3.1.2. Tögal and Rainbows

“Mind is like light: pure, luminous, free of stain. But just as light, passing through stained glass, takes on many colours, so does the mind, passing through ignorance, take on the colours of illusion.”
— The Mahāyāna Sūtrālaṅkāra

Here, my friend, is where the strange magic of the path truly begins. Having gained a modest mastery over the outer play of life—duties, relationships, the ever-rolling world—the disciple now turns inward, toward the subtlest textures of subjective reality. What unfolds is less a technique than a profound physiological and perceptual transformation, known in the old traditions as Tögal. This is the gentle yet formidable work of Citrinitas: learning, quite literally, to see with new eyes.

So, my friend, this is where it starts to become unmistakably peculiar. In moving towards Citrinitas, I find I have gradually settled the gross outer concerns and now stand ready—or perhaps simply fated—to face what lies within.

In vipassanā, one examines the five subtle fetters—restlessness, conceit, attachment to form, attachment to the formless, and ignorance—seeking to synthesise a deeper understanding of mind. Yet there is also a more arcane science, a mystery practice that goes beyond analytical insight: Tögal. It is spoken of as among the highest and most direct ways to full realisation. But it is no mere technique; it feels more like a natural unfolding, triggered by conditions within, and once begun, it must complete itself.

Awareness itself is said to originate from the heart—so subtle and all-pervading that it merges with space and cannot ordinarily be perceived. Even now, this awareness is here, though drowned by layers of coarser consciousness that habitually seize upon sights, sounds, and thoughts. Often, it almost seems as though my very awareness springs from the object “out there,” not from my eyes or ears at all. This primal awareness is the Dharmakāya—the “truth body”—though until one truly perceives Buddha-nature, it remains mingled with emptiness as Ālaya-vijñāna, the so-called eighth consciousness, the storehouse of all latent impressions.

Tögal is a yoga performed either in complete darkness or beneath the vast openness of the sky. This resonance with darkness reminds me of the old Mystery Religions, where initiates were entombed underground to meet their hidden depths. The practice brings awareness to the subtle channels linking heart and eyes. Through repeated engagement—and four distinct phases—something extraordinary begins to unfold.

It must be said plainly: Tögal is not to be trifled with. Once the process starts, it demands to complete itself; if interrupted, one risks madness, blindness, or worse. When I first became aware of these delicate interior structures, a cascade of inner light erupted. Each tiny noticing led to further distinctions, until my ordinary vision was utterly outshone by luminous displays. I suspect it is even more bewildering if stumbled upon accidentally. Guidance is essential.

In my own case, the inner brightness was present the moment I closed my eyes. It was beautiful—at first. But the ordeal can stretch on for days, each stray thought triggering new, dazzling patterns until exhaustion takes hold. Thigles—rainbow-hued circles—appear, arising and dissolving without any control. Soon they evolve into intricate geometries, textures, entire shifting landscapes. It seems to be a rapid calibration: an awakening creative intelligence within overlays its patterns onto the subtle and physical bodies. (I admit I also devoured books on sacred geometry during this time, which may have coloured the visions.)

The phrase “Master of the Temple” no longer feels abstract. One comes to sense the body—both gross and subtle—as an exquisite, self-constructing instrument, perfectly resonant, stripped of personal identity.

Does this happen to all who press deeply enough? Perhaps. Many hero myths feature a loss of mundane sight in exchange for transcendent vision—think of Oðin sacrificing an eye at Mímir’s well, or countless blind prophets. From my own passage, I suspect blindness can be partly self-induced: the inner lights grow so overpowering, so maddening, that one may instinctively shut down. Better not to rush toward this if one can help it.

Eventually comes the fourth stage, a curious return to normal sight. It is as if the mind, entirely on its own, completes the transformation. I felt turned inside out, then quietly righted again. Unless this comes for you, I would not seek it. Trust that if it is needed, it will arrive. It is a staggering, relentless journey; after thirty or forty hours, even the most magnificent rainbows lose their charm. Rest assured it concludes itself—and life becomes strangely ordinary once more.

The whole point of Tögal is to witness directly how mind fabricates reality through subtle winds (prāṇa), channels (nāḍī), and drops (bindu). To see this for oneself is to ground faith in the Dhamma beyond all doubt. In such clarity, even the final fetter—ignorance—can dissolve, opening the door to arahantship.

And so I offer this glimpse, as best I can, into an experience that is equal parts wonder and dissolution. In these strange visions of light, the mind learns its own architecture. With that knowledge, faith deepens into something unshakeable. This is the delicate labour of Citrinitas—where the self is both dazzled and unmade by its own luminous truth.

This text is excerpted from the upcoming book Citrinitas: A Course in Modern Alchemy. The complete volume will include additional study guides, glossaries, and extended teachings. Learn more about the book here.