3.1.9. Trikāyasūtra

“The dharmakāya of the Tathāgata is like the sky: without nature, without limit.
His saṃbhogakāya is like a cloud: it comes forth from the sky.
His nirmāṇakāya is like rain: it nourishes all.”
— Trikāyasūtra

As the work of alchemy moves from Albedo into Citrinitas, a quiet yet profound shift occurs. The concerns that once seemed so pressing—our personal sufferings, our struggle to free ourselves from the snares of saṃsāra—begin to loosen their grip. In their place arises a gentler, broader regard: a willingness to turn back toward the world, even as we stand on the brink of complete release. The teachings of the Trikāyasūtra, with its luminous description of the Buddha’s three bodies, offer a subtle map of how this transformation of being unfolds, guiding us from self-concern into a spacious compassion.

I find myself returning often to this short but extraordinary discourse, the Trikāyasūtra, which sets out so clearly the Buddha’s three bodies (trikāya). The scene is laid on Vulture Peak in Rājgṛha, where the Blessed One teaches, surrounded by countless bodhisattvas, gods, and spirits of the natural world.

It is the bodhisattva Kṣitigarbha who rises and asks, quite directly, “Has the Blessed One a body?” The Buddha’s reply is gentle yet astonishing in scope. He explains that the Tathāgata has three bodies: the dharmakāya, which is pure, unconditioned nature; the saṃbhogakāya, which is the bliss of meditative absorption; and the nirmāṇakāya, which is pure, compassionate conduct—the way the Buddhas appear in the world to help beings.

He elaborates with simple images: the dharmakāya is like the sky, open and without a nature of its own. The saṃbhogakāya is like a cloud that emerges from this vastness, and the nirmāṇakāya is like rain that nourishes all it touches. Thus the Buddha’s essence, expression, and compassionate activity are not separate but seamless, each arising according to the needs and capacities of those who perceive them.

From lesser to greater vehicles

As our alchemical journey moves from Albedo into Citrinitas, and with an eye already toward Rubedo, the metaphor of the vehicle becomes crucial. Different spiritual traditions use this image—a mode of being that carries us from conditioned existence toward liberation.

Until now, much of our work has belonged to what is sometimes called the lesser vehicle, focused on personal liberation. This is no small matter: by loosening the fetters that bind us to saṃsāra, we make possible the profound attainment of arahantship, the complete ending of suffering on an individual level. Some alchemists find their culmination here. As Paracelsus remarked, many spoke of alchemy as the art of gold and silver, yet he cared only for the power of medicines—for that which heals.

But for others, a deeper impulse begins to stir. Personal freedom is not the ultimate aim. There emerges a subtle reorientation, almost imperceptible at first, away from oneself and toward all sentient beings. This is the heart of the Mahāyāna, the Great Vehicle.

It is said that an arahant who has no remaining worldly ties may pass beyond this life entirely within seven days. Perhaps this hints at the sheer lightness of being that arahantship brings—so free that even the bonds of the physical dissolve. Yet the bodhisattva, standing on that same threshold, chooses differently. Seeing that countless beings remain caught in suffering, they defer their own final release, returning to the weaving of the world out of sheer compassion.

The three bodies of the Buddha

The Trikāya teaching encapsulates this beautifully. It may seem at first like a neat categorisation—three distinct bodies—but in truth it describes a single reality perceived differently depending on the clarity of the observer.

The Three Bodies (Trikāya) of the Buddha

The dharmakāya is simply how reality is for a Buddha: all-pervading, indivisible, beyond any division of subject and object. For bodhisattvas, this same undivided awareness manifests as the saṃbhogakāya, the radiant body that teaches Dharma in subtle ways, arising in visions, profound meditative states, or inspired speech. Finally, for those still bound to conditioned perception, the Buddha appears as the nirmāṇakāya—a physical teacher walking among us.

Some traditions speak of a fourth body, the union of these three, or even a fifth, the pure field of awakened wisdom itself. Yet at this stage, it is enough simply to grasp that these are not separate entities. They are a single, seamless expression of awakened being, seen differently according to the depth of one’s own insight.

A quiet turning outward

For the alchemist who has reached anāgāmi, almost entirely freed from personal suffering, there comes a poignant moment. Even if no further progress were made, they are destined for final awakening in the highest heavenly realms. In a sense, their personal work is complete.

But here something quiet and profound occurs. Standing on the threshold of dissolution, with no compelling reason left to remain, the alchemist turns back—not out of duty or grandiose ideals, but because there is simply nothing else left to do. One either departs entirely, or returns for the sake of others. It is a choice made from a place so deep it scarcely feels like choosing at all.

The teaching of the three bodies invites us into a gentler spaciousness, one that does not end in personal release but opens into boundless compassion. As our practice matures, we find ourselves not simply seeking to escape suffering, but drawn almost tenderly back toward the world, willing to embody wisdom in whatever way may be of use. This is where true alchemical gold begins to glimmer.

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.