! The Tibetan Book of the Dead is very direct and unequivocal on this point!

So how does the Tibetan Book of the Dead come into play as a tool? And here, reading this text is not just an activity for those mourning at a deathbed, as your hidden agenda might want to see it.

Also this Book of the Dead is a yoga. It is a yoga book, and it’s about yoga in the in-between — in the exceptional state (bardo). We can learn the basics of meditation, practice them for a few years, and keep deepening them, and then we can also specifically engage with the phenomenon of bardo in meditation. Deep meditation itself is such a bardo. In fact, anyone who meditates encounters this phenomenon—the emptiness between two moments.

The Second Intermediate State – Chönyi Bardo

According to the Book of the Dead, the first phase after death, in which one could actually achieve complete liberation—the phase of the white light—passes rather quickly, and confusion, pain, staggering, and fainting follow. So that was it as far as the big chance is concerned, and from now on, it’s more about damage control.

We are now in phase two:

Here, aids actually come into play—almost like post-death mosquito nets, post-death strategies, and techniques. Here, in phase two, it certainly helps if you had prepared for death and studied the Book of the Dead many times, even without having achieved mastery in meditation.

The Book of the Dead is thus also a text for the living, about meaning and being, and additionally a text for preparing for death and for listening to in the first seven weeks after death. An exercise book and a travel guide at the same time. A kind of map. A signpost.

It has often happened to me with prayers and masses that they only revealed themselves after years or even decades—and usually suddenly and unexpectedly and by surprise. I then realized that I had never really understood certain aspects of the texts before. This happens especially often after I haven’t recited a prayer for weeks and then bring it out again, and then I see it completely fresh, and it makes very much more sense than ever before. I don’t mean that it always takes a while to get used to a mass you celebrate regularly. Such familiarization phases always exist, but there is also another, magical kind of sudden deepening. Even like plummeting. It always takes some time to find your way around and then we can more and more open up to ritual details. But that’s not what I mean here. There is a completely different kind of awakening and internalizing of images and contents. Not only for me, but for others as well, familiar texts and contexts suddenly and surprisingly reveal themselves, and the topic seems to have shifted, and now it’s about something completely different. These new accesses arise surprisingly, inexplicably, and without being able to name a reason. Suddenly getting into a completely different world of understanding even.

My highly esteemed readers, may please forgive me at this point that I do repeat myself looking back:

In the first bardo—that is, in the first post-death phase, the Chikhai Bardo—“white, dazzling light” shines, which is “primordial purity.” If we are not prepared, we waver and want to turn away or distract ourselves. Here is room for contentment, gentleness, delight—ecstasy—but also for terrible panic, even though the white light might be peace actually, goodness, spaciousness, and even eternity and timelessness. Primordial goodness may sound gentle and even inviting. But can we handle it as long as we secretly consider ourselves a pile of dirt? Let’s speak frankly of psychological dirt, of raging and angry emotions, of guilt or simply shitty emotions, and also of secret, sneaky motivations we have practised for years and we know that it still drives us. Maybe we have always practised hiding and ducking away? And that has always worked. But here now is the naked, inescapable truth. An uncompromising mirror.

So I ask again: Are we really prepared? And what could these preparations look like in concrete terms? Does experience with LSD help? Should you go on an LSD trip once a year? This idea was widespread among us hippies in the seventies. Professor Timothy Leary had brought us to it, when he was still respected and honoured. And I actually still assume that this can indeed be helpful in a certain, but indirect way. But nowadays (unlike in the sixties), the possession of LSD is illegal. So this path is blocked, and by the way, very risky to loose ones mind anyway.

I am convinced that simply carrying the Book of the Dead around the world—even though I hardly understood its content at the time—was also a small preparation for my by now inevitably approaching death. I’m talking about the physical contact with the book and in this way the frequent reminder of the book’s core ideas.

It is certainly helpful—at the time of death, but also now in our everyday lives—to regularly read a few lines in the Book of the Dead and contemplate them. Read line by line, this book is full of surprises. At first unpredictable, then over time it reveals itself more and more, and a complete picture emerges.

So now I need to mention that we could regularly bring some system into our daily exercises as preparations for dying:

Body–Speech–Mind, for example, offer themselves as a framework for orientation.

How can we prepare on the level of body—form, shape, materials? The answer is: to cultivate style, dignity, and appreciation for the things, beings, and objects that surround us.

With style and dignity, we grow into the magical world and become familiar with it. That’s a personal secret tip from me at this point!!

I always like to accompany tabloid journalists into the villas and castles of the rich, famous, beautiful, and noble not to mention important torero dynasties. Of course, these people have excellent, expensive designers who furnish and decorate room after room of their palaces and even take care of the pets and their hair doings. And of course, everything is tidied up, cleaned, and polished before the journalists and photographers arrive and you never find any domestic help with apron within the brilliant photos (by the way: that´  s to bad. It would be lovely to have them). But you can always quickly tell where magic and atmosphere have grown deeply and genuinely, and where beauty and elegance are just artificially put on.

