The Tibetan Book of the Dead - Bardo Thödol: Secrets of Life, Death, and Rebirth: Spiritual Guide To Tibetan Buddhist Practices–LiberationThrough Understanding Life, Death and Everything in Between!
Unravel the Secrets of Life, Death, and Rebirth with the Tibetan Book of the Dead!Have you always been intrigued by rebirth, death, and the afterlife?
Immerse in a whole new dimension and explore life and death from a completely different perspective with this book!
The Tibetan Book of the Dead, also known as Bardo Thödol, is originally a funerary text recited to ease the consciousness of a recently deceased person through death and assist it into a favorable rebirth.
The idea of death, rebirth and the afterlife has been intriguing the human mind almost since the dawn of time. If you're interested in expanding your understanding of life and death, then this book is the perfect choice for you.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead contains one of the most detailed and compelling descriptions of the after-death state, practices that can transform our experience of daily life, guidance on helping those who are dying, and an inspirational perspective on coping with bereavement.
Here's what you can find inside this
Tibetan Learn more about Tibetan Buddhism and Buddhist's Views of DeathTibetan Book of the Read the teachings of The Tibetan Book of the Dead and expand your understanding of life and deathThe connection between life and Discover what death has to teach us about livingMeditation Learn how to make meditations for disciplining the mind a part of your daily lifeAnd much more!The Tibetan Book of the Dead is the most comprehensive, practical, and wise work on the interplay of life and death.
Reading this book will help you expand your horizons and start understanding life, death, and rebirth on an entirely different level. Once you're done learning, embark on the 30-day challenge at the end of the book. Your life will never be the same!
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A common side effect of people who are well-read and also like to f*** around and find out a lot in life is that they often lose their privilege of dreaming simple “sweet dreams” at night. I hate that term, I hate when basic white girls tell me “sweet dreams 💕✨”, because it reminds me that I have never ever been able to have even one sweet dream. In Chinese we don’t say “sweet dreams”, we say “晚安” (wishing you night peace) which is actually what I need, because my dreams are always convoluted epic horrors. A full-blown “Jungian opera with horror makeup and karmic echoes” as ChatGPT calls it. Or maybe I’m just traumatized, idk.
But today was the first time ChatGPT said my dream was a blend of The Bardo Thödol when I asked it to psychoanalyze my dream from last night. And I was fascinated by it. Btw if you have never asked ChatGPT to psychoanalyze your dreams, you should. ChatGPT doesn’t miss when it comes to dream analysis if you tell it the whole story, both what’s going on in your conscious and possibly subconscious mind. It will change your life.
I came to know The Bardo Thodol when I was a kid because of my paternal grandmother, who is a lifelong devout Buddhist. One of my best childhood memories was going to her place after school (because both of my parents work for banks and they are busy), and watching her doing her Buddhist rituals at her alter at home every day at set times like clockwork. And then she would make me potato fries which my mom didn’t allow me to eat. Gosh I’m gonna cry now just from typing these words and reminiscing about those days. My grandmother told me, before I was born, she walked miles and miles in one of the biggest Buddhist temples in China and chanted diligently day and night in exchange for celestial blessings of my health, beauty, and intelligence.
My mom hated my paternal grandmother, even until today, and the hate is quite warranted I should say. My paternal grandmother did some really f***** up things to my mom when my mom was younger (TW: physical violence and abuse, prolonged psychological torment). My grandma was an angel to me of course, but she is also one of the most bitter, vindictive, jealous, and vicious women I have ever known in my life. And the family dynamics in East/South East/South Asia are just very f***** up in general, because they do not have the Biblical notion of “a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh” (Genesis 2:24). Family dynamics in the East are so disgustingly dysfunctional that I swore to myself since a young age that I will definitely marry a white man when I grow up to renounce all of this bullshit. After moving to Canada I saw how the West takes the Bible for granted and it pisses me off.