To make a long explanation short: The secret here is to “slow down.” Let time pass. Let long periods pass. Lean back. Talk to the help! Have tea with the stable boy! That is actually the clue to get into the hidden. And talk to the pets.

A castle that is a few hundred years old has a magic, even if the designer is really bad and has no sense for the royals and nobles and has never even slept with a real Spanish torero or the domestic help even.

On the level of body, we ourselves might get involved by paying attention to the furnishings, furniture, and details in the rooms around us. We can pause again and again, take a breath, and look around once more. Hum, sniff, feel the air, and sigh. And so on. Let time pass—again and again, let long periods pass. Dance through the rooms! Touch things! Over time, this becomes very beneficial, even blissful! One can really learn that. The attentive reader will surely agree that this also stimulates posture, body tension, backbone, and thus dignity.

And then comes our personal style. How do we wear our hair, how do we dress? How do we deal with our illnesses and disabilities? Also a wide field for deepening dignity on the level of body.

Sometimes everyday life drives us so mercilessly that it’s almost as if you have to try to stop a high-speed train. If we don’t learn to counteract, to stand still and pause again and again, then it’s easy to imagine that the journey after death will also be a crazy roller coaster ride. And by the way, it’s never too early to start cultivating dignity, because the longer life lasts, the more often you find yourself in such a self-created roller coaster, which becomes increasingly rickety. As soon as you notice that, you can pull the emergency brake. Careful! It hurts more every time! Non the less it has to be done over and over again! It’s not enough to manage it once in your life and then say: Now I am familiar with it. That’s just not enough!! It is like to deal with meditation. You have to do it continuously over and over again! It is too bad that we tend to forget and suppress so quickly.

It doesn’t always have to be a complete change of scenery, but sometimes you really do have to slam on the brakes! Change direction! You got to take some effort.

On the level of speech (language, communication, energy, and symbols), it’s similar, because here too it’s about pausing. Only the means are quite different. Here, the paths of Tai Chi, Jin Shin Jyutsu, yoga, pranayama, poetry, languages, music, rhythm, and creativity help. Very important at this point, and not losing sight of our main topic: You can read aloud or recite or sing from the Book of the Dead. It always has something ceremonial when you read a few lines or stanzas aloud, even if you’re all alone. Every time we do that, we rise a little above our everyday life. We can read a few sentences aloud and think about them. And by the way: No — even if someone sits by my bed after my death and reads to me from the Tibetan Book of the Dead about the “white, radiant light,” it’s hardly any help if it’s completely new to me and I’ve never heard of it before. No – that can’t work. For the deceased, that’s nonsense. But on the other hand, it could still be very beneficial and a great help for the bereaved and listeners.

Of course, I respect what people do to cope with their grief at the deathbed of the deceased. But we should proceed very carefully in such situations and be able to decide at short notice even to let go of expectations and of what we are accustomed to. Naturally, it always depends on the spirit in which the mourners pray and read. Here, a good dose of cynicism is absolutely helpful and necessary! Sorry! Excessive despair and dramatic theatre are of no help at all. Okay, for real practitioners it might be fun, but never forget peoples pain by loosing a beloved one is real and deep. Do you understand what I mean? On the other hand clinging and panic could even be intensified for the recently deceased and lead to further darkness through despair, just as unfinished business and problems may torment a deceased person terribly after death. So sensitivity is asked for but not on cost of any cynicism.

On the level of mind, you also can prepare a lot here and now:

Well—obviously, good preparation always means making sure that no unfinished business and problems are left to fester somewhere. According to the motto: I’ll deal with that later?

I can hardly believe I’m recommending this, but without a doubt, precisely from the realization that we like to put family conflicts, hidden fears, sentimental secrets etc., aside for later, a very good preparation would actually be to have regular conversations with therapists or wise, good friends — professionally, so to speak. It could really make quite a difference.

Of course preparing on the level of mind includes reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead over and over again. Preferably aloud. I recommend „The Tibetan Book of the Dead“  in the translation by Francesca Fremantle and Chögyam Trungpa with commentary.

By the way, you can do as I did on my pilgrimage and simply carry the book around in your handbag, even without reading it, it still makes a difference.

Cemeteries, as well as temples and churches, are great places to meditate and contemplate or just to be at.

And this is very important: Learn to meditate and then do it daily for at least twenty minutes. Of course, it’s even better to meditate in silence for ten days, eighteen to twenty-two hours a day, at least once a year. There are monasteries and meditation centers that regularly offer such retreats. Search the internet for dhamma.org. ask for Vipassana.

It is also helpful to take time to practice yoga daily. Hatha yoga and pranayama. Or keep some energy practice going. It is easy and worth it.

Put your phone aside for an hour every day and turn off all media connections during that time.

In the second text of this collection, three very simple very basic exercises are described, which are also super helpful tools on the way to dying in grace.

Of course, you can also start writing poems or texts on the topic. If you take the time to write and tell about a particular topic, you’ll think of it a lot after a while. And it can become a bit like looking into a mirror.