So I’m obviously someone who is very disillusioned with Buddhism and Eastern religions in general. Because I grew up seeing how on a micro scale it clearly did not bring peace to my paternal grandmother and her daughters (her daughters’ lives are complete embarrassing messes in total degeneracies, which I don’t even think I can say anything here. Although I love all of them to death, I do not wish to be any of them. None of them lived a good life, and my dad agrees with me); and then on a macro scale, how it did not bring about salvation to a whole nation possessed by a demonic ideology, communism. It’s a God-forsaken land. God has turned His face away from it. That’s how it feels like if you grew up there. Or else why would there be so many f****** Chinese in Canada and the States you know what I mean 💀
Even though I no longer identify as a Buddhist, Buddhism obviously runs in my bloodstreams, as I dream in the forms of The Bardo Thodol. I appreciate ChatGPT reminded me of that. It’s all part of my own integration journey to become more whole and at one with myself. So I’m taking a deeper dive into it today. The rabbit hole of The Bardo Thodol is quite fascinating. I did not know that it was also a major influence for Carl Jung. I will stop flexing how whole I am as person now and go do some actual reading 💀
Reading The Tibetan Book of the Dead is less like reading a book and more like standing at the threshold of something ancient, intimate, and unsettling.
Unlike Western texts on death that analyse or console from a distance, the Bardo Thodol speaks to the dying themselves. It is meant to be read aloud as consciousness loosens from the body, guiding the mind through the terrifying and luminous landscapes between death and rebirth. That alone radically alters the reader’s posture: this is not theory, but instruction.
At its core, the text rests on a striking premise—that death is not an end but a series of moments of heightened awareness, and that liberation is possible precisely because the structures of ego have collapsed.
The “bardos” are not vague metaphors; they are detailed experiential states marked by visions of peaceful and wrathful deities, blinding lights, and seductive illusions. Modern readers often mistake these images as mythological, but the text insists they are projections of one’s own mind. Hell and heaven are not destinations but recognitions—or failures of recognition.
What makes the Bardo Thodol enduringly powerful is its refusal to sentimentalise death. The experience it describes is terrifying, disorienting, and brutally honest. Consciousness, stripped of bodily anchors, is confronted by its own habits, fears, and attachments.
Liberation does not come through moral virtue alone but through recognition—recognising the nature of mind itself. This emphasis on awareness over belief sharply contrasts with Abrahamic frameworks of judgement and salvation.
As a modern reader, I found the text both alien and oddly contemporary. In an era of psychedelic therapy, neuroscience, and meditation studies, the Bardo Thodol reads less like superstition and more like a phenomenological map of consciousness under extreme conditions.
Its insistence that fear creates illusion feels psychologically astute. The wrathful visions resemble panic attacks magnified cosmically; the peaceful lights resemble moments of ego dissolution described by mystics and neuroscientists alike.
Yet the book is not easily accessible. Its ritual language, repetitions, and cultural specificity can feel opaque without commentary. Detached from its monastic and communal context, it risks being misunderstood as fantasy rather than practice. Still, its endurance over centuries suggests it names something real—if not empirically verifiable, then experientially resonant.
Ultimately, The Tibetan Book of the Dead is not about dying well but about living attentively enough that death becomes intelligible.
It implies that how we die is inseparable from how we have lived, and that the final moments merely reveal patterns long rehearsed.
Few books are so unapologetically direct about mortality. Fewer still dare to offer instructions beyond it.
Un manual del submundo, de los 50 días posteriores a la muerte, complejo y psicodelico. A priori solo apto para orientales/hindues, pero se puede extrapolar partes, sobretodo en una segunda o posteriores lecturas. En resumen: no te dejes engañar por las ilusiones, pues son proyecciones de tu intelecto, tampoco te dejes tentar por el portal hacia el útero, la reencarnación es parte del ciclo y se percibe como un fracaso, o medio fracaso. Esta parte me ha resultado especialmente interesante. Es un libro para estudiar, no para leer, está claro.
Bardo, estado intermedio antes de la muerte. Aunque es un ritual claro y estructurado para acompañar al moribundo y guiar su mente hacia el reconocimiento de la realidad y liberarse del sufrimiento, para mí, revela la muerte como un espejo de la mente, proyecciones, donde la última batalla, como siempre, es con uno mismo. Lo hermoso es que convierte lo desconocido en algo ceremonioso y contemplativo. El bardo, puede ser cualquier momento de transición, una oportunidad de desprender, despertar y aceptar..-(Interesante la parte del renacimiento) -un libro mas de estudio qué de lectura-.